Native Affairs (29 page)

There was a grinding sound and Jack said, “Damn.”

“What?”

“I think we’re stuck.” There was a whirring noise as he raised the engine and then gunned the motor slightly. Nothing happened. He shut the engine off resignedly.

“Yup,” he said, and yanked on his tie. Marisa watched as he undid the knot and pulled it off and then began to unbutton his shirt.

“What are you doing?” she asked, aghast.

“Got to go in and push her off,” he said. She watched as he stripped off the rest of his clothes in the fading light, tossing them onto the pilot’s seat. She looked away when he got to his pants, glancing back quickly to see him standing barefoot in a pair of black briefs, looking down at the water. Then he flipped a switch on the instrument panel and vaulted over the side in one swift motion. She heard the scattered splash as he hit the surface.

Seconds later the boat began to rock, and then she heard a loud thud. This was followed by an eerie silence. Marisa waited, ticking off the seconds, which lengthened into minutes. She was just about to jump in after him when Jack appeared in an explosion of spray. He swam strongly a few feet and then grabbed the steel ladder at the rear of the boat. He ascended it swiftly and clambered over the back to land beside her, dripping.

Marisa flung her arms around his neck.

“Hey, hey, what’s all this?” he said softly, holding her off to look down into her face. “You’ll ruin that pretty dress.”

“Forget the dress, I thought you were drowned.” She hugged him closer, pressing her face into his damp shoulder.

“Drowned! I was gone two minutes!”

“But I heard this thud, and then you didn’t come back...” She trailed off miserably into silence.

“All right, all right,” he said soothingly, robbing her back with the flat of one large hand. “I was just swimming under the boat to find where it was caught. I switched on the bottom lights so I could see.”

“So are we free?” she inquired finally, lifting her head and looking around warily.

“We are. Can’t you feel the boat drifting?”

“You must be cold,” Marisa said, stepping back, suddenly conscious of the way she was clinging to him.

“Not while you were holding me,” he said quietly.

“Are there any towels?” Marisa asked briskly, eager to change the subject now that her fear had passed.

“In the duffel bag next to you,” he replied, going to the wheel and starting the engine, steering the boat to the center of the passage. Marisa found a thick beach towel and came up behind him to drape it around his neck.

“Thanks.” He looked over his shoulder. “What do you think, am I a dull date?” he asked, grinning.

“Never.”

“For my next trick...” he said threateningly.

“Please, spare me.”

He guided them through the rest of the narrow passage and then back into open water. He switched on the bow and stern lights as full dark fell around them.

“So much for my clever plan to take the scenic route,” he said, shrugging. “We’ll go back the other way, the passage is deeper.”

“Okay.”

“Sorry about scaring you.”

“I’m over it now. Actually, it was kind of... interesting.”

“Now that it’s over?”

“Now that it’s over,” she agreed.

Marisa came up behind him and tucked the towel more closely around him. “Is that better?” she asked.

“Much,” he replied quietly. He turned and faced her. “I guess I should get dressed. They probably won’t let me into the restaurant this way.” He shut off the engine and let the boat drift as Marisa handed him his shirt. He looked down at her as he shrugged into it.

“You were really worried back there?” he asked.

“Yes.”

They were inches apart, seemingly the only two people abroad on the dark water, even though other boats were passing in the background all the time.

“I didn’t bring you there to ravish you among the reeds,” he said softly.

“If you wanted to ravish me you already had a golden opportunity,” she replied.

“But I do,” he said, pulling her into his embrace again. Marisa wrapped her arms around his torso under the open shirt and laid her cheek against his chest.

“I do want you terribly, and that’s been the source of all our conflicts. You know that,” he said.

“I know,” she murmured.

“Because you want me too.”
 

She nodded silently.

“What are we going to do about it?” he asked huskily.

“Go on to dinner?” she said desperately, drawing back reluctantly to look up at him.

He pushed a lock of her wind disordered hair off her forehead. “All right,” he said, and bent swiftly to kiss her cheek. “Let’s get this tug into harbor.” He dressed quickly, draping his tie around his neck, and then started the engine again. A short time later he turned into a canal and pulled up to the dock of a brightly lit restaurant. Tiny Christmas lights were strung along the waterfront and
Leduc’s
was spelled out in neon along the Acadian roof of the building.

Jack tied up the boat and then shrugged into his jacket, glancing at Marisa.

“Feels like something’s missing,” he said.

“Your tie,” she said, gesturing.

“Got a mirror?” he asked, feeling for it around his neck.

Marisa took a compact out of her purse and held it for him as he tied his tie.

“I’m helpless without a mirror,” he said, grimacing. “In school I met guys who could do this blindfolded, but the technique has always eluded me.”

“Can you see?”

“Are you kidding?” he said, tightening the knot. “You could do brain surgery on this dock.” He looked up and squared his shoulders. “Okay?” he said.

Much better than okay, she thought. “Fine,” she said. Marisa glanced into the mirror to make sure her makeup hadn’t been smeared by Jack’s wet shoulder, then replaced the compact in her purse.

Jack helped her out of the boat and they walked hand in hand to the entrance, which was flanked by evergreens bearing more Christmas lights. There was a giant wreath on the door.

“I had almost forgotten about Christmas. It’s easy to do in this weather,” Marisa said. “What date is it?”

“December twenty-fifth.”

She shot him an exasperated glance.

“Three weeks away, Ebenezer,” he added.

“That explains the large decorated tree in the lobby of the hotel,” she said dryly.

“Don’t you spend Christmas with your family?” he asked. “I had pictured a greeting card scene, traditional New England holiday, snow falling and chestnuts roasting on the open fire, kiddies gathered ‘round the hearth...”

“Actually, there isn’t any family, not anymore. My grandfather raised me after my parents died and he passed away three years ago. He left his house to me.”

“So what do you do on holidays?”

“Oh, I have friends,” she said vaguely.

Once they were inside, the captain seated them immediately at a table overlooking the water. The tablecloths were pink linen, the glasses were crystal, and the silverware was heavy and plentiful.

“Have you been here before?” Marisa asked.

“A couple of times with Ben Brady.”

“This looks like Ben’s type of place. Did you dissect me along with the
Salade Nicoise
?” Marisa said archly.

Jack favored her with a secretive smile. “Actually Ben admires your ability very much.”
 

“I’m sure that’s not what he said.”
 

“He said that your legs give you an unfair advantage with male jurors,” Jack replied, grinning wickedly.

Marisa rolled her eyes. “That sounds like Ben.”

“Oh, Ben’s all right. He just resents his male preserve being invaded, especially by a woman who’s as good at his job as he is.”

“Better.”

Jack laughed.

Marisa stared down at her menu, frowning. “What do you recommend?” she asked.

“
Coq au vin, coquilles Saint Jacques, trout almandine, flounder Provencale
…” he recited.

“No chicken nuggets?” she asked.

“Afraid not.”

“That’s all I usually have time for when I’m working.”

“You’re not working now,” Jack said, holding her gaze across the table.

She nodded. “I’ll have the trout, with a salad.”

When the waiter arrived, Jack gave their order and the waiter asked if they wanted to see the wine list.

“Still not drinking?” Jack asked Marisa, with a sidelong glance.

“Don’t start.”

“Never mind,’‘ Jack said to the waiter. “Bring the lady a club soda with lime and me a beer.”

“Do they have beer in this place?” Marisa whispered after the man was gone.

“Imported beer.”

“Of course.”

“French beer.”

“
Ça va
.”

“Deux Magots
, by name.”

“
D’accord
.”

They were both laughing when the waiter brought a “relish tray.” It was a highly polished silver salver with a pile of thin, almost transparent biscuits on one end. There were several depressions lined with cut glass dishes containing various unidentified substances on the other.

“
Mademoiselle
?” the waiter said, offering it.

Marisa pointed.

“
Påté
,” the waiter said.

Marisa looked at Jack. He shrugged. “Goose liver.”
 

Marisa pointed again.
 

“
Escargot
,” the waiter said.
 

“Snails,” Marisa said.
 

“Snails,” Jack agreed.

“And is this caviar?” Marisa asked, indicating another dish.
 

“Beluga,” the waiter said proudly.
 

Marisa waved the tray away. “That assortment was relish?” she said, when the waiter was gone. “You wouldn’t put it on hot dogs.”

“I thought you said your mother was French,” Jack said, chuckling, as he helped himself to a bread stick.
 

“French from Canada, the come-down-from- Quebec-to-work-in-the- Maine-woollen-mill type of French,” Marisa said. “Not this kind.”
 

“I see.”

“You hang out in places like this?” she asked.
 

He shook his head. “Not really. I’ve been to them in New York, with book people sometimes, but not often. I was trying to make you feel comfortable.”
 

They stared at each other.

“Want to head out of here and grab a burger someplace?” he said, smiling.
 

“Good idea.”

He signaled the waiter, told the astonished man that they were going, and left a ten dollar bill for their drinks. When they were back outside in the neon moonlight, their eyes met and they chuckled conspiratorially.

“There’s a sandwich place down the street with sawdust on the floor,” Jack said.

“That sounds about right.”
 

“Do you want to walk?”
 

“Sure. But can the boat stay where it is?”

“It’s a shared marina, the dock serves all these businesses. Unless the maitre d’ runs out and sinks it for spite, it will be okay.”

“We’re a tad overdressed for sandwiches.”

“Let ‘em stare.” Jack offered his hand and Marisa took it. They walked out into the street.

“You’ve managed to get around since you’ve been in Florida,” Marisa commented.

“I always get around,” he replied.

“I guess your work takes you everywhere.”

“Pretty much.”

“Do you like that, traveling all the time?”

He looked over at her. “It has its advantages.”

“Meeting lots of people?”

“Meeting people like you.”

“Women, you mean?”

His gaze narrowed. “Is this a trap, counselor?”

“I just wanted to know, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Something tells me that the experience you’re having with me is not uncommon for you.”

He stopped walking. “The experience I’m having with you?” he said coolly.

“Well, you know...” Marisa began, backpedaling.

“I haven’t had this ‘experience’ before, Marisa,” he said flatly.

“I put it badly.”

“I would say so.”

“I’m not very good at this,” she admitted.

“What?”

“Talking to men.”

“Tell that to Ben Brady. He still bears the scars.”

“You know what I mean. Talking to men in a social situation.”

“You’re all business, eh?” he said.
 

“Usually.”