Out of Nowhere Page 3

  She wanted to cringe when he sat down beside her on the edge of the bed, but the discipline she had learned kept her lying still and focusing on small details. His eyebrows and lashes were dark. His nose and chin were what she might have called aggressive. When he pressed his lips into a straight line, he looked as if violence was his natural mode of operation. Then they would soften, and she could imagine them breaking into a full-fledged smile. If he ever had anything to smile about.

  A day’s growth of dark stubble covered his cheeks and chin. It did not completely hide a thin line below the left corner of his mouth. He’d been cut, but the scar was old. Another one on his forehead looked more recent.

  Suddenly it seemed vital to find out what had happened to him. But he interrupted her thoughts with another question.

  “I’ve been calling you Annie. Do you have a name?”

  The question made her stomach clench and a cold sweat break out on her skin. She beat back her fear with all the considerable determination she possessed. She could not afford to let her emotions take over from her brain. If she knew anything, she knew that much.

  “I’m going to check your head,” the man said.

  Gently, oh, so gently, he sat her up, leaning her against his chest. She might have struggled, might have tried to push away, but the warmth of his body seeped into hers and was strangely comforting. Which was no proof she could trust him, she told herself again as he began to probe through her hair, his large fingers feeling her scalp, abrading her nerve endings.

  “No lumps,” he said, his voice sounding gruff. “No depressions and no places where your scalp has been cut.”

  The information eased her mind—at least as far as head injuries were concerned.

  Carefully he laid her back on the bed. Her eyes were still closed, but there was something else she must tell him. She was hurting, and she needed to know if the injury was serious. Could she do that without revealing she was awake? Slowly she raised her hand, touching the front of the one-piece suit she wore, groaning softly.

  “WHAT’S WRONG? Something hurts?”

  Her lips moved. “Umm.” The sound was barely audible.

  He watched as she rolled her head on the pillow, then plucked again at the fabric covering her breasts. It was part of a one-piece suit, tight-fitting and made of some space-age fabric. Not a cycling outfit as he’d first thought. More like something an astronaut might wear. Hardly clothing he’d expect to see on the street in Hermosa Harbor.

  The fabric was blue with a slightly reflective layer on top. But when he followed the motion of her hand, he saw that the material across her chest was discolored.

  In fact, now that he gave it a good look, it appeared scorched. If her skin was burned underneath the garment, then she must be feeling it.

  There was no obvious opening at the front of the suit.

  “How do you get out of this thing?” he muttered.

  She didn’t answer, apparently back to pretending obliviousness to her surroundings. If that was the way she wanted to play it, he thought, then she could damn well take the consequences.

  After hesitating for a moment, he skimmed his hand up the bodice, very conscious of the swell of her breasts. At the neckline, his fingers located a hidden zipper. When he lowered it five or six inches, he found that the skin of her chest was red. It looked as if she and the suit had, indeed, been burned, and the shiny fabric had protected her to some degree. But not entirely.

  He thought of the lightning he’d seen crackling around the bridge when she’d first appeared. That could have been the heat source. But he was pretty sure if it had struck her, she’d have a lot worse injuries than what looked like a sunburn.

  Still, he knew it hurt. “You need something on that,” he said.

  When he’d first come down to Florida, he’d scorched his hand while working on the boat’s engine, and he still had the cream he’d used to soothe the injury. It was in the drawer beside the bed.

  Holding up the tube, he said, “Here’s some salve for the burn. Do you want to put it on yourself?”

  She remained silent, so he reached for the zipper and lowered it another few inches, exposing more skin. He’d hoped she was wearing a bra, but no such luck. He could see that the inside curves of her breasts were red, along with the flesh in the center of her chest.

  Opening the tube of cream, he spread some on his fingers, then reached to rub it onto her injured flesh. Just like a doctor treating a patient, he told himself. She had let him know she was in pain, and he was easing her discomfort. Unfortunately, touching her chest with his fingers didn’t feel like a medical procedure.

  Her skin felt warm and smooth, silky, as he gently spread on some of the salve.

  She made a small sound, and he couldn’t tell if he was hurting her or easing the discomfort.

  He’d tried to get her to take charge of the first aid. But apparently she wasn’t capable of doing the job herself. Or was she deliberately letting him do it?

  He couldn’t help thinking it would be an interesting change of tactics. This woman had fought him like a tiger. She’d tried her best to steal his skiff and get away. He should be treating her like a prisoner of war, instead, he was touching her intimately, and it was turning him on.

  Too bad he couldn’t control the sensations being transmitted from the nerve endings of his fingertips.

  Looking down, he saw her nipples poking against the fabric of her suit, telling him he wasn’t alone in his reaction to the intimacy. Or was he simply observing some kind of involuntary physiological reaction?

  He dragged in a sharp breath, wondering what the hell to do now. Time seemed to have stopped, leaving the two of them in an airless bubble where it was impossible to draw a full breath.

  On an intellectual level he knew he should pull his hand away. Finally he was able to make his muscles work, feeling as if he’d achieved some kind of monumental victory as he pressed his palm flat against the mattress.

  Once again, he looked at her face—just as her eyes snapped open.

  Seeing them was a shock. Her irises were dark, impossibly dark for someone with such blond hair, he thought in some corner of his brain. But they went with the oval shape.

  She looked down at the front of her suit, then quickly pulled the edges of the fabric back together and worked the zipper.

  “I was putting salve on your burn,” he said, wondering if either one of them would accept the explanation.

  She didn’t seem to be listening to him, though. She was staring at the bulkhead behind him, her brow wrinkled as though she was trying hard to remember something important—something just beyond her grasp.

  Her gaze found his, and her lips moved again. At first, no words came out. Then she asked, “Where…am I?”

  Her lilting accent sounded Scandinavian. She was blond enough to hail from the land of the midnight sun, but the dark, almond-shaped eyes were an anomaly.

  The almost pleading look in those eyes snapped his attention back to the question she’d asked. “I’ve brought you to my boat,” he replied. “You’re safe here.”

  She nodded, but he wasn’t sure she believed him.

  “Tell me your name,” she demanded.

  He repeated what he’d told her earlier. “Max Dakota.” Apparently she was having short-term memory problems.

  “Is that your real name?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Odd question.”

  “Is it?” she asked, her tone low and urgent, as though the fate of the world depended on his answer.

  “Yeah,” he replied, because he had an obligation to protect his cover. He’d had no trouble putting the name around since coming to Hermosa Harbor. Strange that he should want to tell this woman something different. But he didn’t have that luxury.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  She gave a quick shake of her head, and it looked as if she was on the verge of tears again. He wanted to reach out and gather her close, comfort her, but he restrai
ned the impulse.

  “Why did you kick me out of the skiff?” he asked, instead.

  “The what?”

  “The little boat.”

  “I thought you were going to hurt me.”

  “I pulled you out of the water and got you breathing again. Why would I hurt you?”

  “People—men—take advantage of the weak.”

  The absolute conviction of her words made his throat clog painfully. “I don’t,” he said, punching out the words.

  “You tied me up.”

  So she remembered that.

  “What choice did I have? You hit me and kicked me and threw me in the water. You would have left me sputtering there if you’d been able to start the engine, wouldn’t you?”

  She didn’t answer, but he saw from her eyes that he’d described her thoughts pretty well.

  “I don’t suppose you’d promise not to try something like that again…”

  She had taken her bottom lip between her small white teeth. Releasing it, she said in a low voice, “I am sorry I attacked you. I will not do it again.”

  Max noticed she hadn’t promised not to try to get away again.

  “Did somebody push you off the bridge?” he asked.

  “The big bridge?”

  “Yeah. You were up there before you went into the water.”

  “I was?” Her eyes grew large.

  “Are you mixed up with Bert Trainer?”

  “What is that?”

  “Not what. Who. Sheriff Trainer.”

  “I…do not think so,” she answered, sounding unsure.

  He wanted to ask her more, but neither of them was in shape for that now. His own damp clothing made him realize she was probably feeling pretty uncomfortable, too.

  “You should get out of that suit you’re wearing,” he said. “You can put on something of mine.”

  Quickly he got off the bed and turned to the storage unit at the end of the room, debating what to bring her. He pulled out a pair of his gym shorts and one of the Hawaiian shirts he’d been wearing since he’d arrived in town.

  Underwear was another consideration. Of course he couldn’t offer her a bra, and he was confident she wouldn’t want to wear his cotton briefs. If she stayed with him, he’d have to buy her undergarments.

  Thinking he was getting way ahead of himself, he switched to another problem. Shoes. A pair of flip-flops he’d found on the boat would have to do, since her little cowboy boots would look rather comical with the shorts and shirt he’d picked out.

  After he set the outfit down on the foot of the bed, she sat with her head bowed for several moments, then raised her eyes to his, searching his face as though trying to find out something she hadn’t known ten seconds earlier.

  “Why are you being nice to me?” she asked in a thin voice that barely carried across the small space between them.

  Chapter Three

  Once more the woman’s apparent vulnerability tugged at Max. And once more he wasn’t sure how to answer. He settled for, “You’re obviously in trouble.”

  A small shudder seemed to go through her. “Yes. But I am asking about you.”

  Well, she’d gotten right to the point. “Call me a knight in shining armor.”

  He watched her chew that over. “What does that mean?” she asked after several seconds.

  He tipped his head to one side. “It’s a pretty common expression. It means a man who comes to a woman’s rescue. But if you’re from some other country, you might not have heard it.”

  He’d given her an opening, but she didn’t take it. She was hugging her arms across her chest, looking as if she was holding herself together.

  He sighed. “Okay, so you don’t want to tell me about yourself. But you should change your clothes. Maybe shower first. I’ll show you where to find the head.”

  Looking frustrated, she opened and closed one hand. “I do not know that word, either. Well, I know the word, but I thought it was this.” She tapped her fingers against her temple.

  He shrugged. “That’s the good old English language for you. There are all kinds of strange word uses. In this case, the head is the bathroom. That’s what we call it on a boat,” he explained, knowing a lot of people weren’t familiar with the nautical terminology.

  “The bathroom. Okay.” She dragged in a breath and let it out, apparently steadying herself before climbing off the bed.

  He held out the tube of burn salve. “Put more of this on after your shower.”

  “Okay.”

  Stepping into the companionway, he waited for her to follow. As she took a few steps after him, the shrill sound of a smoke alarm pierced the stillness.

  “Damn,” Max muttered. Some fool on a nearby boat was probably grilling steaks in the galley again when he should be using the open deck. “Let’s hope they get the battery out of that damn thing before it splits our eardrums.”

  He had turned to deliver the observation to his guest when he noticed the expression of utter and complete horror on her face.

  What sounded like a curse sprang to her lips…well, not any curse he’d ever heard. Something like “Carp!”

  In the next second, she threw herself to the deck, holding her hands over her head and hiding under them.

  Max stared down at the woman. Though she’d fought him fearlessly in the boat, the piercing wail of a smoke detector had reduced her to a quivering mass of terror.

  He hunkered down beside her, gathering her close, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her gently. He stroked her shoulders and murmured low, reassuring words.

  She might have pulled away, but she stayed where she was, still shivering violently.

  “It’s just a smoke alarm,” he soothed. “On one of the other boats. Not here.”

  “No, it is death,” she choked out. “Death.”

  He pressed one of her ears to his shoulder and covered the other one with his hand, at the same time wedging her face against his chest, waiting out the high-pitched sound. Finally, inevitably, it stopped.

  Still, she trembled against him, and he bent his head, caressing her cheek with his lips, trying to soothe her as best he could.

  “It’s okay. It’s all over.”

  “I…I saw them…all those bodies…lying there. So many of them. Dead. You could tell that it…it was awful. Their hands were clawing at the air. At their faces. The way they died was awful.”

  The enormity of her words made him gasp. “Where were you? In a war?”

  “I do not know!” The admission sounded like a confession of guilt. “But I have to save them.”

  She sounded on the verge of hysterics. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay,” he murmured, trying to reassure her. “There are no bodies here. What you heard was just a smoke alarm on one of the other boats,” he repeated.

  She didn’t seem capable of listening to his explanation. Her fingers dug into his forearms, her grip strong and painful as her gaze locked with his.

  “No. You have to understand. People will die, I have to stop it from happening. I am here to do that.”

  Questions bubbled out of him. “How? Who sent you? What do you have to do?”

  She shook her head and looked away, breathing slowly and evenly. Moments before, he’d seen panic grab her by the throat and choke off her breath. Now he knew she was working to conquer it.

  He saw her subdue the look of terror inch by hard-won inch. By the time she looked back at him, she had composed herself. “A smoke alarm?” she said, and he realized that she’d heard him, after all.

  “Yes. Some jerk is grilling steak in a confined space.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s happened before. One of the marina residents has had a little too much to drink.”

  She nodded, and though he wasn’t sure she completely followed the explanation, she seemed to accept that the emergency was over.

  Max switched back to the previous topic. “Where did you see those bodies? Do you know what happened to them?�
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  She lowered her gaze, pressed her lips together.

  He sighed. “Okay. Go change out of your wet clothing. Maybe you’ll feel like talking when you’re more comfortable,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even.

  Opening the door to the head, he looked around, trying to see the room from the perspective of a visitor who had dropped in from the vicinity of the channel bridge. He instructed her on how to flush a toilet on a boat, then warned her not to use too much water in the shower, because he wasn’t due to fill the water tanks until next week.

  She nodded gravely as he pulled a large towel from a wall compartment and laid it on the sink, along with some essentials he kept around for female guests. “Here’s a brush and a hair dryer. You can plug it in there.” He pointed to an electrical outlet on the wall.

  “Yes. Thank you.” She sounded eager to be alone, so he departed quickly.

  Back in his cabin, he undressed and washed, using the sink in the corner, then pulled out another tropical shirt and navy Bermuda shorts. As he took the wet outfit to the deck and hung the items over the back of a chair, he thought about knocking on the door of the head and asking Annie Oakley to toss out her suit. He wanted to get a look at it. But he figured he’d have a chance to do that later.

  In the galley, he opened the refrigerator and looked inside. After the evening’s activities, he was hungry. Probably his guest was, too. What would she like to eat?

  He laughed softly. He was certainly being accommodating to a woman who’d thrown him in the channel and tried to steal his boat. But there was something about her that tugged at him. She was in a jam, but she insisted on playing by her own rules. Much as he didn’t want to have an emotional response to her, he couldn’t help himself.

  Deliberately he turned his attention to dinner. He was a good cook. When he and Steph had been between assignments, he’d been the one to spend time in the kitchen.

  Despite the challenges of a small galley, he’d duplicated some of the fancy meals he’d eaten in restaurants. The day before he’d made some fettuccine Alfredo.