Lisa Jackson's the Abandoned Box Set (14 page)

“Amen,” Victor said under his breath. He didn't want Kent to know how upset he was, so he held his tongue. But when he'd spoken to Drake, he could barely talk. Claiming that the phones on the
Marnie Lee
were inoperable, Drake had mustered the gall to have the Coast Guard patch a call through to Victor. The conversation had been short but to the point. The
Marnie Lee
was still anchored near the beach at Deception Lodge, but Drake didn't know when they'd put up for repairs. It had been all Victor could do to
respond civilly to Drake, but he'd had no choice. Marnie was with the bastard.

That situation had to change. Especially given Marnie's emotional state right now. The breakup with Kent, this ludicrous bid for independence, and her own ambivalent feelings for Drake all added up to trouble—deep trouble.

Victor sighed. When Kate had told him of the embezzlement, Victor had informed the board members. It had been Marnie, alone, who had tried to convince Victor and the rest of the board that Adam Drake had been innocent. At the time Victor had assumed that she was just being her normal, trusting-the-underdog self. Now he wasn't so sure. Was it possible that his straitlaced daughter could fall for the sensual much-touted charms of Adam Drake?

Disaster! That's what it was. Pure, unadulterated disaster! Victor should never have let her leave the other night! He should have put his foot down.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Kent squirm. Kent's tanned face was unnaturally pale, his usual smile missing. He was agitated and tense and had tried to talk Victor out of flying north with him. “I'll take care of this,” he'd said, when Victor had explained about Drake's phone call. “Marnie's my responsibility.”

“She doesn't think so,” Victor had pointed out, as he'd grabbed his jacket and punched the intercom button to have Kate request a pilot for the chopper. Kate, too, had voiced her concerns, but that was because she'd felt a little like Marnie's mother. Well, she wasn't. And Victor was still president of the corporation, and no one, including Kent Simms, Kate Delany or Adam Drake, for that matter, was going to tell him how to handle his corporation or his daughter. He watched Kent nervously scratch his arm. The boy was sweating bullets over Marnie.

“I just hope she's okay,” Kent said, wiping an unsteady hand across his lips.

“She will be.” Victor's gaze moved to the bubblelike windshield and beyond to the restless green-gray water. “It won't be long.”

“I can't get there fast enough,” Kent said, nervously biting his lip.

Victor silently agreed, but they would just have to hang on for a couple of hours. A quick copter ride to Deer Harbor and a rental car to Deception Lodge. He and Kent would see Marnie by nightfall. And then, by God, she was going to listen to reason!

As for Adam Drake, if he'd so much as laid one finger on Marnie, Victor would personally skin him alive!

* * *

M
ARNIE WAS GETTING
used to Adam's long absences. In the few days they'd been on the island, he'd been out as much as he'd been in the lodge. Both mornings, she'd awoken to find him gone. But their relationship had altered since yesterday, and she didn't know if the changes were for the better or the worse.

For all of her twenty-four years she'd lived her life on a single track, a track carefully laid by her father. And now, in the span of forty-eight hours, she'd jumped rail and headed off in new directions that were both frightening and exhilarating.

She changed clothes and folded the sleeping bags, still smelling of sex, and her mind was filled with blistering memories of passion she'd never known existed, passion hidden deep within her. Blushing at the vivid thoughts, she poured herself a cup of coffee and headed outside, where she balanced one hip on the porch rail, sipped from her cracked cup and waited for Adam to return. The morning was brilliant and warm. A vibrant sun climbed steadily in a clear blue sky, and a breath of sea wind stirred the fir branches and fluttered the new leaves in the oak trees. Birds skimmed the surface of the calm sea. Either Adam
had lied about the storm or the weather service had been badly mistaken. All trace of clouds had disappeared, and the sunshine was warm against her face.

She tucked her chin on her hand. Adam Drake was a complication she hadn't anticipated, a wrinkle in her life she wasn't prepared to deal with. They'd become lovers, but she could hardly call them friends. Their lovemaking had been so explosive, so fierce and savage, that she felt drained afterward, as if she'd been in an emotional battle in which both sides were victorious.

“Silly girl,” she chided herself, and brushed a pebble off the rail and onto the damp earth surrounding the porch. She'd never been a romantic and she wasn't about to start having idle fantasies now. She couldn't stay up here with Adam forever, and yet, as anxious as she'd been to leave Montgomery Inns behind, she now felt ready to settle in for a while, let this love affair run its natural course… But that was impossible. They hadn't talked much, though he had asked her questions about the company, questions she wouldn't answer. He'd brought up the embezzlement, but she wouldn't speculate about what had happened, not with the man her father presumed to be the thief.

She heard the sound of footsteps and trained her eyes on the stone-strewn path, which cut through the thick stands of trees and lush ferns. Within seconds Adam appeared and her stupid heart did a quick little flip at the sight of him. This wasn't supposed to happen, this lust, but she couldn't seem to control her emotions.

“Did you go back to the
Marnie Lee?
” she asked, dusting off the seat of her jeans as he stepped onto the porch and shifted the bag he'd slung over his back from one shoulder to the other.

He sent a quasi-smile her direction. “Yep.”

“And?”

“And she's still above water,” he answered. For a millisecond a hint of reluctance glimmered in his eyes.

“But everything was okay?” Marnie pursued, sensing he was holding back on her, that he was hiding something from her, protecting her from bad news.

“Everything's fine,” was his gruff reply. Shoving open the door, he hauled his bag of supplies into the lobby and dropped the heavy bundle on the floor. Without another word, he walked into the dining room, and Marnie had the odd sensation that something was terribly wrong. Suddenly Adam had grown sullen and distant.

Because of last night? she wondered. Did he think she'd expect some sort of commitment from him now? Nothing could be further from the truth. She was her own woman, able to make decisions regarding her body on her own.

But still his glum mood bothered her. And he was now in the dining room, where their first explosive encounter had occurred. Marnie struggled to keep her breathing even.

Knowing that he was avoiding her, but unable to leave well enough alone, she followed him and found him seated on an old bar stool near the window, the opened bottle of liquor in one hand, a half-full glass in the other.

“Something happened,” she stated, boldly pulling up a stool next to his and straddling it.

He flicked a glance her way, then drained his glass.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, and she noticed that his expression was as hard-edged as ever, any sign of tenderness wiped away.

“For God's sake, Adam,
something's
going on.”

He stared at her a long while, his eyes going over every contour of her face, as if he were memorizing each tiny detail. “I just think it's time to celebrate,” he said, his jaw sliding to the side.

“Celebrate?” she repeated, a kernel of fear settling in her heart. “Celebrate what?”

“The cavalry.”

He was making no sense whatsoever, and yet there was something in the way he considered his words that indicated he wasn't telling her everything—that indeed he did have a secret he hadn't shared with her. “What cavalry?”

His lips quirked. “Oh, you know. Those mighty fighting men from Montgomery Inns.”

Marnie's stomach contracted as he poured a second glass. She shivered from the sudden coolness in the room, as if they'd never shared a second of passion, a drop of love, as if they were, again, mortal enemies. “Someone's coming here? Someone from the company?” she whispered.

“Good old Victor, unless I miss my guess.”

She was suddenly stone-cold. He had to be kidding. “My father's in Seattle.”

“Correction. He
was
in Seattle.”

“He wouldn't come up here.”

“I invited him.”

“You
what?
” she cried, her voice as rough as the whiskey he'd poured into his glass. “But how?”

“Through the Coast Guard.”

“But why?” She thought about their passionate lovemaking. It had all been an act, a way to bend her will to his so that she would trust him, and the minute she let down her guard he had the nerve to contact her father! “You used me!”

For a flickering moment she thought she caught a glimpse of regret in his face, but it was gone so quickly she wondered if she'd imagined a shred of remorse in his hard features. “What have you done, Drake? What did you say to him?”

“Only enough to get him here.”

“You told him about
us?
” she nearly screamed, denying the overpowering urge to lunge at him. “You had no right—”

“I just said I didn't think we'd be back for a while. That's all.”

“But you intimated that there was something going on between us!” she guessed, livid. Who was this…this beast she'd slept with? Warm and loving one minute, treacherous and deceitful the next! “How could you?”

“I didn't say anything about last night,” he shot back.

“But you said enough to get him up here!”

“I might be wrong,” he replied, his gaze cutting. “Maybe Kent will come to the rescue on his white steed. That would be better yet.” He studied his liquor for a second, then took a long swallow. “Nah,” he said finally, “Simms doesn't have the nerve. Not unless he shows up
with
Victor.”

Marnie's entire world tilted. “Oh, God,” she groaned, her future suddenly bleak. Her father would be furious. He'd label her a traitor, brand her as disloyal for openly consorting with the enemy. “You're out of your mind,” she whispered, trying to think straight.

“I think you could use a drink,” he said, and his voice was kinder. He touched her hand, but she drew quickly away.

“Don't!” she snapped. “Don't touch me!”

He started to hand her his drink, but she swatted the glass to the floor, and liquor spattered his jeans and splashed against the window to drizzle down rough pine walls. She wanted to cry but wouldn't let herself, wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart. Slowly inching up her chin to meet his gaze, she demanded, “Why do you hate me? What have I done to you?”

“I don't hate you, Marnie,” he said quietly, and a
fleeting sliver of conscience showed in his expression. “But you're Victor's daughter.”

“And for that you're trying to ruin my life?” Agony mingled with remorse in his expression, before his face turned hard again. He started to pour yet another drink, then, cursing, screwed the cap back onto the bottle. “You
slept
with me, damn it,” she charged, outraged and wounded.

“And you slept with me!”

She opened her mouth, then let it snap closed. She'd been a fool to let him get close enough to hurt her. “Yes, I did. As if that makes what you did all right. Don't turn this argument around!”

In frustration, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. His eyes squeezed closed. “I didn't mean to hurt you,” he said. “I had no intention of—”

“Seducing me?” she cut in, remembering the first time he'd kissed her. “Or forcing me?”

His eyes flew open, and purple color suffused his neck. “I didn't
force
you to do anything you didn't want to!”

That was true enough, she supposed, but she was aching inside from the wounds he'd inflicted. “You didn't hurt me,” she lied, managing to keep her voice steady.

“I hope not, Marnie.” The way he said her name was like a balm. He stared into his glass. “I've done a lot of things I'm not very proud of, some of them happened in the last couple of days, but I've never stolen from your father and I've never forced any woman to sleep with me.”

“So why don't you leave?” she said, hoping to pull together a little of her shredded dignity.

“I thought you could help me find some answers, and if you couldn't, then I knew Victor or Kent could supply them.”

“So you did use me,” she said, her voice tight and weak.

“Yes, damn it!” he exploded, leaping from his bar stool and striding back to the bar where he slammed the bottle on the counter next to the mirror. “I only want my life back, my self-respect!”

“So do I,” she threw back at him. “And I'd like to think that what we shared last night was more than a cheap trick to lure me into a compromising position with my father. What is it you want from me, Drake?” she finally asked, her voice shaking as she climbed off her stool and marched up to him. She stopped when she was mere inches away, the toes of her shoes close to his battered sneakers.

“I don't want anything from you,” he said slowly. “I'm after Simms or whoever the hell set me up. I just thought you could give me some information.”

“About what?” she demanded.

“About who in the corporation would be a suspect.”

“I thought you'd decided Kent was your scapegoat.”

He sent her a look that was absolutely chilling. “I suppose I deserved that,” he admitted with a cold smile. “And I'd put money on Simms being the culprit, but I don't understand his motive. Unless he had debts I don't know about, I don't know why he'd jeopardize having it all—by marrying you—for half a million.”