Three Weeks Last Spring

By Victoria Howard

First Published as a Kindle e-book in 2011

© Copyright 2009 Victoria Howard

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to places, events, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

eBook cover design by Mae Phillips at:

www.Babyfreshdesigns.com

For more information about Victoria Howard’s books, please visit:

www.victoriahoward.co.uk

Dedication

For my Goddaughter Suzanne,

who for one so young,

has faced so much and always with a smile

Acknowledgements

To Daphne Rose, Lesley Dennison, and Dorothy Roughley for their encouragement, support and tolerance, in reading every page as it came off the printer. I couldn’t have done this without you, and I’m honored to call you my friends.

George Bennett, a published author in his own right, deserves my thanks for his guidance, and generosity in showing ‘the new kid on the block’ the way. Without your help, this book would never have been completed.

And finally, to Stephen, my thanks for his patience, support and belief that I really could write this novel.

Chapter One

England April 1999

Skye Dunbar stood by the window and looked out across the meadow, and waited for the transatlantic phone call to connect. It had been a miserable weekend—dull, wet and cold, cold as the heart that beat inside her breast. She glanced at her watch, and calculated the time difference between London and San Francisco.

After a few rings, a sleepy American voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Debbie? It's Skye. Did I wake you?"

"Not really, I was lying here thinking about getting up. Talk to me, you sound anxious."

Skye took a deep breath. "I’ve decided to take a month’s sabbatical. I've contacted American Airlines and have an option on a flight leaving in a week’s time. They're holding it for the next twenty-four hours."

"Why, that's great. You need to get away and you know San Francisco loves you."

"Actually, Debbie, that's why I’m calling, I'm not flying to San Francisco. I'm going to Seattle and—"

"Skye, you can't possibly want to spend a month there, not after all that happened last year."

"I can't explain why, but I need to go back." Skye twisted a strand of her hair between her fingers while she waited for Debbie's response.

"I don't understand, and if you want my advice, you’ll come here and stay with me. After all that lying bastard put you through, I’m amazed that you can even contemplate being within one thousand miles of Washington State. Please, come here and stay with me. We can visit all our old haunts—Fisherman's Wharf, Chinatown. We can go for a drink in the John Barleycorn and listen to that folk singer you liked so much. If that doesn’t appeal, then we could hire a car and drive along the coast. You haven't seen the Marin Headlands or Monterey yet. And if you wait until I get to the office on Monday I'll see if I can beg for some vacation time. Perhaps we could meet somewhere else. How about Vermont?"

"That's a lovely thought, Debbie, and I do want to see Vermont, but in the Fall. Please, save your vacation time. This is just something I have to do on my own. I can't explain why. I go to bed at night and in my dreams I see this figure on a beach. I know it's me. It sounds crazy, I know, and I really don't expect you to understand. Just give me your blessing and tell me that if I need you, you’ll be there for me, okay?"

"I guess you know what is in your heart, although I really do worry about you, Skye. You have to put what happened behind you and move on. So, tell me, just where are you going?"

"I've rented a cabin on the San Juan islands."

"You've done what? No one goes to the San Juan Islands in the middle of April. It’s too cold for one thing and Friday Harbor will be deserted. What will you do there for a whole month on your own?"

"I thought I would catch up on some reading, go walking and generally enjoy the scenery."

"Hmm, I don't know. If you ask me, the last thing you need is to be by yourself. However, now that you've made your mind up I don't suppose there's much I can say to dissuade you. But promise me, if you become too upset or lonely up there, you’ll get on the first available plane to me, here in San Francisco. Deal?"

"Deal. And, Debbie," Skye hesitated before continuing, "thanks for understanding. You’re the best friend anyone could ask for. As soon as I finalize my plans I'll let you know."

Skye replaced the receiver and turned once more to look out of the window. Was she being stupid wanting to go back to the Pacific Northwest? What would it achieve? Would it even put her mind at rest? They were questions she couldn't answer, yet in her heart she knew she was doing the right thing.

She’d met Michael while on a visit to Debbie the year before. He’d knocked her to the ground while roller skating in Golden Gate Park. He’d helped her up, and insisted on buying her a coffee. Coffee had somehow turned into lunch and before they realized it they had spent the whole afternoon together. Skye was due to fly home the following day and Michael insisted she give him her address. She had agreed, but hadn’t really expected him to keep in touch. Six weeks later, returning home after a particularly fractious day at work, she had found his letter waiting on her doormat.

That initial letter, like those that followed, had been read and re-read time and time again, the words feeling as if they were almost engraved on her heart. Finally, in January Michael had written asking her to visit.

Skye quickly pushed the thought of him out of her mind. She had so much to accomplish in the coming days that daydreaming wasn't a luxury she could afford. Her flight confirmed, and the cabin booked, she needed to concentrate on clearing her diary. Then all she had to do was pack a suitcase and get on that plane.

The following week passed in a blur. She arrived at the office early and brought all her files up to date for John, her business partner, to take over in her absence.

They’d met at university shortly after Skye's mother's death, and been good friends ever since. John had been a Graduate Teaching Assistant when Skye had started her degree course. At thirty-nine, he was five years Skye's senior. Six feet tall, and of muscular build, with brown eyes and unruly curly hair, he had a smile that could melt the iciest of hearts.

When Skye graduated, she and John set up business together. Years of long hours and neglected vacations had finally begun to pay off and their services were in demand by major corporations all over the world. But despite the success they experienced, their relationship never passed beyond friendship.

None of Skye’s closest friends knew what she did for a living, apart from the fact that she was a high-level executive, and whatever it was, she didn’t like to talk about it. In another few months, she and John would be making a presentation to Government officials in the hope of securing an exclusive contract—top secret, and most the most demanding of their respective careers.

The day before Skye was due to leave she scheduled a meeting with him.

"Skye, what are you going to do with an entire month's leave? You'll be bored by the end of the second week, and you know how busy things can get here. There is still a lot of testing to do."

"I realize that, but you said you could handle it. The code is complete, so you really don't need me."

"This has to do with what happened between you and that navy guy last year, hasn't it? I wish you'd tell me what brought you scuttling back two weeks earlier than planned. I told you not to trust a guy in uniform and in particular a sailor, but you didn’t listen. What you need is a real man, not one of these military types who still play with the action man they got as a child."

"And just who did you have in mind—yourself?"

John ignored her comment. "You've been like a scared rabbit ever since you returned. You never go out; you're slowly becoming a recluse. You spend every waking hour here at the office. Just what did the bastard do to you?"

"I don't wish to discuss my love life, or lack of one with you. And what if I do spend all my time here? At least the work gets done and we are ahead of schedule on one or two projects."

"Look, love, I know something happened and whatever it was, it must have been something major to have affected you this way. But you have to pick up your social life. You can't continue to bury yourself in your work or it will make you ill. You'll meet someone else and I promise you if he really loves you he won't hurt you. Besides if you’re frightened of being left on the shelf you could always marry me."

"I appreciate your concern, John. But, you and I both know that while our business relationship works, a more personal one wouldn't. You're not the type to settle down, so just leave it there before one of us says something we'll regret. Now about the Jones account—"

"Before we get back to business hear me out. Professionally you're one of the most logical people I know. You've an eidetic memory and know instinctively when a project is about to go pear-shaped. You're a shrewd and ruthless businesswoman when necessary. You've even got a temper to go with the color of your hair, but then nobody's perfect. But having said all that, you're just a big softie at heart." John reached across the table and gave Skye’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

"What I can't understand is why you couldn't see that guy was trouble." Skye’s expression told him he’d over-stepped the mark. "If you must go on this idiotic trip, will you at least let me take you to the airport on Sunday?"

Skye smiled. Only her voice betrayed mild annoyance. "Thank you for that character analysis. Remind me to return the favor one day. I am quite capable of organizing a taxi. But if you feel you must, then I'll accept your offer. Check-in is at noon."

"In that case, I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty."

Sunday dawned warm and sunny, and although early April the daffodils were already in bloom. As she showered and dressed, Skye couldn't help wondering if this was the new beginning she was seeking or whether she was just being plain stupid.

A short time later, she heard John's BMW pull into the drive. She took one last look around the house, picked up her suitcase and opened the door.

"Ready, Sweet Pea?" John asked. "Have you got your tickets, passport and packed everything you need?"

"I think so." Skye snatched her purse off the hall table.

"It’s not too late to change your mind you know. Even Debbie thinks you're slightly crazy for wanting to do this," John said, making one last attempt at getting her to stay.

Skye stopped in her tracks. "You've been talking to Debbie, behind my back?"

"Actually she called me. Now, don't be annoyed with her, she's just concerned about you. Besides, Seattle wasn't exactly the happiest of places for you, now was it?"

"I wish you two would accept that this is something I need to do, instead of hounding me to change my mind. I don't want to argue with you. I have to go through with this. I don't expect you or Debbie to understand. You're both good friends and I know you have my interest at heart, but please allow me to do this and don't tell me I told you so, if I come home in tears."

John put his arms round her diminutive frame and gave her a hug. "I just don't want to see you hurt again, that's all."

"I know. But if you don't put that suitcase in the car, I’ll miss my flight."

They hardly spoke during the journey to the airport, John sensing that Skye needed to be alone with her thoughts. He repeatedly glanced across at the figure beside him. She seemed so small, so vulnerable and yet beneath that very feminine exterior he knew there was a strength and stamina that defied her appearance. Still, she had taken such an emotional beating over the last year that he couldn't help wanting to protect her from more hurt.

Forty minutes later he drove into the car park in front of Terminal four at Heathrow Airport. John collected Skye's luggage from the boot. He walked round to the passenger side of the car and opened the door.

They walked into the terminal where Skye completed the check-in formalities for her flight. John accompanied her as far as Passport Control. He took her into his arms, gave her a hug, and kissed the top of her head.

"Have a good journey, Sweet Pea. Get some rest and lay that ghost. Then come back and be prepared to do some work," he grinned.

Skye wiped away a stray tear at his use of her nickname, and tried hard to smile. "I'll do my best." Without a backward glance, she showed her passport to the official and walked through to departures.

She found a seat close to the gate, and took out her book. But she couldn't concentrate on the words and gave up reading, amusing herself by watching people in the terminal, wondering where they were all going to and the reasons for their journey.

Time passed quickly, and soon her flight was called. She took her seat in business class, and settled down for the long journey, fervently hoping that the seat beside her would remain unoccupied. The last thing she wanted was to spend twelve hours next to someone who wished to talk all the way to Seattle. Luckily, her wish was granted, for within fifteen minutes of boarding, the flight attendant closed the door and the aircraft pushed back from the ramp. As the plane taxied towards the runway, Skye suffered one last moment of self-doubt, but she knew it was too late to turn back. Seconds later, she felt the increased tempo of the Boeing 747's engines as it thundered down the runway. After what seemed like an eternity the huge plane lifted gracefully into the air.

Skye read a little and slept as the plane sped across the Atlantic. She was startled awake when the landing gear hit the ground. She shook her head to regain her focus, and looked out of the window. The terminal buildings looked as grey and uninspiring as they had a year ago.

Having completed the Immigration formalities, the delay at Customs was only mildly annoying. The usual questions and then ‘have a nice day.’ She made her way to the rental car desk and collected the keys to the car she had organized. Within minutes, she was manoeuvering the vehicle out of the parking lot and down the ramp on to Interstate 5.

She didn’t have far to travel to her hotel and soon found herself being shown to a room on the third floor. Among its facilities, the hotel boasted a large swimming pool, an atrium garden filled with wildly colored tropical plants, and an excellent restaurant.

After breakfast, Skye consulted her road map, tracing her route north. The hotel receptionist told her that it would take roughly two hours, depending on traffic, to drive the seventy or so miles to Anacortes.

As she had time to spare, she decided to do a little sight-seeing. She found a place to park close to the ferry terminal on Alaskan Way. Many of the shops were empty, and Skye found she could browse at will. She climbed the Harbor steps, and stopped to admire the fountain, before continuing her walk along First Avenue to Pike Place Market.

She wasn’t due to check into the hotel in Anacortes until early evening, so strolled as far as the Westlake Centre and then caught the monorail to the Space Needle. For once the weather was kind to her, unlike her previous visit, when the sky had clouded over. Today there was hardly a cloud visible, although it was a little on the cool side.

The panoramas from the observation deck were stunning—well worth the white-knuckle ride in the express elevator. Far below she could see a State ferry leaving for one of the islands in Puget Sound. A few small sailing boats where out on Elliot Bay, taking advantage of the fine weather. Skye leaned against the safety rail and looked out across the bay, and remembered the postcard she had received from Michael.

Skye glanced at her watch and was amazed to see that she had been standing daydreaming about what might have been for nearly an hour. Annoyed for having allowed Michael into her thoughts yet again, she rode the elevator down to ground level. She quickened her pace as she walked down Broad Street and on to Alaskan Way, past the Aquarium and Omnidome until she reached Ivar’s restaurant. There she found a table overlooking the bay, and ordered a bowl of clam chowder and a pot of coffee.

After her meal she returned to the car and drove out of the city on Interstate 5, towards Anacortes. According to her guidebook, the bustling port of Anacortes was founded in 1877. Shipyards, seafood processing facilities, and tourism all contributed to the local economy. Spectacular panoramas, combined with exclusive real estate, yacht charters and marina facilities brought residents and visitors alike to the area. Judging by the number of expensive cars in the town, Skye had no doubt the book was correct.

The ferry to Friday Harbor left at eight the following morning, and the travel agent had recommended that Skye stay at the inn close to the terminal. Tired from her drive, she ate a solitary dinner in the hotel's dining room before calling it a night.

A short time later, she slipped between the cool white sheets of the Queen-sized bed and settled against the comforters. Sighing deeply, she wiped a surreptitious tear from her eye.

"Where did we go wrong, Michael? Why couldn't you talk to me? Why did you have to hurt me the way you did?"

Chapter Two

The following morning dawned cold and grey, the cloud level so low, that the majestic mountains of the Pacific northwest were completely hidden from view. Only a few cars waited for the ferry, and those appeared to belong to locals and business people. The tourists would come later, making it essential to book passage and spoiling the tranquillity of the journey.

Skye locked the car and climbed the stairs up to the main deck. The aroma of coffee drew her towards the small cafe. She purchased a beaker of Seattle's Finest, and wandered out to the observation deck.

As the ferry slowly steamed towards the islands, the cloud base gradually lifted, allowing the sun to filter through here and there. Amazed by the panorama unfolding before her eyes, she wondered why anyone would want to lie on a sun-drenched beach all day, when they could have this.

Friday Harbor soon came into view. It was much smaller than Skye had imagined, and she wasn't prepared for the numerous sailboats with their impossibly tall masts, which filled every berth in the marina. The San Juan Islands were a Mecca for tourists, whether they arrived off the ferries from Anacortes or Canada, or sailed their own yachts into the tiny and picturesque harbours that dotted the islands.

Skye found the realtor's office in a side street, just up the road from the ferry terminal. The formalities completed, and with the key in her pocket and a detailed map in her hand, she once more set out.

The roads were deserted, and the only vehicles she passed were trucks carrying fish from the north of the island to the ferry terminal. Skye found driving in this backwater much easier than in Seattle or on the Interstate. Her exit came into view; she moved across the highway, and signaled her turn into the private track.

The cabin was all she had hoped for and more. Constructed purely of timber, it stood some five hundred yards from the shoreline and a mile or so off the highway. A path led down from the cabin to a small wooden dock. Eager to explore, Skye unloaded her shopping, and made herself a quick cup of coffee. The rest of her luggage could wait. She wanted nothing more than to breathe the clean fresh air and savour the view, before unpacking and settling into what would be her home for the next month.

She left her jacket over a kitchen chair, and carried her steaming cup down to the dock and sat down. She slipped off her shoes, and was just about to dip her toes into the deep blue water, when a very masculine voice called out.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. The water is pretty darned cold at this time of year."

Startled, Skye’s heart thumped in her chest. She turned and scanned the trees in an attempt to locate the voice, which emanated from the very depths of the pinewood. She squinted into the early afternoon sunlight. A figure emerged from the trees. He was tall, well over six feet, with raven black hair and the slight shadow of a beard. She couldn't really see his eyes, but had a feeling they would be icy blue and would have that ‘damn you to hell’ expression.

A chill ran down her spine. The cabin was isolated, and even if there were another house within screaming distance, no one would be at home at this time of day. Skye considered her options as the tall figure approached her. If he were to prove difficult she could always push him into the sea, and run back to the safety of the cabin.

The stranger halted a mere foot from her, forcing her to look up.

He grinned. "Sorry to startle you, ma’am, but I wasn't sure if you were planning on taking anything else off besides your shoes."

Skye's mouth opened but she couldn't utter a word.

"Because if you were, you'd only last about thirty minutes before hypothermia set in, and being the gentleman that I am, I would feel duty bound to come right in after you. That would be a shame, because I'd planned on going home and cooking this fish for lunch."

Coughing and spluttering, Skye choked on her coffee. So a fish was more important than saving someone from freezing to death. She inclined her head to examine him more closely and saw that she’d been right about his eyes. Here was a man who didn't suffer fools gladly. Well, ‘Mr. Damn Your Eyes’ could just go back to where he came from and take his fishy friend with him!

"You’ll be relieved to know, that I had no intention of taking anything other than my shoes off. The thought of going for a swim hadn't entered my head. But now you've mentioned it, it's not a bad idea. As for you coming in after me, I'll take a rain check, if you don't mind. Not, I might add, that what I do is any business of yours. I was assured that this was private property. May I ask just what you think you are doing prowling around scaring the hell out of people?"

"My, my, we're mighty touchy. What happened, someone wake you up too early?" The icy blue eyes flashed. There was a trace of laughter in his voice.

Skye felt intimidated by the stranger's height. She stood up in one fluid movement. Not one inch of her five foot five frame gave her anymore confidence. She barely came up to the man's chest—a chest that any woman would feel comfortable snuggled up against. Still feeling at a disadvantage, she took a long look. Close up he didn't appear quite so intimidating—‘impressive’ was a better adjective. In fact, she could think of a number of suitable adjectives to describe him, including handsome, rugged, not to mention offensive and arrogant. This guy would stop traffic in London, but there he would be completely out of place. Here in the rugged mountains of the Pacific Northwest he was totally at ease.

Skye revised her estimate of his height. He was at least six feet four, possibly more. His eyes were deep set and she’d been right about the colour. He had a scar over one eyebrow and a smaller one on his chin. She wondered how he'd acquired them, but had no intention of asking. He was dressed in black jeans, which fit him like a glove, and a navy blue check work shirt worn open at the neck, revealing a tangle of dark hair. He held a fishing rod in one hand, and a fish in the other, and looked for the entire world, as if he had stepped right out of the pages of her guidebook.

Skye stiffened. "Look, Mr? Sorry, but I didn't quite catch your name, and at this particular moment, I don't even care to know what it is. I've had a long journey and I'm tired. As far as I'm concerned you're trespassing. I would very much appreciate it, if you would leave by whatever means you arrived and allow me to finish my coffee before it goes cold."

"The lady obviously has a temper to match the colour of her hair. Now why don't you take a deep breath, calm down and enjoy the day? You're obviously not from around here otherwise you wouldn't jump down a perfectly innocent person's throat, especially one who's trying to give you some friendly advice. I won't disturb you any longer. I'll be on my way, and for future reference, the name is Walker. Jedediah Walker, but everyone just calls me Walker." Abruptly, he turned and strode along the dock. He continued along the pebble beach, in the opposite direction from which he'd come.

Skye smothered a giggle. "I can see why!" And what did he mean, ‘Future reference?’ Hell could freeze over before she would choose to cross his path again.

Her first thought was to call the realtor and complain. They had, after all, promised her complete privacy. She had been most insistent on that when booking the cabin. She didn't want noisy neighbours destroying the peace and tranquility of this wonderful place. No campers, no boaters and especially no screaming children, just her own space in which to do as she pleased for the next month.

But logic kicked in.

The San Juan Islands were well known for attracting fishermen and women. The guy had probably moored his boat somewhere along the coast, and followed the shoreline until he found a suitable place from which to fish. No big deal. However, now that the cabin was occupied, Skye sincerely hoped that he would respect her privacy. Other than the mailman, with the occasional letter from Debbie or John, she didn't wish to see anyone during her stay.

Skye picked up her cup, and shuddered in disgust as the cold liquid hit the back of her throat. She made her way back to her car, retrieved her suitcase from the trunk, and carried it into the cabin.

The cabin was very well equipped with cable TV, VCR, and an impressive stereo system. Skye could live without a television, but music was a different matter and she was glad she had brought a selection of her favorite CDs with her.

In the centre of the main room was a huge stone fireplace, which stretched across one wall. The floors were polished and scattered with native Indian rugs. A large leather sofa sat invitingly in front of the fireplace. Full-length windows opened onto the deck, where the owner had left wicker chairs in which visitors could sit and admire the wonderful scenery.

Skye carried her suitcase into the bedroom and started to unpack. Not only was there a king-size bed, and an open fireplace, but the room also had full-length windows that opened out on to the deck. A hand stitched quilt with matching comforters covered the bed. She ran her fingertips over it and marveled at the hours of work involved to complete it.

Once settled she would call Debbie to let her know she had survived the journey. By that time, it would be getting close to midnight in London, a perfect time to call John, at least he wouldn't be able to trace her call. That was the disadvantage of working at the cutting edge of technology and having a business partner who was her self-appointed ‘big brother.’ Without wasting anymore time, she set off to explore the cove and surrounding woods.

***

After terminating his conversation with the woman, Walker made his way through the trees to the lodge. He hadn't expected the cabin to be occupied so soon, and was surprised when he saw the small, solitary figure on the dock. He vaguely remembered receiving a letter from the realtor advising him that the cabin had been let, but for some reason thought the tenant was male. If he’d known it was a woman, he would have told the realtor not to accept the booking.

The aroma of coffee had alerted him to someone's presence, reminding him how long it was since he had eaten breakfast. Screened by the treeline, he watched the woman who was dressed in a pair of black slacks and a baggy red sweater, stroll down to the dock. He had the feeling the sweater hid a soft and curvaceous body—the sort of body a man could bury himself in, until he forgot who he was. The gentle breeze lifted her thick, shoulder length auburn hair, reminding him of the colour of leaves in fall. He imagined it would be soft and silky to the touch, and appeared just long enough for a man to tangle his fingers in. Unable to tear his gaze away he had continued to watch as she sat down at the end of the dock and took off her shoes. She appeared so sad, and for one agonizing moment he feared that she might do more than just dangle her pretty toes in the ice-cold water.

Damn it, he didn't need this sort of distraction now. He knew someone was using the nearby cove at night, and now it would be doubly difficult to prove it. He just hoped that he hadn't placed this unwitting stranger in any danger. It was just one more thing on his list to worry about. His first priority was to discover who was poisoning the fish around the island. The second was to discover who was hacking into his computer files. He stood his fishing rod against the wall of the lodge and unlocked the door.

He went straight to the laboratory he had set up in one of the bedrooms and proceeded to expertly dissect the fish. Walker was meticulous in his sampling, and in the preparation of the slides for the microscope. Only when he was satisfied he had everything he needed, did he discard the carcass. It would have to be burnt like the rest. Pity, it was a magnificent salmon, but if he didn't find out what was causing fish to wash up dead along the shoreline, it might not just be the salmon lying on a cold slab.

Four hours later, his suspicions were confirmed. The fish contained a mixture of toxic chemicals, which had it been eaten, would have put someone in hospital. He strode into his study, picked up the phone, and called his friend at the Department of Fish and Wildlife on his direct number.

"McCabe."

"It's Walker."

"I can tell from your voice that I'm not going to like this."

"Five gets you ten on this one. The latest batch of samples show that the fish are contaminated with lead, mercury, cyanide and some other substances I've been unable to identify. I'll have to send the samples into the main lab in Seattle to get a more detailed analysis. The results should be back in three or four days, and it wouldn't surprise me if they showed large quantities of PCBs."

The voice at the other end of the line let out a stream of expletives. "For once, can't you give me some good news?"

"Joe, it gets worse. Fish have started washing up along the shore in front of the lodge. This has gotten personal. I want to nail whoever's dumping this stuff. Sooner or later someone is going to get sick, real sick. What's new your end? Have the police come up with any leads yet? Someone somewhere must know where this stuff is coming from."

"It could be any of five plants in the State. But, and this is unconfirmed, it maybe coming from the plant belonging to the waste management consortium that applied to build a new facility at Anacortes a while back."

Walker frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. "But they were refused consent. I know, I sat on the committee. In fact, I made the recommendation that their application be refused."

"I realize that. But from what I understand, the present facility is unable to cope with demand. The police approached some of the employees, but no one would talk. I'm just as concerned and frustrated as you are. But we need concrete evidence before we can move on this, and so far no one has found any."

"So what do we do? Wait until someone ends up in hospital or worse, on the cold slab in the morgue? Is that what you're telling me?"

"I'm as annoyed as you are, Walker. But I have to do things by the book, you know that."

"I guess so, but it doesn’t make it any easier." Walker slammed the phone down.

After graduating from university as a marine biologist and biochemist, Walker had worked for the State Department. His main area of expertise was the environment, and the effects mankind had on diminishing fish stocks. After years of dividing his time between sitting behind a desk and collecting water samples, he had set up his own company, Walker Environmental Research. Now after ten years of hard work, his company was well respected throughout the world. There was hardly a government he hadn't given advice to, or major ecological disaster he hadn't help investigate.

Several months earlier, his old university friend, Joe McCabe, had contacted him. Joe worked for the Washington State Department of Fish and Wildlife. Joe was concerned about the increasing reports of dead salmon being washed up around the coast of Puget Sound, and in particular the San Juan Islands, and had asked Walker's company to investigate.

At first, they thought the problem was caused by the large oil tankers plying their way between Alaska, Canada and the rest of the USA. Many of the ships’ captains were not above flushing their tanks before heading out into open waters. But a detailed analysis of the dead fish had shown they were contaminated with a lethal cocktail of chemicals, and not crude oil. But, there was no consistency. Fish would wash up one week on the north coast of one island, and the next they'd wash up on the west coast of another. The changing tides couldn't account for such discrepancies, which meant only one thing—someone was deliberately dumping toxic waste. Two weeks ago carcasses had appeared on Walker's land, and last week his computer had been hacked into for the first time. Suddenly the fight had become personal.

Walker had purchased the lodge and twenty-five acres of prime waterfront just over five years ago. It was a place where he returned to re-charge his batteries after investigating some of man's worst atrocities against nature. The lodge was far too big for him, and normally he stayed at the cabin. But this year he had decided to undertake some renovations. Over the years he had come to love the place and now someone was trying to ruin it, but not if he could stop them first.

***

The early spring sun dipped towards the horizon as Skye returned to the cabin, having spent two hours wandering along the trails. Apart from breakfast and the odd cup of coffee she had eaten nothing all day. No wonder her stomach rumbled. She carried her supper plate and glass of wine onto the deck to watch the sunset.

When she finished eating, she dialled Debbie’s number, and wondered where the tall dark stranger had disappeared to, for she had not seen any other houses on her walk.

"Hi, remember me, that crazy Englishwoman staying in the San Juans?"

"You sure timed that right. I've just walked through the door. Obviously you got to Seattle in one piece. Did you manage the drive okay?"

"I took time to reacquaint myself with the Market and the Space Needle while in Seattle. And despite having to drive on the wrong side of the road, the journey to Anacortes was fine."

Debbie laughed. "Okay, so you're a better driver than me, but then that's because I don't drive very often—"

"Just often enough to remember how!" they said in unison and then dissolved into fits of laughter at their private joke.

"No one in San Francisco with any sense owns a car."

"Admit it," said Skye, "I am just more coordinated than you when it comes to things mechanical."

Debbie laughed again. "How’s the cabin? Let me guess, you've paid nearly $2,000 for a wood shack, with no hot or cold running water, just an open fire to cook on and the bathroom's a hut at the end of the garden."

Skye smiled. Debbie could always make her laugh. "It’s beautiful, and very well equipped. It stands in two acres of woodland, and has a view to die for."

"Met any of the locals yet?"

"Only one and he was damned rude too. ‘Mr. Damn Your Eyes’ appeared out of nowhere and then promptly gave me a lecture on how cold the water was at this time of year."

"My, he certainly got your hackles up. What did he look like?"

Skye closed her eyes and described the stranger. "He’s about six feet four, dark hair, unshaven, and wearing a real nasty expression."

"He sounds interesting. Planning on seeing him again?"

"Not if I can avoid the bastard. Besides, he's got a fishy friend to keep him company on long lonely nights, while I have—"

"While you have a computer and your music, I know. I'm not sure that either is a substitute for a real man and from the description of…what did you call him? Oh yeah, ‘Mr. Damn Your Eyes,’ he could be just that. Perhaps I should try and get up for a long weekend and look him over for you."

"Debbie, the last thing I want is an affair. You of all people know that."

"Just teasing. Apart from your encounter with the natives, have you settled in?"

"Yes. I'll call you again in a few days, okay?"

"Sure, speak to you soon. Oh, and Skye—"

"Yes?"

"Behave yourself with the tall hairy guy," Debbie said. She broke the connection before Skye could utter a suitable response.

Trust Debbie, to have the last word. Ever since Skye had complied with Debbie's quest to have her photograph taken with a ‘real Highlander’ resplendent in full Highland dress, with kilt, skean dhu, and sporran, they'd played this game. When Skye visited Debbie in San Francisco, she responded by getting Skye's photograph taken with every cop they encountered. Now, regardless of which city in the world they met, they each tried to get the other photographed with the biggest and ugliest of the locals.

Skye calculated it was a little after midnight in London, so her call to John ran into his voicemail. She assured him she had arrived safely and all was well, then cut the connection. From now on, if she needed to contact him, she would use the payphone in Friday Harbor. She knew John would be too eager to use his new software to its full potential in an attempt to find out exactly where she was staying.

Chapter Three

For the first time in days Skye felt truly relaxed. All in all, she'd been travelling for the best part of forty-eight hours and now, with the firelight flickering around the room and the mellow sound of the saxophone on the CD player, her thoughts drifted back to Michael.

His letter inviting her to visit arrived just after Christmas. A whole month in his company was more than she had ever hoped for. They’d continued to write and talk on the phone until finally the day arrived for them to meet.

From the moment she had been assigned her seat in first class, the flight had been fantastic. She recalled being nervous, as the plane touched down at SeaTac Airport. The arrival hall was relatively empty with only one or two people waiting to meet the arriving passengers. She’d anxiously scanned the faces for Michael and was a little worried when he didn't appear to be there, but as she walked towards baggage reclaim, he came running briskly off the escalator. Before she knew what was happening, he had pulled her into his arms and spun her round and round, and covered her face in soft kisses.

They had collected her luggage and walked out to the car. Michael kept his arm around her all the time, holding her close. The smiles he gave her set her pulse racing. It wasn't until they reached the car, that he drew her into his arms once more. One hand traced the line of her cheek while the other caressed her back. He’d lowered his head to hers and kissed her.

Skye would remember that first true kiss in the weeks to come. It had been soft, and sensuous. Michael's tongue gently probed until she opened her mouth to him, and allowed the kiss to deepen. At that moment she knew she wanted him with every fibre of her being.

The drive from the airport to Seattle had taken just over an hour, the traffic on that late sunny Sunday afternoon in May being relatively light. They'd parked, and then walked along the waterfront before finding somewhere to eat. Skye had no recollection of the meal. The only images that filled her mind were those of sitting opposite Michael, holding his hand now and again and watching his face intently. She had memorized each line, each expression, the way one eyebrow raised at a question, and the way his face lit up when he smiled, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners.

Michael had reserved a suite in one of the large hotels near the naval base. That way he would be close to the ship should he be required onboard. His gaze had never left hers as he told her that as much as he wanted to lie with her in his arms, he also didn't want her to feel under any pressure. How, if it didn't feel right for her, he would understand and book her into another room. Skye had blushed at his hesitant words, and had reached across the table to take both his hands in hers. With faltering words, she softly said that she wanted nothing more than to be completely loved by him.

They left the restaurant arm in arm, and walked back to the car to join the queue for the ferry. While most passengers left their vehicles on the car deck and climbed the stairs to the lounge, Michael and Skye had sat in the circle of each other's arms, neither of them really able to believe that finally being together could feel so good, so right.

That first night, Michael made love to her with such tenderness that Skye thought her heart would burst. He'd whispered his thoughts to her, igniting the fire inside her. With one smouldering look Michael could make her body ache for the touch of his.

The first two weeks passed in a blur. They spent the days exploring the Kitsap Peninsula and the nights making love. Once or twice, Michael was recalled to the ship, leaving Skye to explore on her own. On those occasions, she caught the ferry to Seattle or Port Orchard and visited the usual tourist venues—Pioneer Square, Pike Place Market, and the Space Needle. While she'd hoped these where places they would have explored together, she understood that the Navy had first call on his time.

Michael also showed her around the ‘mothballed fleet’, the resting ground of some of the US Navy's most famous battleships and destroyers. He painstakingly explained the names of the various parts of the ship and how a sailor's bunk was called a ‘rack.’ Skye found it hard to comprehend how five thousand men and women could cram together on an aircraft carrier and call it ‘home’ for six months. Her admiration for Michael, and what he did for his country, grew by the hour. Although he never introduced her to his fellow officers, Skye hadn't thought it particularly strange, at least not at the time. It was only much later, when the sorry category of events finally unfolded, that she understood why.

Skye awoke from the dream with a start. The cabin was completely dark save for the glow of the embers from the dying fire. Brushing her hair from her face, she felt tears. Crying again. Would she never learn to forget him? Would Michael always be in her thoughts, her dreams?

Blindly, she searched for the switch for the lamp on the table behind the sofa. She turned it on, and blinked frantically as the room was suddenly bathed in light. Looking around the unfamiliar room, she couldn't see anything that would have wakened her, other than the final log disintegrating into ashes in the grate.

One window was slightly ajar, but not enough to cause anything to fall. She crossed the room and closed it, then reached to draw the drapes. She had the strange feeling that she was being watched. Don't be stupid and paranoid, you're a country girl at heart, remember? It's probably just the breeze in the trees, or maybe a neighborhood cat out on a nightly prowl. She walked over to the fire and placed the safety guard in front of it, making it safe for the night.

***

From his hiding place deep within the wood, Walker heard the sound of an engine backfiring. By the time he reached the track, the vehicle responsible for the noise had vanished into the black of the night. The woman in the cabin had heard it too, for one moment the cabin was in darkness and then suddenly it was a blaze of light. Walker watched the slim figure come to the window and look out before closing the drapes. He stepped back into the shadows afforded by the trees, his ears straining for the slightest sound. An owl hooted nearby, no doubt in protest at having its nightly hunting raid disrupted.

Somewhere out on the water he could hear the throb of a ship's engine as it made its way through the strait. He had heard the same vessel earlier that evening as it rounded the headland a few miles south of where he now stood. But the ship hadn't been what caught his attention. It had been the sound of a heavy vehicle moving down the track towards the cabin and beach. If he'd left the lodge earlier and hidden in the woods, he would have seen the vehicle and more importantly, he would have known why it was using the track at this time of night.

A light in the cabin bedroom flicked on, then off. His tenant was preparing to go to bed. Walker decided to give it another thirty minutes before he trekked down to the shore to see if the vehicle had left any tracks. He was quite sure that whoever was using the cove would leave little or no trace of their visit. He hoped for once he was wrong, and that his tenant had spooked whoever it was, just as she had spooked him earlier that day. Sufficient perhaps to make them find alternative access to the shore, but he rather doubted it. The bastards didn't have any thoughts other than for the large bundle of untraceable bills, which undoubtedly would be pressed into their eager grubby hands.

Two hours later, after a fruitless and frustrating search, Walker had found nothing. Whoever had used the track had been careful to cover their movements. Apart from a few broken twigs and the odd footprint, there was little to show that a vehicle, other than his tenant's rental car, had driven down the track. Yet Walker was sure that someone was using the dock to offload cargo onto a small boat. He just needed one breakthrough—something that would help him to identify either the vehicle or the goods being transported. And if those goods turned out to be the chemicals he’d found in the fish, then he could trace them back to the plant that produced them.

He shivered slightly in the cool breeze as he returned to the lodge. Not only was he tired and frustrated by this latest case, but he was also angry with himself for renting out the cabin. It was too late now to change things. He’d just have to work round the situation. He'd been in tighter spots than this over the years, so why was this beginning to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up? Part of it, he knew, was the feeling that this latest case of illegal dumping was personal—someone getting back at him. That didn't surprise him. He had trodden on enough toes over the years, so he guessed it was payback time. But the question was who and why?

The other part of the problem was the woman, that small vulnerable figure who brought out the protector in him, even if she did have the temper of a wildcat. He didn't know her, and had no particular wish to. He wasn't one for short vacation affairs, the love them and leave them attitude of the beach lothario was definitely not his style, even if he had the time or inclination. Besides, he preferred his companions to be less fiery and opinionated, although he had to admit that she did have a certain appeal.

He shook his head in disgust at the direction his thoughts were headed. He let himself into the lodge, and flicked on the percolator in the kitchen on his way to the study. He sat down at his desk and waited for his computer to boot up. Although it was after midnight he wasn't ready to sleep. He intended making a list of every company, corporation and individual who might be interested in nailing his hide to the mast for closing down their operations, even for one day.

While his PC hummed and whirred into life, Walker poured himself a mug of black coffee. He had a feeling he would need it, and a stronger feeling that the list he was about to make was going to be long, very long. Twenty minutes later, he took a swallow of his now-cold coffee and reviewed the list. There were seven names on it.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and tried to cast his mind back two years, to a particularly difficult and unpleasant case. He was working in South America at the time, he recalled. But was sure the corporation involved was headquartered here in America. The name was in the far recesses of his mind, if only he could remember what it was. He rubbed his temples to relieve the stress. There was nothing for it; he would have to access his files on the main computer in the company office in Seattle.

Walker pointed his mouse at an icon on the screen and opened up his Internet software. The modem clicked and hummed as the software dialled into the server. His password accepted, he accessed his firm's vast database. Finally, he located the files he wanted and started to download them only for the screen to become corrupted. Damn it, not again. He quickly tore phone line out of his laptop.

The latest anti-virus software had been installed on his machine only a few weeks earlier and the passwords changed. The mainframe and server were also protected, yet someone had managed to hack into the system once more. Only two people had the access codes to the main database, his IT specialist and himself. Everyone else within company had limited access. He hoped that whatever had corrupted his screen hadn't destroyed any other files.

Locating and stopping the hacker was beyond his capabilities, and he suspected the police would be no help either. He needed to call in a specialist firm, but who could he trust? Perhaps Joe would have a contact he could use. If not, then it was time to call in a few overdue favours. He checked his watch, and decided he could afford himself the luxury of a few hours sleep before contacting his friend.

After a long hot shower and breakfast the next morning, Walker put through his call to Joe.

"Hey, McCabe?"

"I knew it had to be you, Walker. Only you could call me at this ungodly hour. Okay, spill—more bad news I assume?"

"Yeah, someone was using the cove again last night, only I missed them. If—"

"What d’you mean you missed them? I thought you were out there all hours, playing the Navy SEAL."

"I was, but I got distracted. I forgot I’d let the cabin, and got the surprise of my life when I saw my new tenant sitting on the dock dangling her feet in the water."

"Her? You're telling me you're seeing water nymphs now, is that it? You're hallucinating. When was the last time you slept?"

"Joe, I’m serious. My tenant arrived yesterday. I met her on my way back to the lodge. When I was camped out in the woods last night, I heard a truck and went to investigate. But whoever it was also disturbed my tenant's beauty sleep, so I had to wait until I could get a chance to look around."

"She’s not a water nymph, but Sleeping Beauty. Make your mind up; this isn’t a fairy tale, you know. Why don’t you admit you fell asleep on the job?"

"Okay, buddy, have it your way. Something else happened last night which makes me think this is aimed right at me."

"Go on."

"Let's face it, over the last ten years I’ve trodden on enough toes and shut down enough corporations to upset a few folks. I sat down and made a list of who would want to see Walker Environmental Research and me, go to the wall. So far there are seven names on the list. As soon as I tried to download the relevant information on each of them from my company's database, my PC crashed."

"Nothing unusual in that my friend, mine does it all the time."

"Yeah, but you’re just plain ham fisted and computer illiterate."

"Give me a tablet of stone and a chisel any time. So, what makes this unusual?"

"Joe, I spent a small fortune installing the latest security and anti-virus software. I can't be sure until I get into the office later today, but I’m certain someone has hacked into the mainframe and not for the first time either. I just hope they haven't deleted any files, or corrupted them in some way. This is way out of my area of expertise. I'll have to talk to someone who can give me an insight into exactly what damage hackers can do and what I can do about it. Not to mention whether it’s possible to trace them, although I don't know if that's even theoretically possible. Do you know of anyone who might be able to help me?"

"Quit worrying. It was probably some high school kid out for kicks. But if it will make you any happier, I'll ask around. But we're talking about cutting edge technology and I’m not even sure the FBI has the ability to do what you're asking. But then what would I know? I'm only a humble servant of the State Department. When do you want this by?"

"Yesterday will do just fine."

"I thought so. Give me a few hours and I'll see what I can do. But no promises mind. How do I reach you?"

"Try my cell phone or the office, later. I’m planning on taking the seaplane over to Seattle and should be at my desk within a couple of hours."

Walker hung up. He grabbed his overnight bag and laptop, and strode out of the cabin towards the dock and his waiting seaplane. He seriously questioned whether he was alert enough to fly. These days he functioned on a mixture of pure adrenalin and caffeine. A few hours sleep in a soft bed wouldn't go amiss, he thought wryly, as he eased his tall frame into the confined space of the cockpit.

Less than fifty minutes later, he arrived at his office. Although modest in size, it offered commanding views of the Seattle waterfront. An hour after sitting down at his desk the IT technician knocked at his door.

"I hope you've got good news for me, Johnson."

"Sorry, boss, but your laptop is toast—burnt toast, if you want to get technical. In all my years as an IT engineer, I’ve never seen anything like this. I can't tell whether you downloaded a virus or whether you tried to fry the circuits. Either way, the best place for this is the trash."

"You can't salvage anything? What about the mainframe?"

"Nope, can't save anything on your hard drive. As for the mainframe, we certainly have problems, although to what extent I'm not sure. Depends on what you try and access. I've run every check I can, including changing the anti-virus software, access passwords and security levels. I just don't know what's causing these glitches. On the surface it looks like a virus, but it doesn't behave like any virus I’ve ever seen. We need specialist help here and I’ve absolutely no idea who to call."

"All right, Johnson, it's not your fault. I have a few calls out myself. Let's just wait and see what develops. In the meantime, no one—and I mean no one—is to have access to the system except me, is that understood? I don't care if the secretaries have to go back to using typewriters. No one accesses the database until further notice. Is that clear? Oh, and while I think on, better get someone in to check the phone lines again. If they can hack into the computers, you can be sure they can bug the phones too."

"I'm on it."

The technician closed the door as the phone on Walker's desk rang.

"It's Joe," said the caller. "My contacts inform me there are a number of people doing research into tracing computer hackers. But, the guy leading the field is based in England."

"Great, just what I need to hear. We have no one in the States who can handle this? What about the universities, the FBI, the CIA, or even the NSA?"

"Not that my source knows of and I can only pass on what I've been told."

"What’s this genius's name and how do I contact him?"

"The guy you want is called Ridge. Dr. Ridge."

"Dr. Ridge? That’s it? No first name?"

"Sorry, no. My source informs me that he and his partner recently finished developing some software that can trace every PC back to its owner each time they log on to the Internet, visit a web site or attempt to hack into another computer, not to mention trace every so-called anonymous e-mail sent."

"Wonderful. A way to track all the junk e-mail I receive each day."

"I wouldn't be so sceptical if I were you, Walker. I understand this guy's company is negotiating a contract with the British Government and their armed forces. Rumor has it the Pentagon is interested too."

"Is this information one hundred and ten percent reliable? It seems a little farfetched to me."

"Yeah, it is. The Pentagon offered him a job a few years back, but he declined. Now, do you want those contact details or not?"

Walker thought hard for a moment. "Why don't I spring you lunch at Ivar’s, then you can give them to me in person?"

"Sure. One-thirty suit you?"

"See you then."

Of all the countries, Walker figured that the good ole US of A would have some geek able to solve his problem. He hoped to keep things close to home. But if Joe's information was correct, and he had no reason to doubt it, then it looked very much as if he would be placing a transatlantic call to one Dr. Ridge, in the hope that he could help him discover who was making his life hell.

Walker left his office and walked the short distance down to Alaskan Way. He entered Ivar’s, and found a seat at a corner booth. The place was buzzing as usual. Only this early in the year it was mainly office workers who filled the tables. In another month or so it would be crowded with tourists. Joe joined him at the table.

They placed their order with the friendly waitress and after their meal and drinks had arrived Joe commented, "We haven't had lunch in a while."

"I guess not. Either I'm out of the country or we're both too busy trying to keep the paperwork down. Mind you, with all this going on, I can't say I've got much of an appetite," Walker said, pushing the food around on his plate.

"What's the idea of meeting here? I could have given you the details over the phone."

"Let's just say that I don't trust e-mail, computers in general or telephones at the moment."

Joe laughed. "Hey, if I didn't know you better, I'd think you were developing some kind of a complex about all this."

"Paranoia I can deal with, sabotage is a different matter, especially when it involves my business. Tell me, how do I get hold of this guy Ridge?" Walker picked up his beer and took a long swallow.

"You’ll have to do some research. The last my contact heard, Ridge had this idea for this software when undertaking postgraduate research at Oxford University, but never took it any further. It was only when he and another computer geek set up a business together, that he started to develop it."

"Interesting, but how do I contact him?"

"My contact can't remember the exact name of the outfit he owns—Ridge and Something or Something and Ridge, which isn't much of a lead, I know. I guess you could contact Oxford. They might have a handle on where he is. Anyway he's probably listed in the phone directory." Joe passed an envelope across the table. "This is all the information I have. It should be enough to help you locate him."

Walker slid it into his jacket pocket. "Thanks. I really appreciate this. I guess I'll owe you big time if this pans out."

"Nope, I want to nail those bastards as much as you do. I don't like illegal dumping, and especially if it’s on my patch. Just be careful out there. I don't want to lose the best environmental scientist I know, nor do I want to lose my best friend. So call out the tough guys if things turn really nasty, okay?"

"Joe, I hate to tell you, but things have already turned nasty. I’ve got no idea who I'm up against. But whoever it is, I must have them seriously worried. They've obviously got ample resources to bribe folks do to their dirty work, and if they can discredit my company along the way, that's even better. But, Joe Public is going to get hurt real soon and it's my intention to prevent that happening any way I can. Once I have proof of who is dumping this stuff and targeting me, I'll sing long and hard for justice."

Walker left his friend, but didn't return directly to his office. He set off at a brisk pace to walk the short distance to Pioneer Square. He turned the collar of his coat up against the cool April breeze coming off Puget Sound. On entering a small Internet café, he ordered a cup of strong black coffee, and paid the small fee to use one of the computers. He sat down at an empty desk. A few moments later, he'd set up an e-mail address with one of the many web-based services.

He called up one of the main search engines and looked for any reference to a Dr. Ridge. He checked all the universities in case Ridge was affiliated with any, as well as Oxford University's web site, and drew a blank. Dr. Ridge may have done postgraduate research, but he had broken all ties with his former colleagues. In desperation, he finally e-mailed the bursar's office at the university, saying that he was an old friend of Dr. Ridge and did they have a forwarding address for him. He didn't expect an immediate response, given the time difference between the west coast USA and England, so looked in various on-line newspapers and journals to see if Ridge had written any articles on his new software. As expected, he drew a blank. His coffee cold, he finally logged out and deleted all trace of the pages he had visited from the computer. On his way back to the office he stopped and purchased a new state of art laptop.

There were no new developments since his lunch with Joe, and although he planned to return to the island that evening, he decided to tackle some of the mounting paperwork on his desk. Then he would try to get some sleep. Over the last few days he'd had very little, spending most of the hours between night and day watching the cove. Besides, he wanted to check his new e-mail box on more time before he left for the island.

His apartment overlooked Elliot Bay. Devoid of furniture and the items he treasured so much in the lodge and cabin, the apartment felt cold and uninviting. He hardly knew why he kept it these days. In the past, he had stayed there when in town. It was useful for entertaining, and the view over the Bay, never failed to impress the occasional date he had. But since his last failed relationship he hadn't used it. With property prices high, it would be a good time to sell. He could always use the executive suite at the office in future—that's if he had a future.

Chapter Four

The sound of bird song roused Skye from her dream. Glancing at the clock by the side of the bed, she was surprised to see that it had gone ten. Once again, she had slept well. After a quick shower and breakfast, she set off to explore more of the island, with the intention of walking along the shore until either rain or tiredness drove her back.

The coastline consisted mainly of rocky inlets with small pebble beaches. It wasn't exactly easy walking—the land rose steeply from the water's edge in places, but after many a night working overtime and hours sat in a plane, she relished the prospect of a long exhilarating walk. Thirty minutes or so later, she came across a path leading inland just as the first drops of rain began to fall. She turned and followed it hoping that it would take her back to the cabin.

The path was badly overgrown in places, and more than one thorny branch snatched at her trousers. After pushing her way through a particularly dense patch of lush undergrowth, it suddenly opened out and there, about one hundred yards away, stood the most beautiful lodge she had ever seen. Built like the cabin of pine log and pole, it was long and low, and framed with windows stretching from floor to roof. It was completely surrounded by a deck and stood in its own magnificent tree-lined grounds. The main rooms looked out over a small bay, toward the mainland and the snow-capped mountains in the distance.

The sound of hammering drifted over the cool morning air. A truck was parked outside, which bore the name and telephone number of a contractor. Obviously, the place was being renovated, as scaffolding obscured one wall, and it didn't appear as if anyone was living there. Not wishing to trespass further, Skye retraced her steps. By the time she had made her way through the trees to the water's edge, the rain was coming down harder.

As she hurried back to the cabin, she pulled the hood of her jacket over her damp hair and stuffed her hands deep into the pockets against the chill of the rain. The path was narrow, so she concentrated on watching where she placed her feet in order to avoid tripping over exposed tree roots. Before she realized it she walked slap bang into another human being—a very solid human being at that. A pair of boots and a pair of very muscular legs clad in damp jeans barred her way. She gasped, pushed her hood back and wiped the strands of wet hair away from her eyes.

"You!"

"Yes, me," replied Walker. "My, but aren't these trails becoming busier than a downtown sidewalk?" he muttered under his breath. He raised a dark eyebrow. "Expecting to meet ‘Goldilocks and the three bears,’ or did you have someone else in mind?"

"I think you mean ‘The Big Bad Wolf?’" Skye retorted angrily. "Are all American men as sarcastic as you?"

"I wouldn't know. Are all British women as adept as you at turning up at the wrong time?" he replied.

Walker's penetrating gaze made her feel distinctly uneasy. She straightened her shoulders.

"I wouldn't know either. For the record, I'm not meeting anyone. And even if I were, it is none of your business. Perhaps I should be the one asking the questions. As I've told you before, I was led to believe this is private property and yet every time I step out the door, you're there. You leave me no choice but to report this matter to the realtor and the police."

Walker watched the anger in her face with slight amusement. "Sorry, lady, but you're the one trespassing this time, not me. So before you start playing the indignant tourist, you'd better get your facts straight."

"Now look, here Mr.—"

"No, lady, you listen," Walker butted in. "I have every right to be on this land, I know the owner. Calling the realtor and the sheriff will only make you look a fool. I suggest you go back to the cabin, enjoy your little vacation, and stop wandering through these woods. And one more thing; keep the hell out of my way as well. Otherwise, I’ll be the one making the calls."

For a full twenty seconds, Skye was speechless. By the time she had gathered her thoughts sufficiently to give Walker a piece of her mind, he'd brushed past her and was rapidly making his way along the overgrown trail. Skye was so annoyed she felt like throwing something. No one, but no one spoke to her in that tone of voice. And no matter what he said she didn't believe it. She'd place that call to the realtor as soon as she returned to the cabin.

When it began to rain in earnest, she turned and jogged back towards the cabin. The rain became almost horizontal at times, stinging her face and eyes, sending an icy chill through her body. By the time she unlocked the door she was soaked to the skin, shivering and as mad as Hell…no, hell itself couldn't possibly ever get this mad!

The cabin felt decidedly chilly. She paused in the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine, and then stomped into the bathroom, stripping off her wet clothes along the way. She stood under the faucet for a full ten minutes, and allowed the hot water to stream over her lithe body.

Once dressed, Skye put a match to the logs in the grate, and then placed her call to the realtor. In a deceptively calm voice, she carefully related her encounter to the disinterested woman at the other end of the phone. It turned out that the owner of the cabin was a businessman who lived on the island and worked out of Seattle. The realtor couldn't confirm that the man she described fitted the description of the owner, as all previous dealings with him had been over the phone, but she would make enquiries and get back to Skye in a day or so. In the meantime, Skye shouldn’t worry, as everyone on the island was friendly. The realtor concluded the call by saying, ‘Have a nice day’ in a sugary American accent.

Skye felt frustrated, angry, and not particularly reassured. She was puzzled by Walker's attitude. If he knew the owner, as he implied, then he must have known the cabin was occupied, so why was he annoyed by her presence? Wasn't she doing his friend a favor by renting it out of season and at such an exorbitant fee? And why did they rub each other up the wrong way each time they met? It took a great deal to make her angry and on the whole she got on with most people. Admittedly, she had a temper, but only lost control of it on rare occasions. But where Walker was concerned, all her senses seemed to go into overdrive.

Needing to hear a friendly voice, she called Debbie.

"Hi, sorry, but I can’t talk for long, it's been a really God-awful afternoon. I didn't expect to hear from you until the weekend. What gives?"

"Just another run-in with the guy I told you about. Seems I can't step out the door without bumping into him. There's something spooky about the fact that he’s always hanging around the cabin and the woods."

"Skye, be reasonable. The San Juans are a popular tourist destination. The cabin may well have been on private land. But things change. Marketing executives are very good at embellishing the truth. You can't expect to be totally alone. I'm sure there will be other properties in the vicinity. If you'd wanted complete peace and quiet then maybe you should have found a desert island."

"I guess you're right. I did find another house. Actually it's a lodge, about three-quarters of a mile away. It's being renovated. Maybe that guy is staying there. But it still doesn't explain why he's hanging around here. It has water frontage the same as this cabin, and there’s a boat moored to the dock. I know he fishes, although he didn't have any tackle with him today. I just wish he’d fish someplace else. He was just as insufferable as when I first met him. I thought all Americans were polite."

"What's the weather like? I bet it's raining and you've been stuck indoors. Maybe you've got a touch of cabin fever. If it's bothering you that much why don't you come down to San Francisco for a few days?"

"It is raining, but that's not the problem, Debbie. You know I enjoy my own company; so being alone here doesn't concern me at all. As for coming to San Francisco—it's a lovely thought, but I'll pass for now, if you don’t mind. I don't feel up to the hustle and bustle of a city. I have that in London. All I want is a little peace and quiet for a week or two. Perhaps later, before I fly back home, okay? But you could come here. There's plenty of room and we could explore the island together. Just think of the fun we could have. Getting here wouldn't be a problem either, there's a charter service from Seattle if you want to fly, or there's the ferry."

"I can't just drop everything and come up to you, you know that. I’ll try and get away for a long weekend later on in your trip. Can you keep yourself occupied for a while longer? I’ll let you know early next week if I can re-organise my schedule. In the meantime, try and relax, take a whale-watching trip, take up knitting or something. And it's just a suggestion, but stay off the trails for a while too. Then maybe that Sasquatch won't bother you. Who knows, perhaps there's a reason why he's hiking the trails around the cabin. He could be an arboriculturist, whatever it is. I'll bet it’s something innocent so stop worrying."

"You're right, I am over reacting. I just didn't expect to be bumping into an obnoxious Neanderthal every time I step out the door. Thanks for letting me have a moan. I really do appreciate you trying to clear your schedule. I know it’s difficult for you to get away at short notice. But it would be fantastic if you could make it. I'll speak to you later."

"Hey, what are friends for, but to support each other? I really have to go now. I have a conference call coming in on my other line. You have a good afternoon and think on what I've said, okay? I'll call you soon."

Skye listened to the static on the line as Debbie disconnected their call. Their conversation had reassured her, but it also made her realize she was behaving like a school kid. She was a grown woman, so why did she feel intimidated by Walker? Could it be that there was an element of attraction between them? The sparks certainly flew whenever they met.

But that was ridiculous, wasn't it? They'd only met twice and on each occasion the conversation wasn’t exactly cordial. Perhaps it would be best to do as Debbie suggested and keep away from the woods and the shore for a day or two.

***

Walker had returned to the island early that morning. He left his jeep in a pullout and walked down through the woods to the shore. He wasn’t in a particularly good mood and his temper was sorely tested when he found himself confronted by his tenant once more. The auburn-haired beauty certainly knew how to rub him the wrong way. By the time he returned to the lodge, he too was soaked to the skin. With the mood he was in, he was relieved to see that the builders had given up for the day. He had no desire to discuss the finer points of the restoration with them.

While he dried off, he placed a call to the realtor. Not because he wanted to see if his tenant had made her threatened call, but because he was curious about her. If he were honest, he was more than a little uneasy about her sudden appearance.

The tourist season didn’t start until the end of May when the weather improved. Although the realty company only provided him with the dates for the lettings and names of the tenants, he rarely, if ever concerned himself with the finer details. But there was something different about this particular tenant and so he demanded to know more.

He was surprised to learn the booking had been made only ten days before. Odd, he thought, most people planning a trip to the San Juan islands did so months in advance, especially if they were coming from overseas. Yet Ms Dunbar, he was told, hadn't. Was it just a coincidence that she rented the cabin at the same time fish around the islands were dying? Or was there a link? Normally, he didn’t pass judgment on anyone he met until he got to know them. But the current situation was anything but normal. Maybe Ms Dunbar was more than just a tourist? Innocent until proven guilty, wasn't that what everyone believed in? Under the circumstances he wasn't taking any chances. It was about time he and Ms Dunbar became better acquainted. All he needed now was a reason to act neighbourly.

He turned on the radio and listened to the weather forecast for the next few days. It wasn't good—storms, heavy rain and high winds, which in turn would bring abnormally high tides and rough seas. Positive that no one would dump anything in those conditions, it gave him ample time to catch up on some long overdue sleep. No doubt Joe would call if there were any new developments. All he could do was sit back, wait for the reports to come in from the lab and hope that his enquiries about Dr. Ridge bore fruit.

The early spring storm came in fast from the northwest. By early evening, the rising wind whistled through the trees. Every now and again there was a loud ‘crack’ like a rifle being fired as a branch snapped and fell heavily to the ground. Walker wasn't particularly worried. He had ridden out worse storms than this and often at sea. Both the lodge and cabin were a safe distance from the nearest pine, so there was no danger of damage to either property from falling timber. A slow smile crossed his face. He hoped his tenant liked storms, because this one was going to get a hell of a lot worse before the night was over.

He also knew there was a strong possibility there would be power outages, and quickly checked his e-mail. But there was no response to his enquires regarding Dr. Ridge. His mailbox was full of the usual unsolicited junk, and a couple of requests for his company to give advice on certain matters. Those he forwarded, with his comments and estimation of cost, to his secretary, instructing her to send out a standard contract.

He shrugged on the heavy waterproof he kept in the kitchen and took a torch off the shelf, then stepped outside. First, he checked on the small boat he kept moored at the end of the dock. Then he walked round the lodge, checking all the windows, closing the shutters on all but a few. Once back inside, he poured a large measure of whisky into a tumbler, and then stretched his weary body out on the sofa to watch some TV.

Around nine-thirty the power lines gave up their valiant struggle against the wind and went down. Walker knew it would be morning before the electricity company got around to restoring the service to this part of the island. There was nothing for it, he mused, and swallowed the last dregs from his glass, before going to bed.

Thanks to the whisky, he slept soundly. There was nothing like a good twelve hours sleep to restore man's equilibrium. Last night's storm was the perfect excuse for him to drop in on his tenant, in a neighbourly fashion, of course. He stretched, and sauntered into the bathroom. He looked in the mirror.

If he hadn't been run ragged by whoever was out to ruin him, he wouldn't be running around looking like he'd just crawled out after twenty days in the wilderness. Perhaps, if he looked less intimidating, he might not antagonize the lady quite so much. Picking up his razor for the first time in two weeks, he set about scraping the half-grown beard from his chin. Showered and smartly dressed in cord trousers and green shirt, he lifted his jacket off the stand and headed out to his jeep.

Chapter Five

Skye woke to hammering in her head. It took her a full two minutes to realize that it wasn't in her head, but someone at the door. Groggily she threw the quilt off her legs, and levered her stiff and aching limbs off the sofa.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming, quit why don't you?" she shouted, as she slid the bolt back from the door. The aroma of coffee assaulted her senses.

"Good morning. Boy, that was some storm wasn't it," said Walker. "I thought you might appreciate some coffee as the power is still out." He held up two steaming beakers and a small paper bag.

Skye recognized the man instantly even without the beard. Too stunned to say anything coherent, she just stood there mumbling, her voice soft and husky with sleep.

"Why? How?"

"How did I get coffee when the electricity is out? I've been to town. Power Company always restores electricity to Friday Harbor first. Outlaying property takes longer. I've also got fresh rolls, so why don't you go and get dressed while I get things sorted?"

Walker stepped inside and closed the door. Skye could only stare. Her stomach did a slow back flip. The man standing in her hallway was smartly dressed and smelled faintly of some expensive cologne. Besides, the short beard and casual clothes, the hiker's boots had gone too. My, but didn’t he scrub up well. The harsh lines of his face had eased, and the haunted look in his eyes had vanished, to be replaced with the most devastating smile Skye had ever seen.

Without realising, she let out a long sigh and instantly revised her previous assessment of him. Walker wasn't just handsome; he oozed sex appeal from every pore. She watched him through half closed lids, and wondered why he was being so neighbourly. Her befuddled brain decided to analyze that thought later, after the coffee. Conscious of the fact that she was half naked, for once in her adult life Skye did as she was told and stumbled toward the bedroom, quickly snatching up the quilt off the sofa on her way.

Walker took a deep breath. Skye’s hair was mussed, and the T-shirt she wore barely covered her thighs, very shapely thighs at that. She looked so darned sexy that desire flooded his veins and heat pooled in his groin as his eyes traced the outline of her full breasts through the thin fabric of her T-shirt.

Fortunately, she’d been too sleepy to notice his slow appraisal of her body otherwise the coffee might have ended up in his face. He wondered if she knew how attractive she was. He shook his head. If he continued to think like this, he would be in trouble, big trouble. Great, a hard-on was just what he needed right now.

He shoved all thoughts of her sensuous body out of his mind, and set the beakers and rolls down on the counter. The shower came on, and he knew it was his opportunity to have a quick look around. The fact that Skye had slept on the sofa, hadn't escaped his notice. She looked tired, the unfamiliar surroundings and the noise of the storm, had obviously kept her awake.

Silently he crossed the room. A copy of the latest P.D.James thriller lay on the floor next to the sofa, but apart from a few CDs on a nearby table, the room was pretty much as it had been before his tenant had arrived—tidy. All her personal belongings were in the bedroom and there was no way she was going to let him in there. Walker hoped to find something to incriminate her and give him a clue as to who was out to ruin him, but his mysterious tenant was cautious.

The shower stopped. He swore heartily, retraced his steps to the kitchen and busied himself putting the rolls on plates and finding the necessary flatware.

Skye showered and dressed in record time. Her suspicious mind didn't want to leave Walker alone any longer than necessary. She twisted her damp hair into a knot and deftly pinned it up. Questions began to form in her mind, albeit slowly. She never did function well on less than seven hours sleep. What her system needed was a kick-start and nothing provided that better than hot strong coffee.

She stood quietly in the doorway watching Walker as he laid out the coffee and rolls. He looked perfectly at ease in the kitchen, too at ease, she noted. It seemed as if he knew where everything was stored.

Walker felt her presence, before he saw her. He'd been right about her figure. He didn't like his women too thin, and dressed as she was in figure hugging jeans and T-shirt, she had curves in all the right places. Her thick hair was twisted up, revealing a long expanse of creamy neck. His gaze lowered to the pulse at the base of her throat and idly he wondered if she would shiver with passion if he were to kiss her there.

Mildly annoyed for allowing his crotch to rule his mind yet again, he took another steadying breath. If he kept this up, he'd be taking cold showers for the rest of the month—no, amend that—the rest of the year. He wondered whether his libido would stand the strain of being so close to this desirable woman for any longer than purpose dictated, but it would be interesting to find out.

He saw the puzzlement on her face, and thought fast.

"This place is fantastic, isn't it? I was lucky enough to stay here last year. When I enquired about renting a few weeks ago, I was told that it was booked. I had to take another property close by." He hated lying, but somehow he thought the truth wouldn't be as palatable. Besides, if he didn't keep his aces in his sleeve, she wouldn’t tell him anything about herself or the reason for her prolonged lease of the cabin. She didn't strike him as being your average vacationer. After all, why would such an attractive woman hide herself away on a small island? The cabin didn't come cheap even out of season, so she had to have a healthy bank balance to afford the rental.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot, " he continued. "I was out of line in the way I spoke to you. I'd had a bad day at work. I'm sure you know how that goes, and had no right to unleash my temper on you. Could we put that behind us and try to be more neighbourly?" He held out a beaker of coffee and gave her his most disarming smile. "I'm Walker."

Careful not to let her fingers touch his, Skye took the cup of steaming amber liquid from him. The rich aroma of the coffee hit her senses. It tasted wonderful and was a much-needed jolt to her sleep-deprived mind.

"Skye, Skye Dunbar. And thanks for this." She raised her cup to his. At least she could try to be polite since he was going to all this trouble in an attempt to be friendly.

Walker kept the conversation neutral. "Skye. That's an unusual name. And Dunbar, that's Scottish isn't it?"

"I’m from London. That is, I work in London. I was born in Cumbria, but the family originated from Scotland, or so I’m told. My parents loved the Isle of Skye, almost as much as they loved each other, so it seemed natural to them to name me after the place where they first fell in love."

The strong coffee began to lift the fog from her brain. Skye’s razor sharp mind was back in gear, formulating questions of its own.

"Do you come here often, Mr. Walker?" She took a bite of the roll.

"Its just Walker. I come when other commitments allow which isn't as often as I'd like. How about you? Is this your first time on the islands?"

His voice was velvet edged and strong and under different circumstances, Skye knew would be very seductive. She watched Walker over the rim of her coffee cup, and carefully considered her reply. Why was he taking an interest in her? She certainly hadn't given him any encouragement, quite the opposite. If the truth were told, she'd been just as rude to him as he’d been to her. And, while there was no doubt in her mind he was a very attractive man, she wasn't interested. Even if Walker was offering, she wasn't buying. She bruised far too easily and took too long to heal to become involved with another man. Michael had seen to that.

"This is my first visit, although I have been to Seattle before. Is there much damage from the storm?" She deftly changed the subject to something less personal and penetrating.

Walker's eyes held hers as he studied her carefully. He could almost see the questions forming in her mind. Whatever game she was playing, he would play too.

"Yeah, a few trees are down. None around the cabin, but if you go into town be careful on the roads, it will take the authorities a day or so to get things cleared up. I hope the storm didn't bother you too much. They can take a bit of getting used to, especially if they come down from the north as this one did."

He placed his empty beaker on the counter, deciding he'd outstayed his welcome.

"I'd best be on my way, and let you get on with your day. The weather forecast for the next few days is for rain, but at least the main storm front has passed through. It's fixed to clear by the end of the week." He gave Skye his most devastating grin and opened the door. "I'll see you around. Have a good vacation, Ms Dunbar." And with that he climbed into to his jeep and promptly drove off.

Skye shut the door and sat down on the sofa. She was totally confounded by the complete turnaround in Walker's behavior and the effect he had on her. Perhaps Debbie was right after all. Maybe he was just another visitor to the islands, here to relax, fish, and generally enjoy the scenery. But, something tugged at the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite put the pieces together.

With the exception of John, she didn't trust men in general, and she certainly didn't trust Walker, that was for sure. But if asked why, she couldn't explain. Some would call it womanly intuition. Skye, however, was more logical, and put her lack of trust down as the direct result of Michael's betrayal.

Michael—the one person she had trusted with her heart and soul, and yet he had almost destroyed her. She thought back to the first idyllic ten days of her visit and remembered how things began to change on the eleventh. They’d spent as much time in each other's company as the Navy would allow. Towards the end of her second week, over dinner, Michael asked her to extend her stay. The ship would be in dry dock longer than first anticipated, probably for another couple of months. He'd understand if she couldn't stay that long, but would she at least consider trying?

At first Skye had said no. She had commitments and her business partner to consider. But Michael persuaded her to stay and although it hadn't been an easy decision, Skye had changed her mind and said yes to please him. She remembered how guilty she felt when she called John to inform him of her change of plans. They had a blazing row. John was adamant that she should return, claiming the business needed her and it was unfair of her to expect him to do all the work. Skye had responded by saying that John was complaining because, for once, he was working the long hours instead of her, and it was his social life that had been put on hold for a change. It was the first time they had exchanged harsh words about their business and personal lives, and the whole experience had left Skye ashen, drained, and exhausted.

Michael had comforted her, and said in the long run it wouldn't matter anyway, not when she was settled in the States with him. Skye had been caught off guard by his comments. Her heart had sung with delight. Was Michael proposing? She was euphoric as he explained that he wanted her by his side, always. It was what she had dreamed and hoped for. They had talked long into the night, Michael vehemently declaring his love for her over and over again.

He'd already made plans for their future. After twenty-five years service, he would have a reasonably good pension, enough to buy them a house somewhere. Skye could easily continue her career and Michael couldn't foresee any problems in her being granted a fiancée status visa. Her mind burned with the memory of his smooth words. At the time he’d been so convincing, and it was only now, with the benefit of hindsight, could Skye appreciate how easily she had been sucked in by his glib words and charming smiles.

She would never forget a single detail of the events that took place in the following days. At first it was little things, like Michael's pager going off halfway through dinner and him rushing out of the restaurant supposedly back to the ship, leaving Skye to finish her meal in solitude and to pick up the tab. He became secretive, volunteering little information about himself or why he had been recalled to the ship. On Sunday afternoons he'd disappear for hours on end, on some pretext or other.

There had been other last minute excuses to cancel their plans, like the weekend in Victoria and the trip to Friday Harbor. The endless questions about who called while he was out, made Skye feel as if he was trying to control her.

When Michael had asked about her business she had been reluctant to answer, feeling as if she were betraying all she and John had built together. But once again, Michael convinced her to tell him, saying that if she loved him as much as she said, then as her future husband he had a right to know such things. Skye had caved in and told him that she and John were equal partners.

Skye never discussed what she and John were working on outside the office and she wasn't going to break that personal rule even for Michael. She tried hard to explain that to him, but he refused to accept her decision, questioning her over and over again. Each time his tone would be civil, but she would never forget the anger in his eyes.

Unable to fathom why her response had annoyed him so much, Skye ignored the warning voices in her head. Michael's constant questions were nothing compared to the events that ultimately unfolded.

From the day they’d met, Michael had been attentive to her. Skye had been flattered. It hadn't crossed her mind, that Michael could have a hidden agenda when he suggested they meet. She had been too wrapped up in her own happiness to realize that anything was amiss. Just how wrong she'd been.

Chapter Six

The bad weather brought little respite for Walker. After leaving Skye, he decided to fly to Seattle. He stopped at the local store on his way to the airport and purchased a copy of the island paper. His stress level rose a few points when he noticed a small article concerning the increasing numbers of dead fish that were washing up on the island’s beaches. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he read on. The journalist didn't give a reason for the phenomenon other than the storm, but Walker knew differently. He cursed himself for foolishly thinking the rainstorms would buy him some time to continue his investigation.

A short time later he surveyed the mountain of paperwork that covered every inch of his desk. But he was too restless to concentrate for long on anything other than the recent events on the island, and the beautiful woman staying in his cabin.

He swore viciously under his breath. He was still mad at himself for allowing the realtor to lease it so early in the season. He had enough problems without adding to them with his own stupidity. So far, no fish had washed up in the cove in front of the cabin, but it was only a matter of time before they did. And as for the very attractive Ms Dunbar, under different circumstances, he mused, it might be interesting to get to know her better. But, as things stood he remained highly suspicious of her and her motives for renting the cabin.

He stared moodily out of the window at the Seattle skyline and considered his options. Slowly a strategy formed in his mind, which, if successful, could give him the lead he was looking for. His first call was to the Port Office at Friday Habor. He needed exact details of the tides for the last few days, the names of any vessels that had passed through the straits, their cargo and heading.

Normally such information would not be available, but fortunately for Walker, Joe had contacted the Port Director, and told him to expect Walker’s phone call. His second call was to the meteorological office for details of wind direction and velocity. Finally he entered all the information he'd gathered on to a large-scale map of the islands, and marked where the latest batch of fish had washed up.

According to the Port Director, none of the ships that had passed through the straits in recent days could have been responsible for the new reports of dead fish. They had mainly been cargo vessels delivering containerized stores to small remote villages. Walker studied the map; the lines of concentration furrowed his brow. If his calculations were correct, then whoever was illegally dumping chemical substances was doing so somewhere in the waters between Friday Harbor and Shaw Island.

He fervently hoped that the chemicals were in containers, rather than being dumped overboard like raw sewage. If they were, and the containers were marked, then he stood a chance of tracing them back to the plant from which they came. If they weren’t, then there was no way to determine their source.

It was a huge area to search, and Walker wasn't too optimistic, but at least it was worth a try. It would be the equivalent of looking for a goldfish in a pond and a pure fluke if they actually managed to find anything. The waters around the islands were treacherous and even if the containers were lying in shallow water it would be a dangerous operation. Besides, the current weather conditions weren't exactly ideal for diving off a small boat. Divers weren't the answer, thought Walker grimly. But there was another possibility, if he could persuade Joe to involve the Coastguard or even one of the specialist companies, in an underwater search using sonar, or better yet, a remotely operated vehicle, then maybe—just maybe, he would get lucky.

Walker massaged the pain in his temples as he waited for Joe to pick up the phone. He felt as if he had aged ten years over the last three weeks, the stress and lack of sleep had taken their toll. His concern now wasn't just for the depletion of the local salmon population, or for the rest of the wildlife, such as the sea otters and seals, which abounded in the waters around the islands, but for the human inhabitants too. He said a silent prayer that none of the hospitals had reported anyone being admitted with suspected poisoning. Once the food chain became involved, there was no telling where this would end.

The seconds ticked away and then a somewhat disgruntled voice answered.

"McCabe."

Walker cut straight to the chase. "Joe, do you know anyone who could do a sonar survey of the straits, or better yet, send down a remotely operated vehicle?"

"Christ, you don't want much do you? Have you any idea what you're asking for or how much these surveys cost? Let's not leave out the fact that they are way outside my department's jurisdiction. I could easily be kissing my whole budget for the next ten years goodbye."

"Calm down, think of your blood pressure. Besides, I haven't asked you to pay for it. We can ask other departments to chip in. I just wanted to know if you could organize one."

"Calm down? Easy for you to say, you haven't got the entire State Department watching every move you make. Sonar surveys, remotely operated vehicles? Just what are you planning to do, look for hidden treasure like some perverse pirate?"

"I've been plotting tides, vessel movements and details of where fish came ashore. I now have a rough idea of where these chemicals are being dumped. It's a large area to search, but if we could survey the seabed, who knows, we might come up with some anomaly to justify taking a closer look. I know it's a long shot, but I don't know what else to suggest, unless of course you've managed to come up with something positive."

"I hear you, Walker, but before I go spending all of Uncle Sam's tax dollars on what could easily be a red herring, let's see if we can't streamline your plan a little."

"What do you have in mind?" asked Walker. A muscle flicked impatiently in his jaw.

"I don't have authority to spend the sort of money you're talking about, that's for sure. As I've said, it's technically out of my jurisdiction. How about I take this upstairs and explain the position. Maybe I could get approval for a sonar survey. We could compare it to one done a few years back, that way if anything unexpected did show up we could justify the need to investigate further. Even then, I can't promise I'll get approval for an ROV, but I don't see why we couldn't send down a dive team, provided the water's not too deep, and this damn weather improves. How does that sound?"

"I guess if that is the best you can do," Walker replied. "Just make sure you tell whoever that sooner or later it won't be fish turning up dead, but people, and when that happens I'll be first in line to say I told you so. Get back to me with the details as soon as you can."

Walker slammed down the phone. Frustrated, he stared out of the window. Normally he found the view relaxing, but today it did little to calm his rage. He swore heartily under his breath. Not only was his professional life fast going from sugar to shit, but he couldn't get the image of his sexy tenant out of his mind either. Totally disgusted with the direction his thoughts were headed, he grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and marched of the office.

He walked quickly, and glanced over his shoulder every now and again to make sure he wasn't being followed, as he headed downtown towards Pioneer Square. He entered the first Internet Café he could find with a vacant booth, and logged into his web-based e-mail address. He was disappointed to find nothing new. His fist hit the desk—hard. People just didn't disappear without trace, especially not leading computer scientists, unless of course they were up to no good. He had to find Ridge, and soon. If his plans for searching the seabed came up empty, then finding out who was hacking into his company's computers was his last hope.

He ordered another strong black coffee, and searched the web once more. With his back and neck muscles aching, he finally came across an interview in a little known computer journal with a John Ridge. It had to be the same person; it couldn't just be a coincidence. The article was a few years old, but tucked away at the bottom of the page was an e-mail address. Praying that once again the gods were on his side, he quickly typed a note, briefly explaining his situation and asking if Dr. Ridge could help. His final request before hitting the send key was to ask for an immediate response.

Stretching to relieve the ache in his tired muscles, Walker knew there was nothing more he could do, other than sit back and wait for either McCabe or Ridge to contact him. Ironically, waiting wasn't one of his better traits. He was used to being in control of his own destiny, and for the last few weeks he’d been anything but. He downed his coffee, deleted all traces of his activities on the PC, and left.

Back in his office, he set about clearing the pile of paperwork on his desk. Around ten his private line rang. Few people knew the number and even fewer knew he was in town. He snatched the handset off the cradle, and was relieved to hear Joe's voice at the other end of the line.

"I might have guessed you'd still be at your desk at this ungodly hour."

"Paperwork, Joe, paperwork. It gets us all in the end. I hope you've got good news."

"I need you to send me everything you have so far—lab reports, newspaper articles, witness statements, maps—whatever you've got. And, Walker, it had better be convincing."

"I didn't ask you to go out on a limb for me."

"A limb? A mere limb? I've done more than go out on a limb for you, I'm dangling off a leaf at the end of the branch, and I don't want to crash and burn, and find myself collecting my pension fifteen years early just because we didn't cover our backs."

"I hear you, Joe. I'll have everything couriered over to you in the morning. Do you have any idea of timescale?" Walker’s voice was as cold as the water in Puget Sound.

"If your evidence is as good as you say, then within forty-eight hours. I understand the Coastguard has a suitably equipped vessel on standby for emergencies, and are prepared to let us have it for a couple of days. The other bit of good news is that my opposite number is already pulling the results of the survey carried out last year for comparison."

"I suppose that's something. Should I go along for the ride?"

"Let the boys in blue handle this. They'll get back to me as soon as the analysis has been made."

"Okay. But I don't think I’ll sleep easy until I see the results."

"That makes two of us. I'll give you a call once they've sailed. Will you still be at this number or are you heading back to Friday Harbor?"

"I'll be here. There are a few things I want to check out. Don't worry; I'll keep you informed as to my whereabouts."

"I'll wait for the courier in the morning. Don't burn the midnight oil too much, ole buddy."

"Yeah, old is right. I'm already losing way too much sleep over this one. Remind me again, why I let you talk me into taking this on? And, Joe, better add this one to my tab, its another favour I owe you."

"Hey, if your tab gets any longer buddy, I'll be collecting 'til hell freezes over, thaws, then freezes over again. Talk to you in the morning."

Walker worked long into the night, correlating lab results, copying the recent newspaper article, the map he had drawn up and pulling all the information he had on PCBs their effects on fish and the food chain. Finally he set about writing his report and recommendations.

Somewhere around four, his eyes burning and no longer able to concentrate, he allowed himself the luxury of a few hours sleep on the office couch. The masculine, rich mahogany coloured leather couch wasn't built for Walker's tall, powerful frame, but there was no way he was allowing the report out of his sight until he placed it in the hands of the courier. He chided himself for being so paranoid. But under the current circumstances, he didn't trust anyone but Joe. He eased his weary body into the most comfortable position possible in the cramped space, and fell into a troubled sleep.

He woke just after seven, and showered and shaved in the executive bathroom, changing into the spare clothes he kept at the office for emergencies. He called the local courier company, and arranged to have his neatly packaged report delivered to Joe.

Three days later a harassed Walker returned to the island. These days, his temper always seemed to be at boiling point and a two-hour delay in takeoff due to reduced visibility hadn't helped his demeanor one little bit. Finally receiving clearance, he took off and was now flying relatively low over the straits, on his approach to his landing point at Friday Harbor.

Less than a thousand feet below him, the Coastguard cutter was slowly working lines with the sonar fish. The vessel was moving painstakingly slowly as towing a sonar fish smoothly in deep water with strong currents, was not a job for the inexperienced skipper. Annoyingly, it would be another few days before the survey was completed and the results correlated and compared with those of a previous year.

Walker was only too conscious of the fact that his reputation was on the line. He wasn't confident that the survey would turn up anything significant, he could only hope. If it didn't, all his years of hard work establishing his company as a leading authority on environmental issues would be down the pan, and Walker Environmental would lose all credibility. There was no way he was going to give in without a determined fight.

His body ran on a mixture of anger and adrenalin. He was tired beyond belief with the strain, but he knew he couldn't rest until whoever was responsible, was brought to justice. One thought kept turning over in his troubled mind. There was no doubt this was a personal vendetta against him, and he couldn't help feeling there was someone close by watching his every move. They had already succeeded in hacking into his computer. What would be next he wondered, a physical attack on his company? A personal assault? And where did his sexy tenant fit into the the scheme of things?

There was something decidedly odd about Ms Dunbar's timely appearance on the island. It was just too much of a coincidence. Perhaps it was time to storm the castle, or should he say ‘cabin’, and discover just what made the charming Ms Dunbar tick.

Chapter Seven

Now comfortably settled in the cabin, Skye adopted a peaceful routine. She kept herself occupied by alternatively catching up with her reading and, between breaks in the rainstorms, visiting the island's museums and window shopping in the local art, craft and antique shops in Friday and Roche Harbors.

As for Walker, Skye saw no more of him. She was sure he was somewhere in the vicinity, but for the time being at least, he was keeping out of her way, and that suited her fine.

Debbie had phoned the day after Walker's early morning visit and had arranged to fly up for the weekend. Skye was looking forward to seeing her friend again, as it was nearly two years since they'd spent any quality time together. Their friendship, sustained by frequent e-mails and long distance phone calls, had survived well.

After three action-filled days enjoying every tourist attraction San Juan Island had to offer, they joined one of the many charter boats on a trip to watch the Killer whales known locally as Orcas. And were enthralled by the sight of the huge mammals splashing and cavorting in the protected waters around the islands.

Debbie's stay drew to a close, time passing too quickly for them, as it always did. As had become their custom over the years, they planned to spend their last night enjoying a meal and sampling the local nightlife in one of Friday Harbor's more prestigious restaurants.

Walker was about to leave when he saw Skye and another woman enter. He’d only dropped in for a meal and a quick drink before returning to the Lodge. What a coincidence, that his tenant should choose this particular restaurant and bar for an evening out. He ordered another beer and settled down to watch. He had a feeling the evening was about to become interesting, very interesting indeed.

The two women didn't have to wait long before a waiter showed them to a table by the window overlooking the marina. As they crossed the dining room they were oblivious to the fact that nearly every male in the room under the age of sixty watched their progression.

Their appearance was striking, one auburn-haired and the other titian. They complimented each well. At first glance they appeared to be of similar height; although on closer inspection Walker could see that Skye's companion was taller by a couple of inches. Skye looked stunning. She was dressed in a calf length jade green dress, which caressed every inch of her figure like a lover. It set off her colouring to perfection.

Caught off guard by the intense feeling of desire that surged though his veins, Walker willed his body to still, but his body was having none of it. He wanted to pull Skye into his arms and kiss her until she was senseless. Why did his tenant have to be so troublesome and so darned sexy? The first he could cope with, the second might just earn him yet another cold shower.

Skye's companion was dressed all in black, a perfect foil for her vibrant hair and pale skin. Both were beautiful in their own way, although Walker preferred Skye's delicate features and softer colouring to the more dramatic woman by her side.

To anyone who might appear interested, they were just two friends out for the evening. Walker, however, wasn't just anyone. His curiosity was aroused. Either his tenant made friends very quickly or she had an associate here on the island. In which case, why had she arranged to meet her in a very public place, rather than at the cabin, where they wouldn't be overheard?

Enquiring from a passing waiter what the two women were drinking, Walker ordered a round of drinks and had them delivered to their table. He watched their reaction in the mirror above the bar. Skye's companion appeared to ask who had bought them a drink. When the waiter pointed him out, she turned, gave him a dazzling smile, and raised her glass in acknowledgement of his generosity.

"Who was he pointing to? Skye asked. "Please don't tell me it was the geriatric with the walking stick."

"Don't be silly, with those glasses he couldn't see this far. It's the guy on the second stool from the left, the one with the dark hair. He's wearing a tweed sports jacket. One of us obviously attracted his attention and I doubt very much it's me. Do you have any idea who he is?" She raised her glass once more.

Skye choked on the sip of wine she had just swallowed. "Why aren't I the least bit surprised to see him here? That, my dear friend, is none other than the obnoxious and infamous Mr. Jedediah Walker."

"Really? Well knock me down with a feather. He looks nothing like the way you described him. In fact he's kinda cute." She gave Walker one of her most alluring smiles.

"Cute? As in pussy cat cute? I think you need your eyes testing, Debbie. Or better yet your head."

"I wouldn't turn down an offer to get up close and personal with him. You never told me he was so attractive and sexy. That is one serious hunk of male flesh. I’m going to ask him to join us. After all, he's bought us a drink, I think it would be rude not to, don't you? Besides, what can I say? I'm an American and I'll talk to anyone, especially a handsome man like him."

Skye stretched out her hand in an attempt to restrain her, but Debbie brushed it aside. "Are you out of your mind? Please don't ask him over. Let's just enjoy our last evening together on our own."

But it was too late, her friend was already gesturing for Walker to join them. Skye watched in horror as he eased his tall frame off the stool and strolled leisurely cross the room, a slight grin of amusement on his face.

"Good evening, ladies. Thanks for the invitation. I'm actually waiting for someone, but so far he hasn't showed," he lied glibly. "If you've no objection to making it a threesome, then I’ll happily join you." Before either woman could voice an objection, he dropped down into the chair opposite Skye and signaled the waiter to lay another place at their table.

Skye was so mad at Debbie that she considered kicking her under the table, but then why ruin an exceedingly expensive pair of shoes? Debbie was always doing this to her, but this time she really had over-stepped the line. Skye forced what she hoped was a welcoming smile on her face and begrudgingly made the required introductions.

Debbie returned Walker's smile and the hand that was offered to her, and casually asked, "Are you on vacation too, Mr. Walker."

"Sort of. Have you two known each other long?"

"Yeah, we've known each other for a few years now," Debbie responded. "Although we don't get to meet up nearly as often as we'd like. The last time was when Skye was over in Seattle, but that's over a year ago now. That's right, isn't it?" She barely gave Skye time to nod lamely in agreement.

"When Skye told me she was planning this trip, " she continued, "I told her she ought to visit with me in San Francisco, but she wasn't buying it, as she’s been there before, so I said I would try and catch up with her here. Unfortunately, I could only manage a long weekend, I fly back in the morning."

Skye smiled smoothly at Debbie, betraying nothing of her annoyance. She hated being the centre of attention, if only she could think of something to say to change the subject and divert the conversation away from herself. But when Debbie held forth that was easier said than done. There was no doubt in hers mind that Debbie had seen her disapproving look, and knew that she wished that she would shut the hell up. But it was too late; Debbie was completely captivated by Walker's charm and his devastating grin. She would recount her life history five times over given half the chance, and was in her element flirting with Walker, giving him her most captivating smile, while placing a well-manicured hand on his arm to emphasis a point.

Skye groaned inwardly. Conscious of Walker's scrutiny, an unwelcome blush crept into her cheeks. Not only was the evening now officially out of hand, but she felt embarrassed too. Walker had managed to wind Debbie round his little finger and if he were to suggest that Debbie walk on water, then she was just the woman to have a darned good try.

Walker couldn't help but notice the strained look that passed between Skye and her friend, and found the situation amusing. He studied the two women carefully. Their personalities couldn’t be more different, which made their friendship all the more intriguing. Skye's friend with the doe-like eyes and goofy smile was putty in his hands, and trying too hard to impress him, but he wasn't interested. In fact he found her type mildly irritating and she was no exception. Her remarks, although seemingly innocuous, annoyed Skye, but he couldn't fathom out why. Debbie was all too obviously the quintessential American, willing to talk to anyone on any subject provided she was the centre of attention. If only she knew she wasn't the centre of his.

Skye on the other hand, was charming, polite and tactful. But when it came to answering questions about her personal life she clammed up. Outwardly she appeared to be relaxed and enjoying herself, but Walker was sure it was an act, and a very poor act, at that. He sensed her tension. Saw it in the way she held her shoulders and the way her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. It was especially evident whenever her friend said something she didn't approve of. He was certain that underneath that cool exterior her temper was on its way to exceeding the boiling point and the posted speed limit.

Walker watched the gamut of emotions that flickered through Skye's eyes, and considered what it would take to make her lose some of her aloofness. He suspected that under the very ‘correct’ smile and cool exterior there lurked an incredibly passionate woman.

"It's a pity you’re leaving tomorrow," he said for Debbie’s benefit. He then attempted to draw Skye back into the conversation once more. "I'm sure you'll miss her company."

Skye tried hard to control her temper, but her voice just a little too eager, as if her answer was all too obvious.

"Of course I will."

"How much longer do you intend staying on the island? I hope you won't find it too lonely in the cabin on your own."

"Skye's here for another few weeks, isn't that right?" Debbie interrupted, taking control of the conversation once more.

"Although my plans are flexible. I could change my flights and come back with you, if you wanted."

Walker cut in. "I have a suggestion. I've got a few days free, and as the weather seems to be improving, why don't you let me show you a side of the islands that most tourists never get to see?" He offered Skye a smile that even her late grandmother would have fallen for.

"Well, I don't…I mean I…" Skye stuttered like a teenager, a musk-rose flush rising on her cheeks.

"What a great suggestion. You were only saying yesterday how much you wanted to see more of the islands before you fly back to London. I'm sure Mr. Walker is the perfect guide." There was a twinkle of mischief in Debbie’s eyes, as she knew only too well that Skye would be far too polite to decline Walker's invitation, no matter what she felt about the man.

"Fine, that's settled then," Walker interrupted, with a conspiratorial wink to Debbie. "How about I pick you up tomorrow—late morning—and we make it up as we go along?"

"Don't I get a say in this?" Skye demanded. "After all, it is my vacation and I might have made plans."

"What plans?" Debbie laughed. "First I've heard about them. Oh, go on, Skye, who knows? You might enjoy yourself."

Skye was neatly backed into a corner, and although she was seething, she knew that if she declined, she would appear churlish.

"Well, only if you are sure. I wouldn't want to intrude."

"Good, that's settled then. Everyone for coffee?" Walker raised his hand to signal the waiter.

As they lingered over coffee and liqueurs, Walker insisted on paying the bill. He waved away all their arguments. "It’s the least I can do. It’s not often that I get to spend an evening in such fine company. So, do you have plans for the rest of the evening?"

Debbie, who had long ago taken the role of chief conversationalist, was quick to reply.

"We thought we might go and find some entertainment, either jazz, maybe a little folk, or, if I can persuade Skye—and we can find somewhere suitable—we might go dancing."

Walker noted the faint blush on Skye's cheeks. He didn't have to try very hard to imagine what it would feel like to hold Skye in his arms. He could almost feel her soft curves moulding to the contours of his hard body, responding to his every move, as they swayed to an imaginary rhythm. He tried to ignore the sudden flare of heat in his groin.

"Dancing, huh? There's no nightclub on the island, so unless you ladies can find a party to gatecrash, you're out of luck. But there are plenty of places that play live music. Perhaps I should join you?"

The waiter cleared the debris of their meal away. Few diners remained, and although Debbie appeared to be in no hurry to conclude the evening, Walker could sense that Skye was. Her wide-eyed look merely screened her anger.

"Thank you for dinner. I'm sure you have better things to do with your time Mr. Walker than accompany us," Skye said. She glanced at watch. "Besides, it's later than I thought and Debbie has an early start in the morning. Perhaps we should call it a night."

"Pity, although maybe you're right." Walker conceded. A slow smile spread across his face. Better not antagonize Skye too much. After all, her so-called friend had been most accommodating in giving him another toehold in the door. He stood and extended his hand toward Debbie.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Debbie. Say ‘Hi’ to San Francisco for me and have a safe journey." He tilted his head towards Skye, his eyes holding her gaze slightly longer than was considered polite. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said with quiet emphasis.

Walker was barely out of earshot, before Skye turned on Debbie. "Did you have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"You know very well what I’m talking about. Not only did you embarrass me, but you set me up too!" Skye banged her fist on the table.

"I didn't hear you say no. Anyway, I don't know what you're getting all het up about. He's perfectly charming, and it's clear for all to see that he finds you attractive. He hardly took his eyes off you all evening. And despite what you say, I don't think you're averse to his charms either. So why not accept his invitation? A holiday romance could be just what the doctor ordered. Your love life's been non-existent for far too long, and you know what they say if you go without sex for too long—you become a virgin again."

Skye blushed. She quickly looked over her shoulder and scanned the restaurant hoping that no one had overheard her friend's embarrassing attempt at humor.

"Debbie, I'm not interested in Mr. Walker or any man. You of all people should know that. Not after Michael."

"What is it with you and Michael?" Debbie asked. "You trot out the same excuse every time a man comes close enough for you to smell his cologne. I know he was a first class rat and treated you dreadfully. He lied, and in your book that's a cardinal sin, but I've got news for you most men lie at some point about something. It's genetic! It's something you have to accept, like the fact that their socks stink and they snore. Michael was over a year ago, it's time to move on."

"Yes, Michael lied. But that was only part of it. I've never told anyone, not even you, the rest of the sordid affair." Skye turned her face to the window lest Debbie see her pain.

"Then tell me now," Debbie said. "Make me understand why you are so averse to having another relationship."

Skye continued to stare out of the window at the lights flickering in the marina. She was already trapped by all her memories of Michael. The last thing she needed was Debbie raking over old ground as well.

"I can't, Debbie. I just can't. Drop it, please?"

Realizing that she had overstepped the mark, Debbie reached across the table and took Skye's icy hand in hers. She gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm sorry. Whatever Michael did, it's over. Forget it. I've never suggested this before, but perhaps you should talk to a therapist. Get it off your chest once and for all." When Skye didn't respond Debbie continued, "I think you're right, we should call it a night. I'm truly sorry if I've upset you and spoilt our last evening together. You know I'd never intentionally do anything to ruin our friendship, don't you? After everything you’d told me about your previous encounters with your Mr. Walker, I was just having some fun with the two of you, that's all."

Skye's temper finally tumbled over the edge. Her head whipped round and she snapped at her friend.

"Debbie, just stop right there, before you dig yourself an even bigger hole. For once and for all, he is not my Mr. Walker."

In spite of Skye's dark looks and the anger in her eyes, Debbie couldn't help the amused look on her face, and playfully held up her hands as if to ward off an imaginary blow. She had to have the last word.

"If you say so, but what is it, you Brits say? Oh yeah, ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much.’" She suppressed a giggle, picked up her purse, and left the restaurant.

Skye, not trusting herself to speak, followed.

Back in the car, the tension was palpable. Skye concentrated hard on the unfamiliar road. When they reached the cabin, neither prolonged the evening by talking. They quickly said goodnight, the door of Skye's bedroom closing with a resounding thud.

Skye found it almost impossible to sleep, the events of the evening spinning in her mind, like laundry in a dryer. Debbie was right; she couldn't deny it any longer. She was by no means blind to Walker's rugged good looks, even though he was maddeningly arrogant. When she looked into his eyes, the smouldering flame she saw there made her body stir with an answering surge of excitement. Although unexpected, she had to admit, it wasn't totally unwelcome.

As she lay in bed, she took stock. Her life was a mess. Apart from the endless round of work and sleep she had little else to comfort or interest her, not even a cat to welcome her home after a busy day at the office. What little spare time she had was either spent in the garden, reading or listening to music. And other than John dragging her out for the odd drink after work or entertaining clients, she hardly went anywhere other than the supermarket.

It wasn't that she didn't want male company, she did. And it wasn't as if she didn't meet men either, although admittedly they were usually clients. Over the past year, she recalled miserably, she had turned down every date she'd been offered, all in fear of being hurt again. She knew she couldn't go on like this. She was tired of feeling lonely and confused. It was one of the reasons she had decided to make this trip, a chance to get her life in order and make a new start. Torn by conflicting emotions, she tossed yet again, desperately wanting to open her heart and be loved. But to do so would mean learning to trust again. And she wasn't sure that possible.

Michael had taught her that love brought pain and betrayal. She had no desire to experience those emotions again. Her logical mind argued that an affair, and especially one with an American, wasn't the ideal solution. Why couldn't she be like other women, have fun, and walk away at the end of the affair, with her head held high, no regrets and without so much as a backward glance? She turned on her side and thumped the pillow in frustration. She couldn't answer that question. When she and Walker weren't arguing, she was acutely conscious of the undercurrents of desire that passed between them. What would happen, she wondered, if they stopped arguing long enough to find out where it would take them?

Chapter Eight

Early the next morning, even though Skye had slept little, she accompanied Debbie into Friday Harbor in time to catch the ferry. Their relationship remained strained from the previous evening, and as a consequence, they had little to say to each other. By unspoken agreement, neither Walker nor his invitation was mentioned until Debbie boarded the ferry, when her parting words to her friend were to enjoy her afternoon with the most handsome man on the island. Despite her irritation, Skye couldn't help but laugh. Debbie always managed to have the last word.

Reluctant to return to the cabin for fear of finding Walker on her doorstep, Skye dallied in town for as long as she could, but there was only so much time she could spend window-shopping and so many cups of coffee her body could absorb. She took her time driving back to the cabin, fervently hoping as every mile passed that Walker would have forgotten about his invitation.

She brought the car to a halt in front of the garage. She let out a sigh of relief—of Walker there was no sign. It was only when she strolled round the deck to where the cabin overlooked the small cove that she saw him gently rocking back and forth in one of the wicker chairs, looking completely at home. His hands were behind his head and his face was turned skywards as he soaked up the late morning sun. Skye leaned against the wall, crestfallen. She should have known she wasn't going to be let off the hook that easily. She took a deep breath, forced what she hoped was an enthusiastic smile onto her face, and turned to face her adversary.

Walker stood in one smooth movement, reached out and caught Skye's hand before she realized what he intended.

"Hi, there, I thought you'd forgotten our arrangement." He grinned mischievously, as if reading her thoughts.

The mere touch of his hand sent a warming shiver through her body. Her brittle smile softened slightly as she lowered her gaze. Skye took a deep breath then raised her eyes to his.

"I hadn't forgotten. I just wasn't sure if you really meant it. After all, Debbie rather pushed us into this, didn't she?"

"Whether she did or she didn't isn't the issue. I volunteered, and I always mean what I say," Walker said. There was warmth in his voice as he continued. "I thought we might take the boat over to Lopez Island and wander around the village. You haven't been there, have you?"

Gently Skye eased her hand out of his firm grasp. Her voice was unsteady when she spoke. "No, I haven't, but surely we're too late for the ferry? Perhaps another time?"

Walker nodded towards the dock, his eyes like summer lightning. "No need for the ferry, I brought the boat around."

Skye turned, sure enough, moored at the end of the dock, and bobbing up and down with the swell, was a sleek, powerful and expensive cruiser.

"Unless there's anything you need from inside,” Walker indicated the cabin with a jerk of his head, "we should set off."

Skye could think of a million reasons why she shouldn't accompany him. But short of committing an act of violence on his person, she didn't think Walker would accept any of them. He took her small hand in his large one once more, and led her down the path towards his boat. All she could do was to follow along. He effortlessly jumped aboard then turned to help her, taking both her hands in his.

Skye watched the boat rising and falling on its mooring and tried to time her jump as Walker had done. Confident that she'd judged the boat's rhythm, she stepped off the dock, but was caught off guard when the cruiser drifted away from its mooring. She would have fallen if Walker hadn’t stepped forward and caught her in safely his arms, clasping her body tightly to his. Instinctively, Skye's arms wound round his waist, her head fitting snugly in the hollow between his shoulder and neck.

Walker inhaled deeply. Just as he had imagined, her soft curves fitted his lean physique perfectly. His body responded before his brain could kick in. It would be so easy to take advantage of the moment, but that wasn't his style. Struggling for control, he gently pushed Skye away, steadying her as he did so, his eyes dark and unfathomable.

"Are you all right?"

Filled with a strange inner excitement, Skye coloured fiercely, her pulses racing. Walker's arms around her felt good, almost too good. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to hold her. His breath was warm and moist against her cheek and felt just like a lover's caress.

"I think so. I'm just not used to boats." She felt slightly bereft as Walker set her loose.

"I'll try and remember that. The water's cold at this time of year. Perhaps I should give you a life vest in case you take a tumble overboard."

Skye laughed as she saw the glint of amusement in his eyes. "I haven't forgotten your earlier warning. I'll watch out for the deck cleats."

She sat down next to the helm, and studied Walker's profile as he cast off and steered the boat away from the dock. Caught up entirely in her own thoughts and emotions, she had to admit that he wasn't quite as intimidating as she had first thought. In fact, if she allowed her body to rule her mind, then she had to acknowledge she had an overwhelming desire to be kissed by him. Unbidden, her mind jumped in with a second intriguing thought—what would those kisses be like? Would they be feather light and teasing or hot and demanding?

Shaking her head at the direction her thoughts were taking, Skye contented herself with admiring the scenery, and looking for signs of the Orcas. When she thought Walker wasn't looking, she made a quick appraisal of his features and felt her pulse quicken. His face was strong, and there were laughter lines around his eyes and mouth, hinting at a softer side to his character. His body was lean, and yet she could see the outline of his muscles under the thick sweater he wore, suggesting that he spent a great deal of time outdoors or working out in the gym. The warmth of his body had been intoxicating, and the degree to which she had responded, completely unexpected. She tried to rationalize her feelings by putting them down to the shock of her fall, but failed. There was no doubt that what she felt was the flush of sexual desire.

The water in the channel was choppy, but it was nothing Walker or the boat couldn't handle. As he steered the boat into the San Juan Channel, the wind lifted Skye's hair. Without thinking he reached out and lightly fingered a stray tendril, tucking it behind her ear. As his fingers brushed her cheek, a shiver of wanting shot through him. Good move, Walker, he silently chided himself, as his body stirred with need. He wanted her, pure and simple, and if she kept on looking at him with eyes full of unfulfilled passion, then he'd throw his rulebook overboard and start kissing her until she begged him to stop.

He brushed a hand through his hair, and attempted to play the part of the tour guide in an effort to get his mind off his crotch, but failed miserably. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until neither had the breath to talk.

Dragging his mind back to his geography lesson, he explained that depending on the tides, the islands could number anywhere from just over four hundred to over seven hundred, but only four were actually named. When his mind started to wander again, he clamped his mouth shut and put all his concentration into keeping the boat on a steady course.

When Skye subconsciously moistened her lips, tasting salt carried in the wind, Walker held his breath as her tongue gently passed over her bottom lip. Although she was unaware, he had watched her earlier open appraisal of him and had seen the longing in her eyes. Hell, if she kept looking at him with those blue eyes and making those sexy gestures with the tip of her tongue, he’d have to start reciting the periodic table—backwards, anything to stop him from following through on his thoughts.

Walker knew that the Coastguard cutter had completed its survey the previous day and was now returning to Seattle with the results. It would be another thirty-six hours before they were available and in the meantime he planned on pumping his tenant for all the information she was willing to give.

"How long will it take us to get to Lopez Island?" Skye asked.

"Not long. The channel is fairly narrow at this point. It depends on how many tankers or cargo vessels we have to dodge. Not feeling seasick, are you?"

“Being on a boat doesn't usually bother me too much, unless it's heaving up and down and rocking from side to side, at the same time." She smiled and recounted her previous trip in a small boat. "Last year I took a trip to the Small Isles—off the West Coast of Scotland—on an old World War II launch." Skye's voice was rich with laughter as she continued. "By the time we reached halfway the wind had risen to Force five. That launch was being tossed in every direction. As the only female on board, I was determined not to let my gender down by being seasick. I resolutely kept my eyes fixed on the horizon. When someone started grilling bacon for breakfast, I turned a delicate shade of green, but I managed to hold on to my dignity. I was relieved to set foot on solid ground, I can tell you."

Walker’s mouth quirked with humor, there was something warm and enchanting in hearing her laugh. As the wind kicked at her hair, blowing it every which way, she'd put her hand up to push it out of her face. She looked so alive, her cheeks were tinged with pink, her blue eyes sparkled and he could have sworn they had changed to a deeper hue.

The pain and wariness that he'd previously noticed had vanished, leaving her looking relaxed, smiling and radiant, as if she didn't have a care in the world. Her features had softened now that her guard was down. Walker caught a spark of some indefinable emotion in her eyes. Her face was delicately carved, her mouth full and asking to be kissed. Something intense flared deep within him. Without knowing it, she had the ability to arouse him like no other woman ever had, and despite his determination not to become involved, his body had its own agenda.

As the boat sped over a rough stretch of water, their eyes briefly locked and they shared a moment of intense physical awareness. The air between them crackled with excitement. Walker stood so close to Skye that he could feel the heat from her body. He closed his eyes, breaking contact. Clearing his throat, he pretended to be unaffected by what had passed between them.

"The entrance to the Marina is just past the end of that breakwater." He took his hand off the helm, and pointed as he spoke. "The village is a short distance away. We can walk or can you ride a bicycle?"

"Sure, it's like sex, isn't it? Once you've learnt how, you never forget." Skye blushed as the words tumbled from her mouth completely unbidden. Her lips trembled with a need to smile. Finally her sense of humour overtook her embarrassment at her unintentional word choice. She felt good, and despite her earlier misgivings, she was glad she came.

Walker threw back his head and laughed heartily. He knew she had a quick mind, but he hadn't appreciated how good she was at thinking on her feet. The afternoon was turning out to be full of surprises. He quickly brought the boat alongside, and secured it to the quay. Together they followed the footpath towards the exit. When Walker sought it her hand, Skye gave it freely.

They found the chandler's store and hired two ancient-looking bicycles. Satisfied that Skye could indeed ride a bike without falling off after five yards, Walker led the way to the village.

"Hungry?" he asked after they had gone a little way.

Now that she thought about it, Skye realized that her stomach was beginning to gnaw her backbone. She hadn't eaten since her scant breakfast with Debbie, many hours ago.

"Mm, coffee and a sandwich would be good."

"I think I can do better than that. How about a bowl of the best clam chowder in the Pacific Northwest?"

"That good, huh?"

"I'll stake my reputation on it."

"And what if I disagree?" she asked, a hint of challenge in her voice.

"Let's see…" Amusement flickered in Walker’s eyes as they met hers. "I get to take you to dinner in the most expensive restaurant in the San Juans."

"And if you're right?"

A mischievous smile tipped the corners of his mouth. "If I'm right, then you agree to spend a whole day with me."

Skye considered her answer carefully. She ignored the voice inside her head that wondered why spending time with him had suddenly become very important.

"Okay, you've got a deal."

Half an hour later, Skye let out a long sigh. She mopped up the last of her clam chowder from the bowl with a piece of sourdough bread. She had to admit he was right. She had never tasted anything quite as delicious. And she had tasted clam chowder from San Francisco to Seattle and places in between, but nothing came close to being as good.

Walker watched her obvious enjoyment of the simple meal. "Well, am I right?"

Skye licked her lips. "Okay, you win. That was the best chowder I've eaten in a long time."

"In that case you owe me a day of your time, to spend how I choose." He reached across the table, and brushed his finger against the side of her mouth in a gentle caress. "You missed a bit," he said huskily.

Skye gasped in delight. Her flesh burned where he touched her. She watched riveted as he lifted his finger to his mouth and licked it clean. Nervously, she moistened her dry lips. There was a far deeper significance to his actions than she was ready to contemplate. An invisible thread seemed to draw her closer. If she didn't do something now to break it, she would be unable to stop herself from falling headlong into his arms.

The sun was sinking fast, and only a small splash of orange remained on the horizon as they sailed back across the channel. Skye hadn't realized it was quite so late as she had enjoyed herself so much. High above in the darkening evening sky one or two stars were already appearing. It would be dark by the time they reached the cabin.

Skye shivered in the late spring frost, and was glad of the slight shelter afforded by the boat’s windscreen and the warmth of the heavy sweater she wore. She wrapped her arms around her midriff, but still couldn't stop the odd shudder rippling through her body.

Walker's deep husky voice broke through the ever-darkening sky.

"If you're cold there's a jacket under the seat. It's probably way too big, but at least it will keep the chill out. Here, take the helm for a moment." He took Skye's hand and placed it on the wheel beneath his own. "Keep your eye on the compass and hold it steady on this heading." His warm, strong hand guided hers. He raised the seat on the port side; lifted out the old waterproof jacket he kept there, and draped it around Skye's shoulders.

Suddenly, Skye found herself wrapped in Walker's arms. Unconsciously she settled back, enjoying the feel of his body against hers. Walker placed his right hand over hers where it rested on the helm. His left circled her waist, steadying her against the pitching of the boat. Skye shivered again, but this time, it wasn't from cold—but from sexual desire.

Walker bent his head and rested his cheek against hers. "See that light over there? Keep heading toward it. Think of it as being like driving a car, the only difference is that the boat is slower to respond."

Skye could scarcely breathe. The touch of his lips on her cheek was soft a caress as he spoke. Several seconds passed before she felt able to respond and then all she could do was nod her head.

She stiffened slightly and drew in a ragged breath. "This is a real bad idea," she said nervously. "I always get confused between my right and left hand when people shout directions at me. Ask anyone who knows me. Debbie and I once set out to drive to Santa Cruz and ended up in Santa Rosa."

"Relax. I'll make sure we don’t wander off course."

"Really," she said, and ducked out of his arms. "I'd much prefer to be a passenger."

Walker released her and allowed her to slide back into the seat next to him. "If you're sure? We’ve not got far to go now."

For ten long minutes Skye fought to control her swirling emotions. Her feelings towards Walker were totally confused. Only a couple of days ago she’d hated the sight of him and the mere mention of his name. Now she found herself responding to his every touch. Was it possible? Was she really attracted to this arrogant, complex, but devastatingly handsome man?

Walker watched Skye in the moonlight, and could see she was fighting an inner battle, and wondered if it was the same battle he was fighting. There was no denying she was beautiful, just as there was no denying he wanted her. But he was also sure that she was somehow involved in in his current investigation, but he just couldn’t figure out where. He'd never used a woman in his life and wasn't about to now, at least not if he could help it. It was totally against his code of ethics. But he couldn’t sit back and let his business go under without a fight, either. Swearing under his breath was becoming an uncontrollable habit, he thought dryly. Perhaps he ought to learn another language—it might give him a wider choice of expletives.

Deep in thought, Skye hadn't noticed Walker had cut the engines, nor did she feel the fender bump the dock, as the boat finally came to rest. It was the sudden total silence that brought her out of her reverie and back to the present.

Saddened that their afternoon together was at an end, she stepped off the boat. Guided only by Walker's torch and the moonlight, she was quiet and withdrawn as she strolled up the path to the cabin. She blinked away the sudden tears that appeared for no reason that she could fathom, other than a fear of overwhelming loneliness.

Stopping midway, in an attempt to prolong their remaining minutes together, she realized she no longer wanted to spend the night on her own, but what choice did she have? She could hardly ask Walker to stay on the strength of a few moments in his arms. It didn't give her any right to expect anything more, and even if he suggested he stay, was she ready to accept his offer?

Walker thought Skye was behind him, and turned only to find her standing all alone in the middle of the path. He re-traced his steps, stopping barely a foot away from her. Her upturned face was bathed in moonlight as she searched the heavens. Walker raised his head to see what she was staring at. The sky was alight with a myriad of stars.

A knot rose in Skye's throat, making her voice soft and husky. "Isn't that a wonderful sight? We've so much light pollution in London. You never get to see a star, let alone a sky full of them." She dropped her gaze as her voice trailed away to a whisper.

"I guess we're kind of lucky out here," he replied. "We tend to take nights like this for granted."

Walker held his gaze steady as he bent his head to Skye's. Her eyes were filled with a curious deep longing that shattered all his resolve. He reached out, gently touched her face, and brushed her lips in a feather-light kiss. Slowy, he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the soft fullness of her lips.

Chapter Nine

Bathed in the soft moonlight, they stood wrapped in each other's arms, their breathing ragged. Skye was too stunned to speak, being far more shaken than she cared to admit by her response to Walker's kiss. He had awakened feelings deep inside her, feelings that she had long ago buried, and never thought would resurface.

Walker softly whispered her name. Keeping an arm around her waist, he guided her to the door. He wished her goodnight, then, without another word, strode down the path to his boat.

Skye felt suddenly and strangely bereft, as she stood in the doorway. She shivered with chill and fatigue, as Walker and the boat vanished into the darkness. She let herself into the darkened cabin and shrugged off the jacket Walker had wrapped round her shoulders.

Moonlight filtered through the French windows, bathing the lounge in a strange ethereal light. It was too late to start a fire so she settled for a nightcap of her favorite malt whisky. Slowly sipping the amber liquid, she allowed it to warm her body. She curled up in one of the large armchairs and closed her eyes, and relived every moment of the velvet warmth of Walker's kiss.

All day tension had crackled between them. But even so, Skye was totally unprepared for Walker's sudden show of emotion. His kiss had lasted for only a minute or two, but it had seemed much longer. The caress of his mouth on hers had set her body aflame.

For the first time in many months, she felt truly alive and utterly feminine. Her heart swelled with a feeling that she had thought long since dead; one that she was sure she was incapable of experiencing. Although tired, she was content, and her last conscious thought before turning off the light and going to bed was that tomorrow had never looked so promising.

***

Walker returned to the Lodge to find the light on his answering machine flashing angrily. He was tired and frustrated in more ways than one. He switched on the coffee pot and waited for it to brew. The last thing he needed was yet another problem. He spent five minutes getting his thoughts together, before hitting the play button. McCabe's voice echoed around the room.

"Walker, if you're there pick up," the disembodied voice demanded. "I guess you're out and about. I thought you should know that the Seattle police stopped a tanker truck on the freeway this afternoon for some minor traffic violation. The cop became suspicious when the driver couldn't say what was in the tank and or explain why a loaded truck wasn't displaying the obligatory tags. The cop was young and real eager, and rather than let the driver off with a warning, he hauled him in. The tanker is currently at the pound north of Seattle. I thought you might want to examine the contents. Sorry this is short notice, but I only got to hear about it this evening. Give me a call when you get in."

Already angry, Joe's message did nothing to improve his temper. Walker punched in McCabe's number. This was the first decent lead they'd had, and where was he? Messing around on a boat, playing Romeo to his tenant's Juliet. Talk about stupid, idiotic, and bad. McCabe answered on the second ring.

"Joe, I only just got your message. When did this happen?"

"About four-thirty this afternoon. I didn't get to hear about it until three hours later. I called as soon as I could. I even tried your cell phone, but I guess you had turned it off."

"Yeah, I know, sorry about that. I'll fly over first thing in the morning. Where's the driver? Has anyone questioned him?"

"As you might have guessed, he's a contractor. Just told to go to this yard, connect his truck to a tank and drain the contents. Cash up front and no questions asked. You know the type."

Disgusted, Walker grunted. "And he had no idea what he'd been paid to haul?" Illegal dumping was a big problem the whole world over. The USA was no exception.

"Nope. He'll be prosecuted for the violation of course, and as a first time offender will probably get off with a fine, unless we prove he carried an illegal substance, and planned to dump it on an unauthorized site. That's why I thought you would want to test the contents, rather than have the County lab do it. If my suspicions are correct, then maybe we could strike a deal, lessen the fine or sentence if he talks, but that decision will rest with the Public Prosecutor."

"Or his well paid lawyer,” Walker said. "We should be thankful he hadn't already dumped the load. Give me the address of the pound and I'll either send one of my lab technicians over now if I can get hold of one, or go and take the samples myself in the morning." He scribbled the address McCabe gave him on the notepad by the phone. "Any news on the survey results yet?"

"I'll check up on that when I get to the office. What time do you think you'll be here?"

"Mid-morning. There's someone I have to see first."

Late as it was, Walker considered returning to the cabin to tell Skye that he'd be unable to spend the following day with her. He reflected on the sexual tension that had existed between them, and decided that challenging her to spend the day with him hadn't been one of his brightest ideas. In fact it was the dumbest move he'd made since he learnt how to shave. His body however, thought differently.

He should call her, but then he would have to explain how he knew the number, and that would prompt more questions from the enigmatic Ms Dunbar than he was prepared to answer. Walker dismissed that as his second dumbest thought, and finally settled on writing a short note. He figured there were two possibilities. She would either welcome the space, especially if she was as stunned as he by the chemistry that existed between them or she’d slam the door in his face. Either way, he didn't have time for romance in his schedule at present—he needed answers and he needed them fast. If Ms Dunbar was innocent, and things between them took their natural course, then she would merely be an interesting diversion. If she was involved, even in a small way, then he'd make damned sure she rotted in jail along with any accomplices.

Shortly after five am, Walker freewheeled his truck down the track to the cabin. He stepped out from the behind the wheel, and had a quick look around. There was no sign of life, but then no self-respecting tourist would be up at that hour unless they happened to be a masochist or up to no good. He slipped his hastily written note from his jeans pocket, and pushed it under the cabin door.

Five hours later, the lead that seemed so promising, fizzled out like a dying Roman candle. As Walker and McCabe suspected, the tanker carried a lethal cocktail of chemicals, which, if the driver had succeeded in dumping, would have had repercussions on the environment for years to come.

Alternatively, they bullied and cajoled the driver. Despite threats of being jailed for years, he steadfastly refused to say anything, other than he had been contacted by phone and offered an obscene amount of cash, which he found stuffed in his mailbox that morning.

Walker and McCabe were sure the site where the driver had filled his tanker had nothing to do with the production of the chemicals, and was merely a holding area. The police agreed to watch the address on the off chance someone turned up, but realistically, they knew that whoever was behind this wouldn't use the site again.

Walker was amazed that no one had been hurt, least of all the driver. If the tanker had been involved in a traffic accident, the resulting catastrophe wasn't worth contemplating. Walker's anger became a scalding fury. These people made him sick. They had no idea how many innocent lives they were putting at risk. Skin irritation, liver, stomach and fertility problems could all be linked to pesticides such as DDT and polychlorinated biphenyls or PCBs as they were more commonly known.

In the late 1970s, the USA had banned their production, but PCBs were still found in the environment, and mankind was now paying the price for thinking that it could dispose of these chemicals without first figuring out a way of making them safe. Nothing like shitting in your own backyard, Walker thought ironically.

He and McCabe spent a long time with the District Attorney, finally persuading him to cut a deal with the driver. It was agreed that charges would be dropped in return for a tap being placed on his phone. If he were approached again, at least the police department would be able to trace the call.

McCabe also gave Walker the news that the sonar survey had drawn a blank. That filled him with despair. He was so sure that something would turn up. However, he was realistic. He knew that extending the search area was out of the question and he was now fast running out of options.

Although tired from his fruitless day in Seattle, Walker returned to the island. There was nothing to keep him in town, he reasoned, and sleeping at the office held even less appeal than crawling into the cockpit of his plane. He’d put in more flying hours in the past month than he had in the previous six. If he kept this up he would have enough airtime to pilot a seven-forty-seven.

Just over two hours later he let himself into the lodge. The house was cold, unappealing, and had a decidedly unlived-in feeling. What he needed most was a long hot shower to wash away the fatigue and strain of the day, followed by a stiff drink. He turned up the thermostat and traipsed into the bathroom.

With drops of moisture clinging to his forehead and a towel slung low over his hips, he entered the lounge. He was about to pour himself a large scotch when a devilish look came into his eyes. He replaced the stopper in the decanter, and walked over to the wine rack selecting a bottle of Woodward Canyon 1994 instead. He placed it on the table before dressing in a pair of black slacks and smoke grey shirt. With a sweater thrown casually over his shoulders, he grabbed his keys, cell phone, and the bottle off the table.

The mellow sound of the saxophone drifted from the open window of the cabin as Walker switched off the engine. He sat and listened for a moment to the lush sound as it floated on the evening breeze. You've got great taste in music, lady, he muttered to himself, idly wondering if Skye’s body would be as responsive as the instrument he was listening to. Alighting from the truck, he picked up the bottle of wine from the passenger seat. He stepped up to the cabin and knocked on the door.

"Hi, I know you weren't expecting me." He gave Skye a boyish grin. "I got free earlier than I expected and thought you might like to share this with me." He held up the bottle for her inspection.

Skye paused in the doorway and offered a welcome smile in return. There was something lazily seductive in Walker’s eyes that she was unable to resist.

"You’re right, I wasn't expecting you. Your note said a couple of days."

Walker's gaze took in her rich auburn hair, and nutmeg skirt, the slim waist, and the outline of her full breasts under the bronze shirt. He took a deep breath. He could smell her perfume, a heady oriental fragrance that seemed to echo her very essence. His body moved up a gear as their gaze locked.

"If it's too late, we can leave it to another time." He turned to leave.

"No, no, don't go, you've timed it right. I was just about to have dinner. It's nothing fancy, but you're welcome to join me," Skye said. She stood to one side to let him pass.

"Well, only if you're sure it’s no bother."

As he entered, the rich aroma of something cooking in herbs assaulted his senses, reminding him how long it was since he last had a decent meal. His gaze rested on Skye’s slightly flushed face. He dropped a kiss on her cheek. Instinctively her fingertips touched the spot. She seemed nervous and slightly distracted, but there was no denying the answering desire in her eyes.

"Where do you want me to put this?" Walker held up the bottle. "The wine…"

Walker's voice broke through Skye's thoughts. She felt like a teenager on a first date, hardly able to string two coherent sentences together. Her mind and body drifted along as if on a cloud.

"Sorry…you'd better open it and let it breathe. Dinner won't be long," she finally stammered. She handed him the bottle opener. Their fingers touched and Skye became acutely conscious of his very male presence in the tiny space.

Under Walker's steady scrutiny, she found it hard to think—correction, hard to breathe. Her brain had turned to mush, her cheeks flushed. All she could think of was Walker and the way she felt when he touched her. Trying hard to keep things light between them, she busied herself laying another place at the table.

"You never did tell me why you decide to take your vacation in the San Juans. A month is a long time, especially when you’re on your own. You must have a very understanding employer."

Skye was glad of the momentary diversion to bring her wayward body under control.

"I haven't taken a vacation in over a year. And as for a generous employer, I co-own a business, so I’m my own boss. My partner had no objection, so as they say, here I am." She carried two laden plates to the table. "As for being here on my own, I quite enjoy my own company. I guess it comes from being an only child. We get plenty of practice while growing up."

"But the San Juans?" he pressed. "The islands aren't exactly known for good weather at this time of year. I would have thought someone like you would be more at home on the beaches of the Caribbean, than the rocky shores of these islands."

"Haven't you heard that too much sun is overrated? Not every woman wants to parade herself on the beach for every lothario within a twenty-mile radius to prey on her. I happen to like the Pacific Northwest. Besides, I have my reasons for spending my vacation here."

For a moment he studied her intently. Some sixth sense warned him that he’d put her on the defensive, and if he questioned her further, she would clam up. His eyes swept over her delicate features, to where the creamy skin of her throat showed through the open neck of her shirt. He couldn't help notice her long slender ringless fingers as they played with the stem of the wine glass. Once more his crotch overrode his brain as he wondered how it would feel if she were to run a delicate finger down the hot length of him. His body hardened instantly at the thought.

"What about your boyfriend? He can't be too happy about you being away for this length of time?" If he had a woman as attractive as Skye in his life, there was no way he would let her out of his sight for more than a day, let alone a month.

For the first time in days there was silence between them.

Skye's lashes brushed her cheek. For a brief moment a shutter closed over her face. She pushed all the negative thoughts to the back of her mind, and gazed at him. The look of concern on his face all but melted her heart.

"There is no boyfriend." Realizing how sad that sounded, she quickly inserted some humour into the conversation. "John, my business partner and self-appointed big brother, would have every applicant for the vacancy positively vetted given half the opportunity. As it is, work keeps me busy. What about you? How does your significant other feel about you spending all your spare time here in the San Juans fishing?"

"Like you, there is no significant other, though that's not completely my choice. I move around too much with work. When a guy constantly calls and cancels, dates kind of get fed up waiting around. Sometimes going fishing seems a better alternative to having the phone slammed down in your ear."

A thoughtful smile curved Skye’s mouth. "I thought you said you worked out of Seattle."

Walker played with the napkin. "My office is there, but like I said, I tend to travel quite a bit from city to city. That makes it hard to maintain a relationship. Not all women understand that a man can't always be there when they want."

Skye understood, and it hadn't bothered her, but she wasn't about to tell Walker that.

"Surely, if you met someone who really cared, it wouldn't matter to them—so long as the time you spent together was quality time. A few weeks or months apart shouldn't be that big a hurdle, not when you've got a lifetime to look forward to. Isn't that what love is all about? Surmounting the obstacles and loving someone for who they are?"

"I'm sure you're right. I've yet to meet such a paragon of virtue who'll accept me, suitcase and all. Perhaps American woman are more demanding of their partners, wanting the best of everything—a home, a car, an endless supply of credit cards, membership of the local country club, and so on. They're certainly more opinionated, which probably has something to do with why there are so many single women here in the States. You Brits tend to be more stoic, or at least, you seem that way."

Chapter Ten

Walker hadn't tasted such good home cooked food in a long time. He enjoyed the easy conversation despite the fact he touched a raw nerve now and again. When he sensed the conversation was getting too heavy, he deftly changed the subject. He raised his glass to Skye, and turned up his smile a notch.

"I thought you Brits lived off baked beans and fish and chips. I didn’t realize you were good cooks."

Skye laughed aloud. "It’s a common assumption, but totally wrong. You should thank my mother for my culinary skills. She was determined I should acquire some housewifely attributes as well as a degree, so insisted I took a cookery course before I went off to university. But, like all students my cash was tight. I became very adept with a can opener. You should have seen some of the concoctions I and my friends came up with."

Skye raised her glass and sipped the wine. She savoured its intense plumy flavour. It made her feel relaxed and quite mellow, and combined with the smouldering looks Walker was giving her over the rim of his glass, the effect on her pulse rate was alarming.

Walker was only too aware of the woman sitting opposite and the way she made him feel when he held her in his arms. His feelings had nothing to do with reason, and were borne of an aching need. He wanted her every way a man could want a woman. Until now he'd never met a woman he hadn't been able to walk away from. But Skye was different. She was smart, sassy, and too sexy for her own good, and seemed to have no appreciation of the effect she had on men and him in particular. But with his life turning from sugar to shit with every passing hour having an affair would be the dumbest move he could make. So he’d backed off. Or tried to.

However, the enigmatic Ms Dunbar, damn it, had crawled under his skin, like a two-day-old itch that refused to be scratched. She was the reason why he'd taken more cold showers in the last ten days than he had since tenth grade. And while he was thinking about it, she was also the reason his temper had been off the Richter scale all week. From the first time he saw her he'd wanted to know what she would feel like against the hard length of him. And now he knew—she felt too damned good.

That was part of his problem. His body wasn't satisfied with just holding her and tasting her honeyed kisses, it wanted more. Hell, it ached for more and no matter how many times he reminded himself he was a grown man and not a hormonally charged teenager, he still wanted her.

On the short drive over to the cabin he'd convinced himself that he could do whatever it took to save his company, and if that involved seducing his sexy auburn-haired tenant, then he would do so with no regrets. He would treat it like any other job, except for one important factor—this time instead of saving the environment, he would be salvaging his business.

But having felt Skye's warm lithe body against his and drunk in her sweet kisses, he knew he couldn't go through with it. While he wasn't sure what his feelings for the seemingly fragile woman he'd cradled in his arms in the moonlight were, he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself or with the accompanying guilt if he used her. If he had sex with her, then it was because she wanted him in her bed, as much as he wanted her. Otherwise he would walk away and spend the next month chewing out anyone who came within a twenty mile radius of him. That, or move to the northernmost end of Alaska.

Walker finished the last of his wine, and mentally ticked off all she had told him about herself. What he knew wouldn't fill the back of a postage stamp. She worked in London. So did a third of the population of England, or so he'd read. She had a degree, and was a partner in a business. She was obviously intelligent, but just what did she hold her degree in and what was her training? What did her company specialize in?

For all he knew she could be a designer, since her clothes certainly weren't from the local chain store. It was what she hadn't told him that intrigued him. He couldn't help pondering about her business and her partner, and where they fitted into his latest assignment. Something just didn't add up.

Skye's soft voice broke into his thoughts. She placed the coffee tray on the table by the sofa. "I haven't any brandy, but I do have a good malt whisky if you'd care for one."

"That sounds great." Walker threw another log on the fire.

For an instant there was a burning, faraway look in his eyes, as if he was wrestling a problem. By the time Skye had poured a measure of scotch and handed him the glass, the fleeting expression that lingered momentarily, had vanished.

Walker transferred the glass to his left hand, and placed it on top of the fireplace. His right hand captured her’s, his thumb stroking the soft skin just below her wrist. He wrapped his arms around her waist, moulding her soft curves to the contours of his hard lean body, and lowered his head to kiss her.

Skye's arms wound round his neck, her fingers burying in his thick black hair. His first kiss was soft and teasing, his tongue tracing the soft fullness of her lips. She moaned softly, and parted her lips.

Walker deepened the kiss, his lips giving her what she wordlessly sought. He meant to take it slow and gentle, just as a man should when he kisses a woman for the second time, but the depth of Skye's response broke his resolve. Hungrily he took all she gave and more, his tongue exploring the soft recesses of her mouth. He lifted his mouth from hers, gazed into her eyes, and saw her answering desire. Resting his head on the top of hers he fought for control, his pulse hammering in his ears, his breathing fast.

Skye lowered her cheek on to his chest with a sigh of pleasure, her breathing almost ragged as his. He could feel her heart thudding and felt the answering beat of his own. He watched her tongue as she tasted his kiss and remembered to breathe—just. Gently he rocked her back and forth, before suddenly lifting her into his arms and carrying her to the sofa. One kiss was not enough; he had an aching need for more, and to hell with the consequences. His eyes locked with hers.

He huskily said her name. "Skye?"

Walker's kiss left Skye’s mouth burning with fire and her senses reeling. Her mind told her to resist, that this really wasn't a good idea. But, her body had other ideas. It craved more, much more. Slowly, she ran her tongue over her warm moist lips totally unaware of the sensual picture she made.

She didn't need to hear his unspoken question; her body already knew the answer. His intense blue eyes never left hers as he lowered his mouth and hungrily covered her lips once more. When he released her, and eased her down on to the thick cushions, she didn’t object.

Slowly and seductively his gaze slid from her face to her breasts, his hand gently outlining a firm globe through the silk of her blouse. His touch was feather-light and teasing. Skye's nipple hardened instantly, her body hungry with desire. She moaned softly, as she felt the hardness of Walker's arousal pressing into the soft flesh of her thigh.

She heard Walker suck in a ragged breath. Slowly he lowered his head. His lips touched the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat, as he explored the soft creamy expanse of her skin at the neck of her blouse. She quivered beneath him, her body demanding more.

"Skye…honey, look at me."

Walker's voice seemed to come from a long way off. Skye opened her eyes. There was an invitation in his eyes, as they gazed into hers.

"Mm…" Her voice was no more than a husky whisper. She trailed her fingers up and down Walker's back and across the expanse of his shoulders, exploring every contour, committing them to memory. Unable to disguise his reaction to her soft caress, she felt his body stiffen with need.

Walker raised himself on one elbow. "Honey, unless you tell me to stop, I'm going to make love to you right here."

Skye’s voice was silky and full of passion. "Walker—"

"Tell me, sweetheart, tell me what you want. I can't make this decision for both of us."

Skye's heart hammered in her ears. Their gaze locked and she swallowed hard. With a delicate finger, she first traced the outline of the scars on his eyebrow and chin before moving to his firm sensual lips. Without warning his mouth captured her finger, gently sucking it, sending shivers of delight through her. She couldn't deny her feelings for him any longer. She wanted this man with every inch of her being. His raw sensuousness took her higher and higher, until all she could think about was having him fill her body with his. She inhaled sharply, her eyes never leaving his mouth.

"I…want…I want you."

"Honey, that's what I needed to hear you say." There was a faint tremor in his voice, as though some deep emotion had touched him.

He eased off the couch, and threw the cushions on to the rug in front of the fire, then took Skye into his arms. He knelt in front of her and stroked the soft skin of her face, his hand trailing down to the buttons of her blouse. With slightly unsteady fingers, he first undid one button and then another, before slowly slipping it off her shoulders and down her arms.

The soft light from the fire cast a warm glow on her creamy skin. Walker inhaled sharply, drinking in her subtle perfume. He longed to touch and taste her soft skin. His lips trailed feather-light kisses down her neck and shoulders until she moaned for him. Watching her, he outlined her full breasts through the lace of her bra before his fingertips brushed intimately over her hardening nipples. He couldn't wait any longer to feel the soft skin of her breasts against the hardness of his chest. Hurriedly dealing with the buttons of his shirt, he shrugged it off.

Skye needed no encouragement. Her fingers wove into the crisp dark curls on his chest, luxuriating in the wealth of sensations flooding her body. Her skin burned where his lips and fingertips touched. She couldn't get enough of him. His hands moved down the length of her back, to the zip on her skirt. His tongue lightly traced a path from her ear to the pulse at the base of her neck. She moaned softly at the sensations rippling thought her body.

Walker sucked in a breath, as his body responded instantly to the sight of Skye standing before him in nothing but her underwear. God, she was beautiful, and it took every last ounce of his control not to rip the scraps of lace off her and bury himself in her soft moist folds. The ache in his groin was almost unbearable. Dragging in air, he tried desperately to slow the pace. His hands slid across Skye's silken belly, making her tremble with desire.

Quickly discarding the rest of his clothes, he eased her down on to the cushions, one muscular leg slipping between hers. He kissed her deeply as his hands continued their slow exploration of her body. With passion-darkened eyes, his hands sought the fastening on the scrap of lace that passed for her bra. The heat surged in his groin as the lace fell away and his eyes drank in the fullness of her breasts and her swollen nipples. With one hand he fondled first one firm globe then the other, then lowered his head, his tongue seeking and finding the taut dusky pink nipples.

Skye arched her back, her hands digging into his hair, pulling him closer, as the hard shell that she had so carefully built around her shattered into a million pieces. Walker's warm breath seared her skin, as his lips followed the trail left by his hands. Her body was on fire and aching for the sweet release that she knew only he could give.

She inhaled sharply as pleasure radiated through her. Walker's tongue circled her nipples, teasing and sucking the hard nubs. His hands stroked her legs and thighs, before pulling aside the lace of her thong and slipping a finger inside, seeking the core of her desire. He stroked and teased her until she couldn’t take anymore.

When her fingers stroked his hard, silky erection the pleasure was explosive, and almost drove him over the edge.

His voice was raw with passion as he whispered, "Honey—"

"Don't you like that?"

He liked it too much—that was the problem. Waves of pleasure throbbed through him, his body trembling with liquid fire.

"Honey, look at me."

Skye’s eyes told him everything he needed to know about how she felt. He rolled her onto her back and entered her, her warm moist folds sheathing the hard length of him like a glove. Just when he thought he couldn't get any deeper, he felt her relax, welcoming him further into her body. His body picked up the rhythm that was as old as time. He moved slowly at first, not wishing to hurt her, but desire and passion overwhelmed them as they sought release.

Walker sensed the change in Skye, as her whole being flooded with desire, and she trembled as the first waves of her orgasm washed over her. Her body arched in final surrender to his as he claimed her for his own, the hot tide of her passion tipped him over the edge and his own powerful orgasm exploded in a million fiery sensations.

Walker felt Skye's tears on his chest and swore to himself. He'd offered her the chance to say no. But she'd wanted him as much as he'd desired her, her passion easily a match for his own. So why the tears?

He kissed the top of her head, and gently raised her face to his. What he saw there almost tore his heart in two. Her deep blue eyes were full of longing as she looked at him, yet he could sense she was dealing with some inner turmoil. His arm tightened around her shoulders. With a single finger, he slowly traced the line of wetness on her cheek.

"Tears?" he said in an odd, yet gentle tone. "I didn't hurt you did I? You don’t have any regrets, do you?"

"They’re tears of happiness, not sadness. No one has made me feel this way in a long, long time." For a year she had convinced herself that she could never trust another man sufficiently to let him get close to her, let alone give him the gift of her body, and yet in a short space of time, this strong self-opinionated man had crept under her skin and into her heart.

"Well they should have. You're beautiful and you deserve to be loved. Hell, every woman is beautiful in her own way. Some bastards just don't know how to make a woman feel special."

Skye lowered her gaze and suppressed what could have become a hysterical giggle. She wanted to savour every moment in his arms and this wasn't the time to bare her soul and tell. Even if it were, she would be opening up a bitter wound, which, at that moment, should remain firmly closed. At least, for tonight, she knew the man holding her in his arms was helping her to heal, and she was learning to trust again.

Chapter Eleven

Over the top of Skye's head Walker watched the dying embers of the fire. She lay with her back to his chest, her body snugly fitting against his. His right arm curved over her hip, holding a full silken breast. Alone with his thoughts in the darkness, he reconsidered his assessment of the woman sleeping so trustfully in his arms.

How could he have been so mistaken about her reasons for renting the cabin so early in the season? Lots of people took vacations early in the year, and he had no reason to suspect she was any different or that she had an ulterior motive. So why was he so suspicious of her?

Her sudden appearance at the cabin was purely coincidental. Perhaps if he had paid more attention to the mail he received from the realtor, he wouldn't have been so surprised when she arrived. And what if their paths had crossed more than once during the first few days of her visit? There was nothing in the rental agreement prohibiting his tenants from walking in the woods. How could there be? The walks around the cabin were one of the main attractions, along with the uninterrupted sea views and magnificent scenery.

Skye wasn't willing to talk about herself. So what? Why should she tell him everything about herself, from the colour of her toothbrush to the size of her bra? A quick smile crossed his face. Well, at least he knew the answer to that question. He gently caressed the warm heavy globe in his hand—more than enough to drive a man wild. And, as for the toothbrush, he'd find out what colour it was in the morning.

Skye didn't seem the type to use her body for material gain. She was far too naïve to be playing that sort of game. If she were, she ought to be nominated for an Oscar for her most recent performance as she certainly had him fooled. No, Walker decided, Skye was just what she appeared to be, a single woman on an extended vacation. His mouth curved into an unconscious smile as he remembered the first time he'd seen her and how antagonistic they'd been towards each other.

He realized now what a fool he'd been to take his anger out on her. In his defense he could only offer the feeble excuse of lack of sleep—that and the fact that he'd found more evidence of illegal dumping only that morning. But to give Skye her due, she was quick to return his hostility with her own brand of hot temper. He would never forget the sight of her small frame bristling with ferocity as she stood up to him. Now that they'd stopping fighting and taken time to get to know each other, they had connected in a way he hadn't expected.

Walker tried to move the arm he was resting on into a more comfortable position. Skye yawned, and burrowed deeper, seeking the warmth of his body. As her soft skin brushed against his, his body responded, the heat pooling in his groin, making him want to bury himself in her all over again.

Only the embers burned in the gate. The air in the cabin was distinctly chilly.

"Skye, sweetheart, wake up. It’s cold and you don’t want to catch hypothermia. Come on, it’s time I took you to bed."

Skye blinked open her heavy eyes. She shivered. The scent of Walker's body and their love making filled her senses. Bed? Hadn't they done that already? Slowly she became more alert as Walker rubbed her arm, and realized he was right. She was chilled to the bone. She felt Walker’s lips on the back of her neck and eased her body away from his. He stood and looked down at her slender form, then stretched out a hand to her.

"Come on love, let's go to bed."

Skye didn't hesitate; she took Walker's hand and led him into the bedroom.

In the early hours of the morning while the moon still rode high in the sky, Skye lay next to Walker listening to his rhythmic breathing and marvelled at the beauty of the man beside her. The sheet barely covered his hips and her fingers longed to touch, to explore.

Slowly, she traced the line of his jaw. Her fingertips softly touched his lower lip. It wasn't enough. Her hand traced the line of his collarbone, luxuriating in the feel of the coarse hair on his chest. No longer able to stop her exploration, she found his nipples and drew a sensual circle around each. They hardened instantly, drawing a moan from Walker's lips. She leant over him, her hair touching his face and chest like a butterfly's wing, as she brushed her lips against his. Suddenly, his arms closed round her, pulling her to him. He opened his eyes and looked deeply into hers.

Skye lowered her mouth and used her tongue to continue the journey her fingers had begun. Walker lay still, allowing her to touch and taste him, as she slowly explored his body.

When he could take no more, he rolled on to his back. Their coupling was hot, demanding and as satisfying as it had been earlier. Skye rested her head on his chest, and fell asleep listening to the rhythmic drumming of his heart.

Someone in Skye's dream was whistling, and off key at that. Only it wasn't a dream, she really could hear someone whistling. Something else too—she could smell toast. No wait, burnt toast. She opened one eye, and closed it again quickly. Her room was bathed in brilliant sunlight. The brightness drove shards of pain into her fuzzy brain. She sat up and tipped her head away from the light before cautiously opening her eyes, and snatching her robe off the foot of the bed.

There was a man standing in her kitchen, and not any man, it was Walker.

"I wondered when you'd surface," he said.

Skye opened her mouth to speak and thought the better of it. She wanted to be in full charge of her thoughts before she uttered a word. Silently, she padded over to the sink, poured herself a large glass of water and drank it down in one gulp. The icy coldness was just what she needed to lift the fog from the grey cells in what passed for her brain.

Walker's eyebrows rose inquiringly. "Bad head?"

Her gaze took in the fact that he was wearing the clothes he'd had on the night before and now he really needed a shave.

She glared at him. "I haven't got a hangover if that's what you're implying."

He held up his hands defensively. "Hey, I was just checking. I can see the lady does not do mornings well." He watched Skye and wondered if this was the moment she was going to tell him to get the hell out of her kitchen, her life, and, just how much she regretted last night.

"Okay, concern accepted," she replied. "And before you ask, yes I do remember everything about last night, even you taking me to bed. It's just…well, I just didn't expect to find you still here, that's all." She pushed a hand through her tousled hair and blushed delicately at the memory of their passion.

Walker let out a relieved chuckle. So that's what was eating at her, finding him in her kitchen. He struggled hard to bring his features under control.

"I get it. Your lovers usually disappear into the night, do they? Wham, bam, thank you ma'am, is that what you expected? That's not my style at all. I happen to think that the first kiss of the morning is the most rewarding." He clasped her body to his and kissed her to prove his point.

Skye was speechless. Her bones had turned to jelly and most of her brain to mush. But her one remaining functioning brain cell had to agree.

"See what I mean?"

"Mm." Skye blinked and focused her gaze on Walker's strong features.

"Nope, you're really not a morning person are you, honey?" Amusement flickered in his eyes as they met hers.

Skye shook her muddled head. "No"

"That's all right. I'm wide-awake for both of us. Why don't you take your sweet ass off to the shower? By the time you get back, breakfast will be ready and on the table."

Walker swatted her derrière and pushed her in the general direction of the bathroom. He turned back to the stove, tied an apron around his waist, and deftly set about preparing the eggs.

Skye clamped her jaw tight shut, and tilted her head on one side. She stole a glance at him from under her lashes, before shaking her head and wandering off for her shower. She turned the faucet full on and allowed the hot water to stream over her. Unbidden, her mind turned to the man in the next room. Although her body showed no outward signs of their love making, she could feel the dull ache of desire as she recalled the loving Walker had given her. It was so long since she'd had a man in her bed that she hadn't expected to feel as attuned to her lover's wants and desires as she had with Walker. She was far more shaken than she cared to admit by the strength of their passion and her feelings for the tall dark man with the ice blue eyes, now cooking breakfast in her kitchen.

Yesterday morning she'd been a level headed businesswoman with only bitter memories. Today she was a woman who had given her body, her heart and probably her soul, to a tall, ruggedly handsome man with an irresistible smile.

"Two minutes," Walker called from the bedroom doorway.

Skye turned off the faucet, and towelled herself dry. By the time she had dressed and entered the kitchen, Walker was turning a fluffy omelet onto a plate.

"You lied."

"What do you mean, I lied?" Walker's face was grim. He turned away from the stove, and actively sought to remember what he’d said to make her think that way.

"You said two minutes. It's been more like seven and my breakfast still isn't on the table."

"Why you ungrateful—" The words died on his lips, as he saw the teasing laughter in her eyes. "I see the shower woke you up."

"Sure did, sunshine. Now, am I going to have to start gnawing on your leg, or is some of that omelet for me?"

"That hungry, huh?" He placed a plate in front of her, and then poured some more of the egg mixture into the skillet.

Skye kept her face devoid of expression. "I seem to have quite an appetite this morning, must be something to do with the workout I had last night."

The skillet Walker held clattered down on the stove. He shook his head in disbelief at the expression on her face. A two year old couldn't look as innocent, even if they'd had their hand in the cookie jar. Walker smiled; she sure was something else. Beautiful, sexy, quick witted, and intelligent, and now that they'd started rubbing each other up the right way, they laughed as easily as they made love.

"Workout?" He tried hard to look hurt, but a smile fought to play at the corners of his mouth.

"I worked up a sweat, and at times I felt as if I’d run a marathon. Does that count?"

"Yeah, that counts." Abruptly his mood switched from one of simple amusement to that of seriousness. He didn't want to play the game anymore. He needed to know what Skye really thought. He knew he could make her respond, but hell, he'd made other women respond too. Skye was different. She had fire, passion and something else.

Suddenly, he wanted more with her than just great sex. He wanted to wake up to find her by his side not just on this morning, but for as many as she was willing to give. The question was did this auburn-haired angel want the same? Had he crept under her skin, as she had his? Only she knew the answers, and he'd be damned if he felt he had the right to ask.

"Is that how you really think of last night?" He kept his voice calm as his eyes anxiously searched her face.

Her elbows resting on the table, Skye watched Walker. Just how much should she tell the virile man standing at her stove and wearing an apron? Was he was ready to hear the message her heart was sending her brain, when she wasn't one hundred percent certain she wanted to hear it either? A slow smile trembled over her lips. One thing she was sure of, if his expression was any indicator, Walker wasn't finding her teasing much fun.

She decided that if discretion was indeed the better part of valor, then she ought to tell him the truth, or as much of the truth as she knew, otherwise he might just be tempted to tip his omelet over head.

A slight blush covered her cheeks. Walker watched her closely. Sapphire blue met ice, but ice that held a savage inner fire. Skye could hardly lift her voice above a whisper. She swallowed, as she found the words and the strength to reply.

"Last night was wonderful and so special, I'll never forget it. And if I never have another memory to make, I will always hold it in my heart." She couldn't look at him anymore, so turned away, and brushed away the tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks.

Walker was unprepared for her blatant honesty. One look at her face and her body language told him she meant every word she said. All thoughts of eating pushed aside, he crossed to where she sat, and knelt next to her chair. He cupped her chin in his hand, his eyes full of concern.

"Sweetheart, you've more memories to make, I'm sure of it. There's no need to feel sad."

Skye tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. "I'm not in the least bit sad or angry nor do I have any regrets. As I said, last night was wonderful. I never thought I could experience such passion as we shared. You made me feel so wanted, so desirable, and for that I can never thank you enough."

The underlying sensuality of her words captivated him. He gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear before taking her hands in his.

"Sweetheart, there's no need to thank me. I got more pleasure out of last night than I've ever had. I just want to be sure you did too."

The heavy lashes that shadowed Skye's cheeks fluttered up in surprise. Walker's tender expression bit to her very core. She could no longer deny that he'd captured her heart and unable to find words to express her feelings for this unpredictable man, she brushed her lips against his in a kiss as soft as a downy feather.

"I did."

"Then that's okay." He studied her thoughtfully for a moment. He was full of questions, but intuitively knew now wasn't the time to pry. Obviously some bastard had hurt her and hurt her bad—he sincerely hoped he wasn't about to become the next.

Chapter Twelve

Walker’s suggestion that he stay with her for the rest of her holiday, took Skye completely by surprise, and while she would have happily kept to her part of their bargain and spent a whole day in his company, this was so much better. As a consequence, she smiled more often in the following three days than she had in months. There was laughter in her voice, and her eyes shone with happiness. Finally, it seemed the sadness of the previous twelve months was behind her and her life was back on track. Not even the unpredictable weather dampened her spirits.

They became inseparable, spending every moment together. As if by some tacit agreement, neither spoke of their lives at home or their careers, in case they should remind themselves that the clock was slowly ticking the hours away to the time when they knew Skye would have to leave.

Skye found Walker a knowledgeable and amusing guide. When they visited the historical site at the north of the island, he told her how the English and the Americans had gone to war over a pig. At first she’d thought he was making it up, and it was only when she read the free handout that she believed him.

When the weather cleared in the afternoons, as it often did in the Pacific Northwest, they went sailing. They would drop anchor in one of the coves around the island, have lunch and a bottle of wine or sail round to Lime Kiln Lighthouse, where Walker told her about the pods of Orcas, pointing out individuals by name.

Their evenings were spent talking, listening to music, and enjoying each other's company. If the weather was fine they strolled along the beach hand in hand, stopping every now and again to kiss under the stars, or sat on the deck and watched the clouds cast shadows on the moon. And later, after turning out the lights, they lay wrapped in each other's arms in a hot tangle of sheets, the raw passion of their lovemaking lifting them both higher and higher until their bodies were spent.

But then Walker's cell phone rang and shattered the dream.

Skye had finished loading the dishwasher when the first call came through. Walker went into the bedroom, half closing the door behind him to take it. Following that initial call he made several of his own and although she tried hard not to listen, Skye heard him barking out instructions to a nameless individual on the other end of the line. Her face clouded with uneasiness. She turned and stared out of the window.

Walker wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tight. Her hair smelt faintly of apples, reminding him of the shower they had shared that morning. Damn it! He didn't want to leave her, not now when they were getting on so well, but he knew he had to. The call had seen to that. If he was lucky, he could clear up the mess that was waiting for him in Seattle and return in a few days, but how could he explain his sudden departure without feeling like the biggest jerk on the planet?

"Skye, honey," he said softly.

Skye kept her back to him. She didn't want him to see the tears that threatened to fall. She bit down hard on her lip, regained control of her emotions, before facing him. She rested her head on his shoulder. The sadness she felt was all too evident in her pale blue eyes as she lifted her face to his.

Walker suddenly looked tired. She could see the anxiety in his face, and wondered why she had never noticed the dark shadows beneath his eyes before. The phone call obviously worried him. She touched a fingertip to his lips as if to silence him before he said the words she knew in her heart he was about to say.

"I know you have to go and its okay, really it is." But it wasn't in the least. She wanted to scream out loud and tell him a dozen reasons why he should stay, but she couldn't. She tried to make it easier for him by smiling, but failed miserably. When Walker started to speak, she silenced him once more.

"Honestly, its fine. I'm fine. I understand, really, I do." But the old sensation of distrust had returned and there was a feeling of sourness in her stomach. Suddenly her life was taking on an all too familiar pattern.

Walker took one look at her face and felt he'd been kicked in the guts for the second time that night. Talk about bad timing. If the call had been about an environmental disaster in some far-flung corner of the world he would have sent someone else, but he couldn't. He had no choice. This was too personal. The silence between them lengthened. He struggled to find the words to explain why suddenly he had to leave.

"I'm sorry, but it's business. It's not something I can ignore. It's something I have to attend to personally. Hopefully, it won't take too long. I'll be back before you know it and we can pick up where we left off. In the meantime, keep smiling for me. I'll call you from the office. You'll be here, won't you?"

He looked down at her pale face, and felt guilty for causing her pain, but there was nothing he could do. He tightened his arms around her waist. His voice was filled with anguish.

"You do believe me, don't you?" He kissed her hard, gently stroking her cheek, his own expression grim.

Skye managed a small tentative smile and nodded, unsure how to respond. The wound that had taken so long to heal was sliced open again. The last thing she wanted was for Walker to see how badly she was affected by his imminent departure and tried hard to keep her feelings under tight restraint.

The door to the cabin closed with a soft thud. Skye listened as Walker drove away before finally giving in and silently allowing her tears to fall.

She told herself she could handle this. She was being stupid to feel this way. She wasn't a teenager anymore but a grown woman. But it didn't help. She knew what she was getting into when she welcomed Walker into her arms and into her bed. But that didn't help either.

Walker hadn't made her any promises and she hadn't asked for any. Nevertheless, her soul was being ripped in two. She wiped away her tears. All she could think about was how she would feel when she had to return home. But she already knew. Of course she did—the same as now, only ten times worse, bereft, empty, and desolate—and a hundred and one other adjectives in between.

When the time came to board that plane to London, Skye knew it would be the hardest thing she would ever do. By then Walker might say he loved her, but past experience taught her that they were just words men said in the heat of the moment. They carried no weight, had no meaning.

Michael had taught her that.

Michael, who had once held her heart, but who had hurt her so badly that she believed she would never love again. But now, when she was finally beginning to think that love was something that didn't just exist in fairy stories, history was repeating itself. Another American held her heart in his hands, albeit in a different time and place. The only distinction being, on this occasion it was Walker who had walked out the door without saying goodbye, not her.

Apart from the fire crackling in the grate, the room was oddly quiet. Skye stared out of the window into early the evening gloom, so deep in thought that she didn't see the wind whipping the waves into a white frothed frenzy. Her mind was in overdrive finding reasons and excuses for Walker's sudden departure. None of the answers satisfied her and, too late she realized, he'd left without leaving his cell phone number.

Wretched and frustrated, all she could do was wait and be patient and hope that he would keep his promise. Patience, the one virtue she needed the most and the one she possessed very little of. She tried not to feel anxious. Her vacation wasn’t over yet, and Walker surely would return before she left for home.

***

Walker drove back to the lodge with total disregard for the island's speed limit. His truck bounced over every rut and pothole in the road, sending pain jarring through his spine. It only served to remind him just how damned stupid he'd been to think he could work and play at the same time. He'd learnt that lesson years ago when a series of relationships failed because of his constant travelling. But no, he'd stupidly allowed himself to become tangled up with a sassy auburn-haired beauty from across the pond.

His temper rose with every mile and more than once he pounded his fist on the dashboard of his truck. He blamed himself for becoming distracted. He shouldn't have spent time with Skye. He should have waited until the investigation was over before getting acquainted with her. But then, he was so sure that there was a link between her and the attacks on his company that getting to know her had seemed like a good idea. Hell, it had been—it was.

She was everything he wanted in his woman and more besides. Intelligent, funny, and so passionate, that a man could drown in her. But he had to admit his timing stank. It wasn't her fault. He should have known better. He should learn to trust his instincts. The blame for this fiasco rested squarely at his door. His cell phone rang again. He snatched it from his shirt pocket and hissed out a gruff ‘hello.’

"Mr. Walker?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"It's the night security guard from your building."

"What can I do for you?"

"I've just finished my round and I found the door to your offices ajar. Usually someone lets me know if they’re working late, but I figured they just plain forgot. Anyway, I opened the door thinking I would have a look around just to make sure, you know. It looks as if you've been burgled. There are papers everywhere, desks overturned; the place is in a right mess. I've called the cops, but I thought you ought to know."

Walker's temper flared from simmering to white-hot anger for the fifth time that night. He silently asked himself what else could go wrong. He raked his hand through his hair, and wondered which God he had angered this time to be thrown yet another curve ball.

"Thanks for letting me know. I’m on my way back to Seattle. I'll get someone to meet the police and make a preliminary assessment of what's missing."

The nearer Walker got to the lodge, the angrier he became. The truck skidded to a halt and he killed the engine. He let himself in, hit the light switch, and picked up the phone on his way to the study. Punching a pre-stored number, he paced the floor while waiting for the call to connect. He’d been totally irresponsible, there was no other explanation for it. He wouldn't blame McCabe if he hung his ass out to dry. He had done the one thing he always promised himself he would never do; relax on the assumption that the illegal dumping and attacks on his company had stopped.

But he'd been wrong, very wrong.

His lips thinned into a hard line as he wondered why it was taking so long for someone to answer the phone. It was supposed to be manned twenty-four hours a day, for God's sake. He disconnected the call in disgust, and punched in the numbers for the laboratory instead. Someone answered immediately.

"Have the cops arrived yet? Is there much damage?"

"Yeah, the cops are crawling all over the place like a rash. As for damage, it's real hard to tell what's here and what is missing. Someone made a thorough job of trashing the place, that's for sure."

Walker ran a hand through his hair. "What about the equipment, the microscopes and the slide drawer, are they intact?"

"The 'scopes have been thrown off the benches, so who knows. The slides are everywhere underfoot and the chemicals cupboard is completely empty. I keep on yelling at the cops to watch where they walk, but those guys take no notice of me. I guess the answer is that until we get the worst of the mess cleared up and check the records, assuming the computers still work, we'll never know."

Walker sighed. "We still keep a paper record of the contents of the slide drawer though, don't we?"

"Until tonight we did—depends if it's still here under all this mess."

"Do what you can. I'm arranging extra security. When they arrive, go home. There'll be enough to sort out in the morning."

Walker leaned back in the large leather chair and stared out of the study window. Normally he found the room a comfortable place in which to sit. But tonight his world was coming apart.

Not only was someone out to ruin him, but he’d left the one woman who stirred him in ways he hadn't believed possible. It would serve him right if Skye didn't trust him. He hadn't given her a plausible explanation for his sudden departure other than to say that it was business. How many men used that excuse when they walked out the door never to return? He felt like a first class jerk, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The sadness in her eyes had cut him to the core. His hand hovered over the telephone on his desk. Was it too late to call or would it sound as if he were making some feeble excuse and simply make matters worse?

If Skye could see the expression on his face at that moment, she would have recognized it as one of despair. Frowning in exasperation, he decided to leave things as they stood. There’d be time for explanations later. For the moment he had enough to worry about and his love life wasn't on top of his list of priorities.

Both his Seattle office and the laboratory to the south of the city had been broken into that evening. Luckily no one had been hurt. Instinct told him these were no random acts of vandalism. His company had been specifically targeted, but by whom? He had no doubts as to why.

This was all connected with the illegal dumping of chemical waste and the large quantity of dead fish washing up in the San Juans, that much he was sure of. But why trash his office and the labs? Unless of course, someone thought he was getting close to identifying them.

The grandfather clock in the corner of his study struck the hour. Walker realized he'd spent far longer at the lodge than he’d planned. He doubted that anything would be achieved by flying over to Seattle tonight, but he decided to make the journey anyway. If the howling wind were any indication, it would be a bumpy ride. But he'd flown in worse.

Two hours later he walked into the shambles that once had been his office. The security guard hadn't lied. The cops were already trawling over the debris; busy checking for fingerprints as they went, but Walker sensed it would take days rather than hours to shift through the chaos and assess what, if anything, was missing. No cash was kept on the premises, so the usual suspects of drug addicts looking for a means of funding their next fix could be excluded. This was a professional job; that much was apparent even to his untrained eye.

Whole filing cabinets were upended, their contents strewn across the floor. Not even his executive suite had escaped. The large expensive mahogany desk was totally ruined. Computers were smashed to pieces. If the backup disks were missing too, then data from every project his company had been involved in was destroyed.

Equipment could easily be replaced, but the data had taken years to collect and the information was invaluable. Walker Environmental Research had built a record of every business in the USA and some in other parts of the world that disposed of toxic waste by illegal means. Thankfully, the majority of the reports he'd prepared over the years were a matter of public record, and the data from those could be reassembled.

He had a hunch that all the information from this current investigation would be missing.

Chapter Thirteen

Skye threw the book she was reading on to the floor and hurriedly snatched the phone off the table.

"Oh, Debbie, it's you."

"Yeah it's me. You sound kind of disappointed."

"Sorry, I was expecting another call."

"I only rang to see how you are, but if you're waiting to hear from someone else, I can ring back later."

"No, it's all right. He's probably not going to call anyway."

"He, as in John? I thought you weren’t going to give him this number. Or by any chance would it be a far more interesting member of the male species you're waiting for?"

"I haven't changed my mind and given John this number."

"Oh, come on, Skye. This is like pulling teeth. Just who are we talking about here?"

"If you must know I’m expecting Walker to call."

"Walker! Your ‘Mr. Damn Your Eyes’ guy? Well, I'll be damned myself. You mean to tell me, you two have been spending time together? I was under the impression you couldn't stand the sight of each other."

"We can't. I mean we couldn't. Oh, it's entirely your fault!"

"What makes you think that?"

"If you hadn't forced me to spend the afternoon with him, none of this would have happened. I would be out enjoying myself instead of … instead of—"

"Sitting around and waiting for him to call? Excuse me, but haven't you been telling me for several months that the word ‘No’ is the only word in your vocabulary? Why didn't you exercise your right to use it?"

"Debbie, this is not funny. If you hadn't backed me into a corner, we wouldn't be having this ridiculous conversation."

"Maybe not, but then you wouldn't be waiting for Walker to call either. So stop moaning and accept things for what they are—a change for the better."

"I guess you're right."

"You know I am. So come on, spill. What's been happening between you two? I want all the drippy, gooey, romantic details."

"There's nothing to tell. We spent the afternoon together as agreed, and then a few days later he called round with a bottle of wine and we had dinner together."

"And? There has to be more to it than that, otherwise why are you sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring?"

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Don't deny it."

"What if I am? It's no big deal. Anyway, he’s gone away on business."

"And that's all? I don't believe it. There's something you're not telling me."

"No, there isn't."

"You're hiding something major. You've slept with him, haven't you?"

Skye wished that Debbie would drop the subject. She wasn't ready to divulge such intimate details. Her relationship with Walker was too new to share with anyone, especially her best friend. She finally settled for half-truths.

"It was late when we finished dinner and so he spent the night here."

"Oh yeah? You'll be telling me there are mermaids in the cove and you're one in training now. I suppose he was a perfect gentleman and slept on the couch fully clothed. Nope, I'm not buying it, Skye. That's one red blooded American male and anyone can see he's got the hots for you. Come on this is me, remember? I know you too well. I can tell when you're holding something back."

"So, we slept together! I'm told it's all the rage between consenting adults."

"At last. You know it's taken me ten minutes to drag that out of you." Debbie's tone softened. "It's unbelievable. You've actually slept with him? What came over you? You normally keep men at arm length and look at them as if they've got two heads. What's so special about Walker that made you change your mind? Was this just a one-night stand or are you two a couple? You weren't a little tipsy, were you?"

"I guess we got off on the wrong foot. Now we've stopped arguing, we actually get on quite well."

"You get on well together, huh? I get on with my next-door neighbor but I wouldn't sleep with him. I suppose that’s one reason to get into the sack with someone. But me, I prefer someone who's a good kisser and makes me tingle from head to toe. Don't you find him attractive?"

"Now you're being stupid."

"Not as stupid as you for letting it take this long. Anyway, I can't see what all the fuss is about. The guy's had to go off on business, so what? He said he'd call, didn't he?"

"When he got to the office. But he's been gone two days and I've heard nothing."

"So, be a big girl and call him."

"I can't. I don't know the number."

"A small thing like that shouldn't stop you. There is such a thing as a telephone directory. And you know his office is in Seattle, he told you that, right?"

"Yes, he did, but even if I knew the name of his firm, don't you see I can't call him. I have to wait for him to call me that way I'll know."

"Know what?"

"Know that he's telling me the truth."

Debbie suddenly realized this wasn't about Walker’s abrupt departure. This was about something far more serious. This had something to do with Michael, she was sure of it.

"Skye, Walker's not like Michael. I'd bet my life on it. If he said he'd call, I imagine he will. Look, maybe things just got out of hand and he’s not able to get to a phone, right now. You of all people know that things aren't always as straightforward as they seem. Give the man a chance, at least."

"That's what I'm trying to do. If he's different, why do I have a feeling that history is repeating itself?"

"I can't answer that, as you've never told me the full Michael story. Maybe it's time you did. Who knows, I might understand what's making you think like this. Besides, you don't want what happened with Michael to control your life forever, do you? And I'm sure you don't want end up becoming a bitter old spinster either."

In spite of her reluctance to reveal the extent of Michael's transgressions, a hint of despondency crept into Skye's voice. "I wish it was that simple. There are other considerations and besides, you're at work, anyone could overhear."

"You're right, now's not the time. I won't push you anymore. I'll call when I get home. If you feel up to telling me then, fine. If not, we'll talk about something mundane, like the weather. But try and cut Walker a little slack, okay?"

"Perhaps I should give him the benefit of the doubt. But I don't want to get hurt again."

"None of us do, but life is never straightforward. I'm sure he'll call as soon as he can, and when he does, you can forget we ever had this conversation. I'll call you tonight."

"All right. I'll talk to you later."

Skye replaced the phone and leaned back into the cushions. Debbie was right. She was being over-anxious and expected too much of Walker. But was she was trapped by her memories and the emotion they stirred within her. Even now one year later, she could remember every detail of that fateful Thursday and the appalling events that followed.

As the memory retreated Skye fought equal waves of fear and nausea. She ran to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on her face. Her hands shook. When the worst of the gut wrenching spasms passed, she raised her head and looked in the mirror above the basin. The face she saw there was hardly recognizable as her own. Deathly pale and drawn, her normally bright blue eyes were dark with fear. She tore herself away from the mirror with a choking cry. Blackness enveloped her and her body crumpled to the floor.

When she came too she was lying on the bathroom floor shuddering. She pulled herself upright, and rested her back against the bath. She bent her head and sobbed. God knows, she'd tried hard to move on, to forget that terrible day and get her life back on an even keel. But when her memory played tricks, it took all her strength to walk down the street without looking over her shoulder. With the exception of John and Debbie, and a few long established friends, she still found it difficult to trust people.

Why, why couldn't she just forget, instead of living her life in fear and pain?

After more than a year, she was no nearer to answering the question. It had taken all her willpower to make this trip in an attempt to put those weeks behind her. But it now seemed as though her efforts had been wasted, as the past had resolutely followed her and was bent on destroying her carefully constructed cocoon.

She heard the phone ring but made no effort to answer it. Whoever it was could wait. She wasn't ready to speak to them and that included Walker too. In fact he was the last person she wanted to hear from right now. Agonizing over what Debbie would think when she finally revealed the truth, Skye yielded to the compulsive sobs that racked her body. And what of John? What would he think of his business partner when he discovered that she'd allowed herself to be manipulated by someone as shallow and callous as Michael?

Misery hung like a steel weight around her neck. Such was her despair that for a nanosecond she considered ending her life. It would be so easy to walk to the end of the dock and jump into the sea. It wasn't as if she would be missed. For John and Debbie life would go on. They would be upset, but would understand how desperate and miserable she was. In time they'd forgive her. And with more time they would probably forget her. But then Michael would have won and no matter how humiliating telling Debbie would be, there was no way Skye could to allow him to do that.

Exhaustion overcame her as her sobs slowly subsided. She finally fell asleep curled up on the cold bathroom floor.

Chapter Fourteen

Debbie phoned the cabin and failed to get an answer. She wasn't unduly worried. After her conversation with Skye that afternoon and her somewhat unexpected news, she wasn't surprised that Skye needed some space. She found it hard to believe what Skye had told her—that she had been on a date with Walker, and more amazingly, had welcomed him into her bed. What a turnaround! He must be one smooth operator to have gained Skye's trust so completely and so fast.

Debbie knew that ever since her encounter with Michael, Skye had avoided going on a date with a guy. What made Walker different? Debbie searched her brief memory of the man. He hadn't argued with Skye the night they'd all met, neither had he openly pursued Skye in Debbie's presence. He didn't come over as a ladies' man either, and he certainly wasn't someone who would always try to impress.

Besides, there was something mysterious about him. For one thing, he was always asking questions, but rarely divulged any information about himself, and in that respect, he was rather like Skye. Walker appeared to have a sixth sense were her friend was concerned, for he had an uncanny habit of turning up when least expected which Skye found infuriating. They say opposites attract, but Debbie knew those who are alike spark much greater fire.

What if she had stepped in and given fate a helping hand to bring them together? It had worked, hadn't it? Walker was just what Skye needed to finally get over Michael and move on.

Debbie smiled as she remembered the look on Skye's face when she realized she’d been out manoeuvered yet again. She’d had never seen Skye so mad, but knew she wouldn't stay angry forever. It wasn't in her nature. No, her instincts were right all along, and now that Skye and Walker had put their antagonism towards each other to one side, sparks must have positively flown for them to connect in such a primitive way.

But Michael was different. The mere thought of mentioning him and Walker in the same breath, made Debbie shudder. She'd never met the man, and was glad she never would. During the time he and Skye corresponded, Michael sent Skye numerous photographs of himself from exotic locations in far-flung corners of the world. Skye in turn had forwarded them to her. Debbie could tell Michael had an international love affair with the camera, and there was something about his fake cold smile that made her stomach tighten and skin crawl.

Despite her warnings, Michael had wormed his way into her friend’s affections with his overtly romantic letters and Skye had fallen for the sickly sweet bait. Debbie doubted that Skye was the first woman Michael had succeeded in seducing with his smooth ways and glib tongue.

While she couldn't begin to imagine what Michael had done to Skye during her visit last May, she could never forgive him for transforming her friend from a happy, self-assured young woman into someone who jumped at the slightest noise. The man was a grade ‘A’ son-of-a-bitch, and if she ever set eyes on him, she'd do him some major harm.

Disgusted by her thoughts, Debbie glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time that evening. She pressed redial. But there was still no answer from the cabin. She looked at the photo of her and Skye on her desk, and felt worried.

She fleetingly wondered whether to buzz John, but dismissed it as a bad idea. After all, what could he do from six thousand miles away? No more than her, that was certain. She'd try once more before going to bed. If there were still no answer, she would assume that Walker had turned up unexpectedly and whisked Skye off for a romantic dinner, and in that case would ring in the morning.

***

Skye stretched her cramped body, and winced with pain as the blood flowed into her stiff limbs. Shivering violently from lying on the cold bathroom floor, she rubbed life back into her cramped leg muscles. She placed a hand on the washbasin to steady herself, and slowly got to her feet. God, she felt awful. Her head ached abominably. She felt physically sick and her teeth chattered from the cold. Every movement was an effort, and if she turned her head too quickly the room spun alarmingly.

Instinct told her she needed to get warm. Reaching over the tub, she turned the faucet on and ran a hot bath. Her fingers were so numb, that she found it almost impossible to undo the buttons of her shirt. When impatience got the better of her, she yanked it off over her head. She peeled off her jeans and underwear, and stepped into the deep steaming tub. Submerging herself in the hot water as far as her chin, she closed her eyes and tried to relax as the warmth slowly seeped back into her chilled body. The shuddering slowed, and then ceased.

Some twenty minutes later, wrapped in her bathrobe, she padded into the kitchen to make a hot drink. Although she felt warmer, less seismic, and reasonably human, her head still throbbed horribly. But the feeling of nausea had passed. It was dark outside and in her confused state she assumed it was early evening, but when she glanced at the digital clock hanging on the wall over the sink, she was astonished to see that it was three-twenty a.m. She'd been out cold for the best part of twelve hours.

Skye leaned against the worktop and sipped her scalding tea, realizing she had done this before. It had been the night she'd finally managed to get away from Michael. On that occasion she had found a nondescript hotel in downtown Seattle, somewhere she was sure he wouldn't look for her. She remembered closing and bolting the dismal door and collapsing onto the bed, at which point her body had closed down, sinking her into a sleep so deep, that she didn't wake from until two days later.

But what had caused it to happen again?

Skye rubbed her aching temples, but still couldn't remember. Her mind was a total blank and the more she tried to force the memory, the more frustrated she became. What she needed now, was sleep. Perhaps when her headache had gone, her memory would return.

On her way to the bedroom, she passed the phone. She had a vague recollection of talking to Debbie, but the details of their conversation remained out of reach on the edge of her mind. She remembered Walker being called away on business and waiting for him to call, but nothing else until she'd come to on the bathroom floor.

Turning off the lights as she went, Skye stumbled towards the bedroom. She was completely drained and exhausted but took two painkillers anyway before slipping under the soft quilt. As soon as her head touched the pillow, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

Over on the mainland, Walker felt under mounting pressure. The simultaneous break-ins resulted in immense problems. His reputation as a hard hitter in the world of environmental issues was fast going down the toilet. Until he arranged for the damaged equipment to be replaced, Walker Environmental Research was effectively out of business. He also needed to track down whoever was out to ruin him. The former had been relatively easy to rectify with a mere phone call, but the latter was proving almost impossible. The police's lack of progress in arresting anyone only frustrated and angered him further.

When he wasn't at his desk fending off phone calls from prospective clients, he was over at the labs trying to sort out the chaos. The daily commute across the city didn't do anything to help his temper either.

But the break-ins weren't the only thing on Walker's mind. He felt guilty for not keeping his word to Skye. He hadn't called her once since leaving the island two days earlier and the only excuse he could offer was that he just hadn't had time. It sounded feeble even to him. But until his business problems were resolved he had no choice other than to put his personal life on hold. Ironically, there was nothing new in that. In the past it wouldn't have bothered him, as his date would accept his sudden departure and be waiting with open arms for his return, or would have moved on. Either way, he wouldn't have been too concerned. He surely wouldn't have felt guilty. This time he did.

No matter what he did, he just couldn't get Skye out of his mind. He could have—should have—explained. Instead he'd acted like a jerk and walked out the door without so much as a word or a backward glance. Now wasn't the time to fully analyse his feelings, but he admitted that he'd been wrong to walk away as if he didn't care. He did, and right now he'd settle for seeing her smiling face and holding her in his arms again.

Whatever happened, he had to return to Friday Harbor before Skye's vacation ended. He couldn't let her fly out of the country and out of his life without so much as a simple ‘goodbye.’ But first he had to find a way to apologize for his sudden departure. But how? And, more importantly, would Skye be as understanding as she'd implied? It would serve him right if she slammed the door in his face. He deserved it for being a complete and total fool.

In a rare moment of solitude, Walker considered his options. He didn't think Skye was the type to accept expensive jewellry as a peace offering and dismissed the idea of having something couriered to her. Flowers? Anyone could give flowers. Skye deserved something better. In that case, he'd make a reservation at the Duck Soup Inn. Skye would surely enjoy its old world charm. Or maybe he'd surprise her and fly her over to Seattle and drive her up to one of the lodges at Snoqualmie Falls in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. The scenery would be spectacular at this time of year. Yeah, that's what he'd do. He'd book them into the best suite the Salish Lodge had to offer, and hope that dramatic mountain scenery, stunning waterfall, and the romantic and elegant lodge would get their relationship back on track.

His decision made, he turned his attention back to his problems. He knew he should be grateful that no one was hurt in the robberies and there were no more reports of fish washing up on the island beaches or in Puget Sound. But, he wasn't. The laboratories were in such a mess that it was hard to tell what was missing and what wasn't. Yesterday he'd assigned two members of staff to catalogue all the undamaged slides, a task that would take them the best part of a week. By then he would know for sure if any of the evidence he'd collected over the last few months had been stolen. His gut instinct told him it would be missing, confirming his suspicions of a link between the break-ins and the illegal dumping of chemical waste.

He'd almost given up of hearing anything positive from the cops, when they called with confirmation that the break-ins had been carried out by someone wearing gloves.

Not content with breaking-in, the thieves had accessed the main computer. They had trawled through the system, opening and closing files until they'd located the information they wanted. But rather than deleting every file, the thieves had infected the system with a malicious virus, which slowly ate its way through the tattered network.

He set up a meeting with one of the University of Washington's top IT experts hoping to salvage something—anything—from the hard drives. Half an hour into the meeting, he knew he'd wasted his time. Cyber crime, the bespectacled geek informed him, was a huge problem, targeting not only conventional businesses, but also the newer E-commerce or dot.com businesses too. By the time Walker had listened to a detailed explanation of the issues involved he knew that finding a solution wasn't going to be as easy. When terms such as ‘viruses,’ ‘worms’ and ‘Trojan horses’ were mentioned Walker frowned. As far as he was concerned a virus was something he caught and worms lived in soil.

The expert knew he’d lost his audience and tried to simplify his explanation. Before any software could be developed to eradicate a virus it first had to be identified, then an understanding of how it spread from one program to another or from file-to-file had to be gained. When the geek started discussing ‘exploits,’ ‘script kiddies’, and ‘spoofs’, Walker's eyes rolled back in his head. One thing he did understand all too clearly was that the Internet was a perfect hiding place for anyone with malicious intent. When it came to developing anti-virus software and tracking the hacker, not only was it exceptionally complicated, but also incredibly time consuming. In other words there was no quick fix.

As he reached the door, Walker turned and asked one last question. "I know it's a long shot, but by any chance have you of heard of a Dr. Ridge. I don’t know his first name. But if you have, would you know how I could contact him?"

"The name is familiar; let me think." The computer expert adjusted his glasses, and then tapped his temple. "I remember now, I attended a seminar last year. The guest speaker was James or John Ridge. Arrogant and outspoken… that's him. He made all sorts of claims about his abilities and the software he was developing. Whether he can back them up, remains to be seen. Sounded like a load of hogwash to me."

Walker felt as if all his Christmases had come at once. He'd found someone who had not only heard of, but had actually seen Ridge.

"That's great. Do you know how I can contact him?"

"Sorry, no. These software developers are all the same, they tend to keep very much to themselves. He's English on top of it all, and they're against sharing information at the best of times—no team spirit. I suppose you could try the organizer of the seminar, but I don't recall who that was, I'm afraid."

His hopes dashed yet again, Walker began to think this Ridge character was a figment of everyone's imagination. If he was going to stand any chance of stopping this or any future cyber crime against his company then he needed someone who developed software that identified individual machines and users by their IP addresses, whatever that meant. And according to McCabe's contact, and now this expert, the only person who fit this particular bill was the elusive Dr Ridge. But where the on the planet was he?

Frustrated, Walker felt as if everyone was conspiring against him. Other than the out of date article in the magazine, no one could tell him how to contact Ridge. What was it with the guy? Why couldn't he be listed in the phone book like normal people? But then, if he was in Ridge's shoes and about to make millions of dollars from writing software that could potentially put an end to computer crime, he wouldn’t want to be listed in the phone book either. Come to think of it, he'd probably hire a bodyguard because if Ridge’s name weren't on a hit list already it sure would be when the software became available.

Back in his apartment, Walker paced the floor. At least he had one less worry now that the damaged equipment had been replaced and security increased. Walker Environmental Research would re-open for business in the morning, and about time too. Three days down time had not only cost him financially, but it had also affected his company's reputation. It would entail a major PR campaign and a lot of effort on his part to restore faith in his abilities.

For the time being at least, there was no real reason for him to remain in Seattle, but he decided against returning to the lodge that night, as he'd had little rest since leaving the island. He would check in with McCabe in the morning to make sure there were no new developments and then fly back to Friday Harbor in the afternoon. And then he’d call Skye. Hopefully she'd be pleased to hear from him.

Chapter Fifteen

When Debbie reached her office the following morning the first thing she did was call Skye. She listened to the phone ring out at the other end of the line and became increasingly uneasy.

"Damn it, Skye. Please pick up the God-damned phone!"

This was totally out of character. Even last year, when she'd been feeling so down after her return from Seattle, Skye had always answered.

A cold shiver ran down Debbie's spine. What if Skye had gone for a walk and fallen? Or had suddenly taken ill? She could be lying somewhere for days before anyone found her. And why for God's sake, had she chosen such an isolated spot for an out-of season vacation?

She nursed a cold latte and thought about what to do next. Abruptly the phone on her desk rang. She snatched it up.

"Skye, is that you?"

"Sorry to disappoint you Debbie, but it's me, John."

"Oh John, hi. Sorry, I forgot all the manners I have. How are you? It must be the early hours of the morning in London. What are you doing up this late?"

"I'm fine thanks. Over-worked, under paid—you know how it is when work colleague goes off on an extended vacation. What's this about Skye?"

"I'm glad you've called. I was thinking about e-mailing you. I'm worried about Skye. I haven't been able to reach her since yesterday afternoon. We agreed that I'd call her last night, but there was no answer. I don't know if she's had an accident, she's sick or what. Did you know the cabin she's rented is way out in the boonies and her nearest neighbor is miles away?"

"Hey, stop worrying. I'm sure nothing's wrong, after all she's on vacation. She probably went out for the evening and forgot about your arrangement."

"John, I called every hour up to midnight and then again this morning. There's still no reply. Don't you think that's odd?"

"I'll admit it's not like her to say one thing and do another. But I still don't think it's a reason to call out the National Guard. Have you two fallen out, by any chance?"

"No, we haven't. At least, not since I went up for the weekend. I mean, we did have a misunderstanding, but we've made up since then. In fact, we had a long chat yesterday about… about men and stuff. She finally agreed that she needed to talk about what happened with Michael, to get it off her chest once and for all. But now that I can't reach her, I'm seriously scared."

"Hey, Carrot Top," John said, using his nickname for her. "Calm down. I'm sure everything is fine and there's a simple explanation. Just give her some space. You know how uptight she gets when you mention Michael's name. If there’s one thing I've learned over the last twelve months it's not to push her on this. If you do, she'll close up tighter than a duck's arse. She'll talk when she's good and ready and not before. Stop worrying, I daresay she'll be in touch before the day is out."

"I hope you're right. But I have a strange feeling that everything is not as it should be. You don't suppose she got it into her head to go to Bremerton, do you?"

"What, back to that naval base? Don't be ridiculous! There is no way she would go there, credit her with some sense. Besides, that bastard will have been redeployed by now. I'm sure she said something about him waiting for orders before she flew out last year."

"You're probably right, it's a stupid thought. I'll leave it another twenty-four hours, but if I haven't heard from her by then, I'm flying up there." Then she realized that John must have had his own reason for calling. "So what's with the call? Don't tell me you're reneging on our long-overdue date yet again."

John laughed heartily. "You've rumbled me again, Carrot Top." Ever since her first visit to England, Debbie had tried to corner him into going on a date with her. So far he’d managed to wriggle out of it. "Actually, I was ringing to ask you for the number of the cabin. I've got a few problems with our latest project and I need Skye to look at the code for me. I know she took her laptop with her, but she's not picked up any e-mail since she left the country."

"You don’t expect her to work when she is on vacation, surely? I'm scared to death for the girl, but if she is all right you realize she'll hang me out to dry if I give you her number, don't you?"

"Yeah, but under the circumstances I think it might be justified—then we can both try phoning."

"You're right, as usual. Okay, here it is, but you have to do me a favour too?"

"Sure—"

"If you speak to her before me, be a sweetie and tell her you used your considerable charm to persuade me to give you the number? That way, she can take her temper out on you rather than me."

"Thanks at lot. I'm sure I'll enjoy Skye chewing me out for interrupting what's left of her vacation. But don't worry. I'll make sure she knows I talked you into giving me the number."

John replaced the handset on its cradle. He leaned back in his chair, and put his feet up on the desk. There had to be a rational explanation for Skye's behavior and now that he thought about it she'd been in an odd mood of late. He was just beginning to believe she had finally got Michael out of her system when she abruptly announced that she was taking a month's leave and flying to Seattle. And as if that wasn't bad enough, she'd chosen to take a vacation at the precise moment their project was about to go live. It didn't add up.

It would have made more sense if she'd chosen another destination, however she was adamant about visiting the San Juan Islands. Why? And he didn't buy the lame excuse that she couldn't put the past behind her until she'd been back there. That was total bullshit. He should have tried harder to persuade her to stay at home, rather than agreeing to her going halfway round the world on a whim. At least he could have kept an eye on her. He realized that it was almost a year to the day since Skye had phoned unexpectedly from Heathrow and asked him to pick her up. Could that have any bearing on her apparent disappearance?

He'd never forget the sight that greeted him that chilly May morning. Skye was sat on her suitcase outside the terminal building waiting for him as he pulled up at the curb. He'd been shocked by her appearance, for the happy, smiling young woman he'd left there a mere three weeks earlier had vanished, to be replaced by a gaunt, disheveled woman with dark circles under her eyes. She had looked awful, John recalled, and when he placed his arm around her to help her into the car, she'd shrunk away from his touch.

Throughout the journey Skye sat hunched in her seat as far away from him as she could and not said a word. When he drew up outside his house rather than hers she made no comment. It was as if her mind had shut out everything, except the basic instinct of survival. He remembered too, when he led her through to the kitchen and made her a pot of tea, she just sat in the chair rocking back and forth, staring at the wall. Later, when he suggested she go and rest, she had not argued, but like a small child, had allowed him to lead her to the spare room, undress her and put her to bed.

Skye stayed in her room for two days. Then, on the third day he arrived home from work, to find her gone. He drove like a lunatic to her house, where he found her in the garden acting as if nothing was wrong. It was as if her vacation had never taken place, for she never mentioned it. Not once.

Now, almost a year later, he was still trying to piece together the events of those fateful weeks. Could Debbie be right? Could Skye have decided to go to Bremerton in the hope of finding Michael? Surely, not even she would be that stupid.

He would phone the cabin and keep doing so until either Skye or, God forbid, Debbie answered. He didn't care whether Skye was happy to hear his voice or not. The only thing that mattered was that she was safe and he wouldn't rest until he knew she was. His problems could wait; Skye's safety and wellbeing were far more important.

***

Oblivious to the commotion she'd stirred up on both sides of the Atlantic, Skye ate a late breakfast. Although still tired, her headache had eased from a throb to a more acceptable dull ache and a couple of aspirins would finish it off. After being cooped up in the cabin for three days it felt stuffy and claustrophobic, but she didn't have the energy for a long walk. Instead, she picked up her book and the rug off the sofa, and threw open the French windows leading to the deck. She sat down in a wicker chair and placed the rug over her knees, then settled down to read.

It was a beautiful warm and sunny afternoon. The woods were alive with chattering birds, their song mingling with the sound of the waves gently washing the shore. It wasn't long before the warm spring sunshine made her feel drowsy. Her book slipped out of her hands and onto her knee as she fell asleep.

A small fishing boat chugged into the cove and dropped anchor. They had been paid well for their work and their only concern was disposing of the heavy containers. They had chosen the cove because according to the charts, the water under the hull of their vessel was deep enough for their purpose, not that it particularly mattered to them.

But it should have done.

A simple miscalculation in their navigation meant that they were dumping their deadly cargo in far shallower water than intended. Already the contents of the first container were seeping into the sea. If they had kept watch on the cabin they would have noticed a woman taking a keen interest in the vessel and actions of its crew.

Skye jolted upright in her chair and stared as two men rolled something off the deck of a small boat into the sea. She was too far away to see exactly what splashed into the water, or the name of the vessel painted on the bow. It was a real rust bucket, and similar in appearance to the many fishing boats she'd seen moored in Friday Harbor. Abruptly, the engine pitch changed as the vessel pulled anchor and steamed out of the cove.

What on earth were they up to? During her three weeks at cabin the only boat she had seen in the cove was Walker’s and for this one to suddenly appear seemed unusual. What could they have dumped overboard—a sack of some kind or perhaps a body? Or maybe it was just some fancy fishing gear. Skye gave the matter more thought and wondered if what she'd seen had been a barrel of some sort. But surely that was illegal? She must be mistaken. If only she had fetched her binoculars, which were lying inside on the bookcase, then she would know for sure. She dismissed the incident as nothing important, but made a mental note to mention it to Walker when, and if, he called.

She picked up her book again, and had started reading, when the phone rang. Positive it would be Walker, she hurried inside to answer it.

"Hello."

"Hi there, Sweet Pea. Enjoying your vacation?"

"John! How did you get this number? Why are you calling? Everything is all right, isn't it?"

John thought carefully before he replied. He didn’t want to spook her. "I think I should be asking you those questions. Do you know how worried you've had everyone? Debbie and I have being trying to reach you for the last twenty-four hours. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I had a really bad migraine and crashed out. I slept it off and can't have heard the phone ring. I'll call Debbie later and put her mind at rest."

"Well, make sure you do—she's all set to call out the Washington State Militia if there is one or worse—fly up there to check on you personally."

Skye groaned. "I'll ring her as soon as I put the phone down, promise. So why are you calling?"

"You know I wouldn't bother you unless it was important. I asked Debbie for this number, as you weren’t picking up your e-mail. So don't chew her out, it's not her fault."

"All right, but that doesn't answer my question. You’re not calling because I didn't answer the phone, or because you're missing me, are you?"

"You've rumbled me. There's a problem with the software. There must be a bug in the code, only I can't find it. It worked fine for a while and then failed abruptly. I’ve looked at it until my eyes crossed and I can't see anything wrong. I ran the usual diagnostics on the hardware and there's no problem there. I’ve checked for viruses and the like and we're clean. I know I'm asking a lot, but would you check to see if I've missed anything obvious? And don't tell me you can't because I know you have your laptop with you."

"I knew bringing that damned thing was a mistake. Seeing as you've asked nicely, I'll do it, but you'll owe me."

"I knew there'd be a catch."

"If I find the bug, I get to add two days to my vacation for every day it takes me, do we have a deal? If we don't, then my laptop stays firmly in its case and you'll have to wait till I get back."

"Just remember, that we give the presentation barely six weeks after you get home. It doesn't leave us much time to get the gremlins sorted out and the testing completed."

"Trust me, I hadn't forgotten. Oh, and as I'm going to be working you can call Debbie and tell her that I'm still in the land of the living and under no circumstances is she to fly up here or disturb me."

John groaned. "You drive a hard bargain, Sweet Pea. Okay, we've got a deal, but do I really have to call Debbie? You know she only wants me for my body."

Skye laughed. "Yes you do, and you may as well accept that she'll wear you down eventually. Why not give in and take her for dinner next time she's over?"

"I'll think about it… and I'll call her, even though I know I'm getting the short straw in this deal."

"Really, I thought I was being quite fair. E-mail me the details and I'll contact you as soon as I find anything. Talk to you soon, bye."

Damn it! She didn't need Debbie mounting a search and rescue party just because she'd failed to answer the phone. Why couldn't she learn to leave things alone? It served Debbie right for pushing her into remembering what Michael had done to her. That was it. That's what she and Debbie had been discussing. It was all coming back now. She had agreed to tell Debbie the reason why she'd left Seattle in such a hurry and the pain of her memories caused her to blackout. Well, Debbie would have to wait—she would phone her once she and John had sorted out their technical problems.

Chapter Sixteen

Although Skye was suffering from the after effects of her migraine, she set up her high-spec laptop and put the kettle on to boil. She could wait until morning before looking at the code, but guilt gnawed at her for not keeping in touch with John, so she decided to make a start straight away. After all, they had a lot riding on this project, not only in terms of financial reward. If successful, their company would rank amongst the top twenty software development houses in the world. And that was something they had been aiming for all along.

Walker hadn't been in contact, nor had he returned to the island as far as she was aware. She was so annoyed with him for not keeping his word that she wasn't sure she wanted to talk to him, let alone see him. In spite of everything she felt for him, in the end he was no different from any other man, for whom picking up a phone to call a woman friend presented a major challenge. Why should she put herself out? Her days of waiting around for him were over, and besides, she had far more important things on her mind now. Finding a reason for Walker's continued absence wasn't one of them.

Setting her coffee mug next to her notebook and pen, she downloaded her e-mail. Sure enough, there was a message from John, which appeared as garbled text when opened. One of the first programs they developed encrypted data. They'd realized very early on in their careers, that sending information openly over the Internet was risky. Ever-conscious of security and the possibility of cyber crime, John had used their program to send her details of the problems he'd encountered when testing the new software. By hitting a specific key on her laptop the contents unscrambled in seconds.

Armed with only his vague estimation of where the problem lay, she inserted the first of five CD-ROMs into her laptop and opened an obscurely named file, then laboriously started to check the first string of code which, along with countless others, made up the program.

It was time-consuming work, and by midnight, she had found no errors. She questioned whether John had imagined the whole thing as an excuse to keep tabs on her. Breifly, she considered working through the night, but, with the dull ache in her temples threatening to develop into another migraine, she decided to go to bed. She shut down her laptop, made sure the cabin was securely locked, then turned out the lights.

By mid morning she was on her fifth cup of coffee and no nearer to finding the problem. The enforced hours of inactivity were the only part of her job she hated. She much preferred to be outdoors, but it was something she'd learned to accept, as cramped muscles and aching shoulders were a small price to pay to see her ideas come to fruition.

Deciding she needed some fresh air, she pulled on her heavy Aran sweater. Perhaps the cool sea breeze and a stroll along the beach would clear her mind. She took the path down to the wooden dock. It was a beautiful day, far too nice to be cooped up indoors over a computer, and if she and John hadn't had a deadline to meet, she would have remained outdoors.

For a long time, Skye stared out across the channel to Lopez Island and the mountains beyond. The view was amazing and one she would never tire of. Turning, she half expected to see Walker emerging from the woods as he had done on that first day, but today the only movement came from the trees as they swayed gently in the breeze.

She jumped down and sauntered along the beach. The air was full of an unpleasant odor. It was as if something had crawled out of the sea and died. She inhaled cautiously and promptly wrinkled her nose in disgust. At first she thought it was rotting food but as she'd taken her refuse sack up to the highway ready for collection only a few days before, she knew it couldn't be that. So where was the terrible stench coming from?

The nearer she got to the tideline, the stronger the smell became and yet she couldn't see anything other than fronds of seaweed. Not even seaweed could account for such an offensive smell. She gagged and coughed, and tried to clear her head of the God-awful stink.

She picked her way over the pebbles, and stopped where the disgusting odor seemed strongest. She scanned the horizon, but saw nothing unusual. Walking slowly, she carefully examined the debris left by the tide. She kicked a particularly large mass of seaweed with the toe of her boot and jumped back in disgust when she found first one and then another fish in among the fronds, their bodies bloated out of all proportion.

Her stomach heaved in revulsion. She spun round and ran back to the cabin, and went straight to the kitchen and drank a glass of water in a feeble attempt to remove foul taste from her mouth. She leaned against the sink, closed her eyes and thought hard for a moment or two. What had caused the fish to die and why had they washed up now? There hadn't been a storm. She would have to report this, but to whom? The Sheriff? The Parks Department? They wouldn't be interested. The Coastguard? But their business was ships and people lost at sea, not dead fish rotting on a beach.

Back at home she would contact the police and let them deal with it, but here in the States it wasn't so simple. The US Government had a department for every conceivable contingency, and it was just a case of picking the right one. But where to start? There'd be a listing for the Washington State Department in the phone directory. Surely someone there would be able to direct her call to the correct department.

Half a dozen transfers later Skye found herself speaking to a very helpful man in the Fish and Wildlife department. Although only able to give the barest of details and address for the cabin as the location of her discovery, rather than the requested map reference, the man assured her that he would send someone over as soon as possible. But in the meantime, was there any possibility of her removing at least one of the carcasses to a safer position to prevent it being carried out to sea on the next tide?

Skye's stomach swirled at the thought, but she understood the reason behind the request. While she couldn’t give any guarantees, she’d see what she could do.

Armed with the biggest bucket she could find, a broom, a pair of rubber gloves and a clothes peg for her nose, she stomped down the beach. If anyone could see her now, they would think she'd gone over the far edge of the deep end. As she approached the offending fish, she yanked on a pair of gloves and put the peg on her nose. She struggled to get her bucket under one of the fish, but couldn't scoop in the smelly, slimy carcass. On her fifth attempt she managed to use the broom to sweep the head and part of the body into the bucket only to watch it slide out again when she lifted it.

Dab, Dab, Dab! She swore, the clothes peg hobbling her consonants. What she needed was a net or a boat hook, but as she had neither, she'd have to improvise. Perhaps there was something in the kitchen she could use. She tramped back to the cabin. After a thorough search of the drawers she was about to give up. This wasn't her problem. She was only the tenant for goodness sake. Let whoever the State Department sent deal with it. But then she spotted the coat hanger on the door.

She cut a length of string off the reel she found in a drawer. By tying the coat hanger to the head of the broom, she managed to fashion a hook of sorts, even if it looked like something Heath Robinson would have dreamt up. Now, if she could insert the hook into the gills of the fish, then she would be able to drag it up the beach onto the grass.

Twenty minutes later, sweating from the effort and with her arms aching from the strain of dragging a fish that weighed at least fifteen pounds, she finally manoeuvered it on to the grass. It stank, even with the peg on her nose. She tried not to look too closely at the staring eyes and grossly bloated body as she covered the stinking mass with a piece of sacking she found in the garage. Now all she had to do was wait for the expert from the State Department to turn up and take the carcass away.

Skye returned to her laptop and stared at the small screen until her eyes burned. She’d been scrutinizing this particular string of code for over three hours, and still hadn't been able to find any errors. Such were the jumble of letters and symbols, that the document on the screen appeared as if some eight-legged creature had walked over the keyboard randomly striking the keys, but to Skye it all made perfect sense. Her intuition told her the fault lie somewhere in this section of nonsensical appearing code.

She rubbed her tired eyes, and wandered around the cabin to ease the stiffness in her limbs. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, what she needed was a sandwich and sugar fix. She opened the refrigerator door and peered inside. A few minutes later she carried her sandwich and mug of coffee back to the table. If she still hadn't found anything by the time she finished lunch, she’d start testing each command line by line.

Her sandwich half eaten and her coffee solidifying in the mug, Skye's concentration was so intense that she didn't hear the vehicle pull up in the driveway, nor did she hear its occupant walk the short distance to the cabin. It was only someone's fist banged on the door that she realized she had a visitor.

Careful to ensure that the screen of her laptop wasn't visible, she opened the door. A burly young man stood in the doorway and parked behind him on the driveway, was a green truck with the State of Washington insignia on its door.

"I'm guessing you've come for the fish?"

"I'm here from the State Department." He flashed his ID badge at her to prove it.

"Right, it's down on the grass under a sack. I managed to drag one above the tideline as your colleague requested, but there’s another down on the beach."

"That's okay, I'll retrieve them. You didn't touch it with your bare hands, did you?"

"No, I wore gloves. And I didn't check the whole of the cove, just along the water’s edge, so there may be others."

"Don't worry. I'll have a scout around once I've bagged the ones you’ve found."

Skye cringed at the thought of another stench-filled excursion. "You don't want me to come with you, do you?"

"No need, I can mange. We've got your details if we need to contact you."

"Good, because it smells to high heaven down there. I'll leave you to it then."

Skye breathed a sigh of relief and closed the door. At least she didn't have to go near the stinking carcasses again. She stood by the window and watched the official carefully bag and label the fish. She marveled at his ability to withstand the odor that had nearly made her vomit. He walked to the end of the dock and looked around before retrieving a pair of waders and a net from the back of his pickup. A short time later, he dragged half a dozen or so fish from under the dock and proceeded to bag them too. He then carried them up the beach and placed them with the others in his truck.

Moments later the official knocked at her door.

"Sorry to trouble you again, ma'am, but I've got a few questions. Hope you don't mind."

"You'd better come in." Skye stepped aside to let him enter.

"Have you noticed anything like this before?"

"No, I’m on vacation and only renting the cabin. Is this a common occurrence?"

"Not really. Most salmon die of natural causes. Maybe once or twice a year we find some that have been contaminated in some way. Have you seen anyone acting suspiciously, or any strange vessels in the cove or vehicles using the track?"

Skye thought of Walker, who had been in the cove when she first arrived, carrying a fish and rod. And while the man could be infuriating, he was far too knowledgeable about the island and its wildlife to want to deliberately destroy it.

"I haven't, but then I'm often out."

"Okay, just thought I'd ask. If you do see anything suspicious or anymore fish turn up be sure to let us know right away. Here's my card. Give the office a call and we'll send someone over."

Skye looked at the card; no name, just the departmental information and a number.

"Sure."

"Enjoy the rest of your time with us here and thanks for informing us about the fish. Have a nice day."

Skye closed the door behind him and crossed to the table. Have a nice day? Sure, provided there are no more stinking fish. She picked up her cup and took a swallow. Ugh… cold coffee, she hated cold coffee. Resting her head in her left hand, she thought about Walker. Could he really be involved in anything illegal?

He’d certainly been hanging round, and had a habit of disappearing and re-appearing without warning. And she hadn’t forgotten the fact that he'd once warned her to keep off the trails and out of his way. He'd also been quick to suggest he move into the cabin as their relationship became more intimate. Was that so he could keep an eye on her? Could Walker have an ulterior motive for getting to know her? Why would he want to keep tabs on her anyway, she was only a vacationer? It just didn't make sense.

Skye was sure she'd read somewhere that smuggling in this part of the States was rife, especially with Canada only a short distance away. Perhaps Walker was involved in a smuggling racket and used the cove to bring his illegal haul ashore. Maybe that was the reason he was so annoyed when he found her on the dock that first day. It would also account for his frequent and mysterious comings and goings.

It was a stupid idea. But he had to earn a living somehow and he didn't strike her as someone who had enough money to do nothing at all. He drove a relatively new truck and had an expensive looking cruiser. There was nothing unusual about that. Most of the inhabitants on the island owned both a car and a boat, so why should Walker be any different? But hadn't he'd told her he didn't live on the island?

She was infuriated at the direction her thoughts were headed. Why should she be bothered how Walker earned his living or why he owned both a boat and a truck? It was none of her business, and besides she couldn’t sit there all day allowing her imagination run riot, she had work to do.

By ten that night, she was grumpy, tired, and hungry. When she looked at the screen, the code merged into a single blurry mass. She'd done enough for one day. She e-mailed John to see if he'd had any success in getting the program to work, and then shut down her laptop.

Chapter Seventeen

Walker was eager to leave Seattle that morning having finally resolved his business problems. He grabbed his bag from the apartment, and drove out to Elliot Bay where his seaplane was moored. He flew into Friday Harbor while most of the inhabitants were still in their beds. It had been a grueling week, but as of late last night Walker Environmental Research was once again open for business. And although the issue of illegal dumping hadn't been resolved, now that his company was running at full speed he could turn all his attention to finding out who was responsible for these atrocities.

He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin and decided that a shave and a shower wouldn't go amiss, and then after breakfast he would go make his apologies to Skye. It was one conversation he wasn't looking forward to and he fully expected her to be spitting mad at him. He'd been a brainless twit where she was concerned, and hoped that once he explained the reasons for his hasty departure, she would forgive him. If that didn't work, he had an ace up his sleeve. He'd booked them into the Salish Inn and Spa for a three-night stay. The suite had a wood burning fire, a whirlpool tub and a balcony overlooking the rainbow shrouded falls.

McCabe's call came through as he drove out of town.

"Say again, Joe? You're breaking up. There's too much static on the line."

Joe's voice crackled over the line once more. "Fish… washed up… island… cabin… north of… Harbor… off… road."

"Joe, if you can hear me. It's no use. I can't make out what you're saying. Hold on while I pull over." Walker stopped his truck on the side of the road. "Okay, run that by me again."

"The department took a couple of calls late yesterday, from home owners on the island. One lives out at Rocky Bay. The other was from a woman staying in a cabin off Roche Harbor Road. Both said they found dead fish, either washed up on the shore or floating in the water. The local office sent a guy out and he's bagged and tagged the carcasses and taken them away for analysis."

Walker groaned and rubbed his forehead. "Where are they now?"

"At the University Laboratories. One of the marine biologists there is doing the autopsies. I made sure they kept them, as I knew you were flying in this morning. Can you go take a look?"

"Sure. I assume they have all the details, including the location of where the fish were found."

"Yeah, it's all waiting for you. I'll let them know to expect you. How soon do you think you can be there?"

"About twenty minutes—I was just on my way to the lodge."

"Let me know what you find."

"Sure."

These days Walker felt like a badly operated puppet, string tangling into string. He turned his truck around and drove back to town. Twenty-five minutes, he showed his ID to the security guard on the gate, and entered the Friday Harbor Laboratory Campus of the University of Washington. He knew the place like the back of his hand. Ten Years ago, he’d undertaken his own research towards his Masters Degree. He parked next to the cafeteria, and followed the path down to a group of low buildings housing the main laboratories.

The campus was situated on a huge four hundred and eighty-four acre tract of land overlooking one of the many bays on San Juan Island. It was a marine biologist’s dream. There were ten research and teaching labs, all equipped to an exceptionally high standard. The labs also owned a number of biological preserves around the island, where scientists could undertake research in a controlled environment.

The laboratory Walker needed was close to the shoreline a little way up from the campus's berthing facilities. When he entered the lab, the short balding biologist was in the process of peeling off his gloves. From the look on his face what he'd found wasn't good news.

"Mr. Walker?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Mr. McCabe said to expect you. I've completed the autopsies on the fish that came in yesterday. The two from Rocky Bay appear to have died from natural causes, although I won’t know for sure until the results of the biopsies I’ve taken come back. However, the ones from the location off Roche Harbor Road were definitely contaminated—"

"—with a high concentration of PCBs?"

"That's right. How did you know?"

"Call it an educated guess. Can you let me have a detailed analysis of the chemicals found? I want to make a comparison with the fish I discovered earlier to see if it’s the same."

"Sure. My secretary is typing up my report now."

"Thanks. Just one more thing—do you have the exact location where the second batch of fish was found?"

"They'll have the details in the office. You can collect them along with the report on your way out."

"Thanks."

Walker sat in his truck and opened the brown folder he'd been given. He quickly scanned the marine biologist's report. While he couldn't be sure until he checked his notes, he had a feeling that the composition of the chemicals was the same as those in the fish he'd found a few weeks earlier. He shoved the papers back in the envelope. He'd read the rest back at the lodge and then go take a look at the two sites for himself before contacting McCabe and telling him the news.

An hour or so later, his suspicions were confirmed. The chemicals that killed this latest batch of fish were identical to those ingested by the fish he'd found earlier. That meant only one thing; they had come from the same source. Crossing his study to a cabinet on the far wall, he took out a map of San Juan Island and studied it carefully. Chemicals being dumped at sea would be dispersed by the action of the waves and tide. As a consequence fish in a wider area would be affected. Only a few would be washed ashore because of the strong currents around the islands, which meant that whoever was dumping the stuff was doing so close to the shore.

That gave Walker another idea. The islands that made up the San Juan archipelago were generally rocky and rimmed by precipitous shores, with the occasional deeply cut fjord-like inlet. So it had to be someone who knew the islands and who was using a small vessel, such as a fishing boat.

Walker shuffled impatiently through the papers on his desk looking for the report. Halfway down the first page he found the address of the homeowner in Rocky Bay, and on the second, the address of the property off Roche Harbor Road. The colour drained from his face and his lips compressed into a tight thin line.

The second address listed was that of his cabin.

He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his coat off the stand in the hall and dashed out the door.

***

Skye had been up since five breaking down the strings of computer code into single commands and was now a third of the way through the program. So far it performed as it should, registering every piece of legitimate information sent and received over the Internet from her PC. But she needed to test the software against unauthorized access from a hostile computer, and for that she required John's help.

She divided the screen into two separate windows, and connected to the Internet. She sat back and waited. If the software John was running in London infiltrated her laptop a warning message would pop up on her screen giving the IP address of the rogue computer. Nothing happened. At last she'd found the error. Now all she had to do was re-write the section of code, integrate it back into the program and get John to test it. It should only take another couple of days and then she could get back to enjoying what was left of her vacation.

Without warning the front door of the cabin burst open and Walker crossed the floor in a few quick strides. He yanked Skye to her feet.

"Are you okay?"

Skye's heart pounded in her chest. "Haven't you heard of knocking? You scared the living daylights out of me."

His voice was rough with anxiety. "I'm serious. Are you okay?"

"Why shouldn't I be? What the hell's the matter with you, Walker?"

He took a steadying breath and released her. "I heard about the incident with the fish and was worried about you. That's all."

"And that was enough for you to nearly take the door off its hinge? It was only a few fish for goodness sake. Besides, I was the one who found them. They stank to high heaven, I didn't even touch them."

He attempted to lighten the situation and play down his overreaction. "It can't have been a pleasant experience."

"It wasn't. But it doesn't explain why you came storming in here as if your tail was on fire."

He faked boyish grin. "Aren't you pleased to see me?"

Skye struggled not to laugh. "Where have you been all this time? A phone call would have been appreciated, or don't you have phones in Seattle?"

"I'm sorry about that. If you offer me a cup of coffee, I'll explain. You can hate me if you like, and then you can tell me what you've been up to since I went away."

Skye looked at him suspiciously. She returned his smile with a shake of her head. "A cup of coffee, huh? And I'm allowed to hate you as well? Seems fair. I'll put the kettle on."

Before she had chance to move, Walker pulled her into his arms and kissed her long and hard. All her resolve to stay angry shattered into a million pieces and she returned his kiss with reckless abandon, desire, and longing. When he turned her loose her heart was hammering in her ears. She cleared her throat, and tried to regain control of her wayward emotions.

“Coffee… right… hatred…"

She escaped to the safety of the kitchen. The man was downright dangerous, what with his devastating grin and lethal kisses.

"Apart from finding a pile of rotting fish on the beach, what else have you been up to?"

"Nothing very exciting; reading, walking, and watching the tide come in and go out."

"What's this?" He picked up the notepad from next to her laptop and scanned the page.

Skye handed him a cup of coffee, then snatched the pad from his hand. "Just something I've been working on. Nothing that would interest you."

"Thanks." He took the cup from her hand. "What makes you think I wouldn't be interested?" He nudged the mouse next to her laptop. The computer screen sprang to life and he stared at the jumble of symbols and letters before him. He glared at Skye. "What's this?"

"I told you, something I'm working on."

"Skye, I may not be a computer geek, but I recognize computer code when I see it. You're involved aren't you?" He slammed his mug down on the table and caught hold of her wrist.

"Involved?" Skye gasped. "Involved in what? It's what I do for a living. I’m a software designer."

"Oh yeah, and I fell off the proverbial turnip truck yesterday! I knew your turning up here was more than a coincidence. Your big blue eyes don't fool me anymore, honey." He squeezed Skye's wrist harder. There was a bitter edge of cynicism in his voice. "I'll get the truth out of you sooner or later, so you might as well admit it."

Skye screamed. "Admit what?" She freed her wrist from his iron-like grip, and rubbed it vigorously. "I honestly don't know what you're talking about. I'm telling you the truth. I design software. As for being here—I'm on vacation, but you know that."

"Do I? I don't know very much about you at all, now I come to think of it. You've never told me much about yourself. And my instincts tell me you're involved up to your sweet little neck."

Skye shook her head and nervously moistened her dry lips. "I'm not involved in anything. What's this all about? You disappear for days, you bastard, and then storm in here without so much as a word of warning. Now you're accusing me of—just what are you accusing me of?" Skye demanded in a shrill voice.

"You've been hacking into my company's computer, destroying files in an attempt to discredit me and my business."

Skye would have laughed out loud if she hadn't been so angry. She saw the steely glint in Walker's eyes, warning her that he was deadly serious. She turned her back on him, and went and stood by the fireplace. It gave her the opportunity to gather her thoughts.

"You're being cruel, presumptive and preposterous! Look, even if I were aware that you owned a company, which I wasn't until now, why would I want to hack into your computer to discredit you when I don't even know what it is you do?"

"I'm a marine biologist." He crossed the room and stopped inches from her.

Acutely conscious of his tall frame, Skye titled her head and stared into his eyes. "So tell me, Mr. Walker, why would a software designer want to hack into a computer belonging to a marine biologist, and yours in particular?"

"To find out how close I am to discovering who's responsible for dumping chemicals offshore?"

She threw up her hands in disgust. "What? You’re being ludicrous. You're forgetting one important thing—I don’t live in America!"

"No, but you can hack into a computer from anywhere in the world."

"True, but that's not the issue here."

"What is?"

"The truth and… trust? This is my first visit to the San Juan Islands. I don't know anyone here apart from you, so how could I be involved in anything illegal?"

"You might not be directly involved," Walker countered, "but someone could have hired you and sent you over here. You're a beautiful woman. They probably reckoned that your appearance here would attract my attention and that sooner or later you would find your way into my bed."

Walker's sarcasm was not lost on Skye. The lascivious glint in his eyes sickened her and before could stop it her hand shot out and she slapped his face.

"How dare you!" she said. She shook with anger. "How dare you think such a thing of me?"

Walker's face stung from the blow. He covered it with his hand. "Oh, lady, believe me, I dare, especially when my business and reputation are at stake." He clamped both her arms to her sides in case she had ideas about hitting him again.

"How many more times do I have to tell you? I don't know anything about any chemicals or illegal dumping. Besides, I can prove what I say is true."

Walker's lips twisted into a cynical smile. "Yeah? And just how do you propose to do that?"

"Let me call my business partner. He'll confirm everything I've said."

He relaxed his hold on her arms. Skye stepped back, putting a little distance between them.

"He's probably in on it too. Why should I believe him anymore than I believe you?"

Skye's body sagged in defeat. She couldn't think of an answer that would convince Walker of her integrity. He was right. Although John could confirm everything she had said, there was no reason why Walker should accept it as the truth.

"You obviously won't listen to reason, so just get the hell out of my sight."

"Sorry, lady, but I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here twenty-four/seven until either you tell me the truth or your friends with the nasty habits turn up to see why you're not keeping in touch."

"Now look here," Skye yelled. "You can't just waltz in here and accuse me of some hideous crime and ride roughshod over me. I have rights!" She glanced at the phone on the table next to the sofa, and weighed up her chances of reaching it before Walker.

"If you'd only be reasonable and listen to what I have to say, I’m sure we could clear this up," she continued. She softened her tone in the hope that he wouldn't notice she was edging her way towards the table.

Walker ran a hand through his hair. Arguing was getting him nowhere, but he wasn't about to change his mind. Skye was a world-class liar, he'd give her that. She may be beautiful, even passionate in bed, but the woman standing in front of him was five foot five inches of seething anger and he didn't trust her at all.

"Why don't you speak to the realtor? She will have checked my credentials before I rented the cabin. Perhaps she can convince you that I'm an honest, law-abiding citizen."

Skye took another tentative step towards the phone. She tried hard to be calm but under her anger, all the old feelings of betrayal were flooding back. It was as if Michael was grabbing her, threatening her all over again. He was as bad as Michael. He was Michael! The cold hand of fear touched her skin. Walker didn't care about her at all. He'd used her just like Michael had used her and once again her trust had sadly been misplaced, but this time she wasn't about to be used against her will.

Walker frowned, his eyes level under drawn brows. "The only thing the realtor is interested in is whether your credit card was good. Besides, there are such things as false bank accounts. Sorry, lady, that doesn't stand up. Any more suggestions?"

If she could just keep Walker distracted, she might be able to make a lunge for the phone.

"You stayed here for three days and three nights. Doesn't that tell you anything about me? If I'm involved as you suggest, don't you think I would have pumped you for information?"

"Too obvious, although I have to say the innocent act you put on, even in bed, had me fooled for a while. In future remember that once you let the passion genie out of the bottle, it gets real hard to play the naïve lover. It's just a pity I left when I did, otherwise I might have got to enjoy your full repertoire."

Skye's breath came out in a rush. "You bastard! Do you really think I'm the type of woman who’d use her body to get something?"

"It's been my experience that most do," he replied.

"That says a lot for the type of person you are and the company you keep," Skye retorted angrily. "I've never slept with a man just because I wanted something." She was through with trading insults, and wished with all her soul she were somewhere else.

"So you say." Deep down, he knew Skye was telling the truth, but wasn't about to apologise for his crassness. The look she gave him would have curdled milk and rather than face her icy stare, he looked away.

Skye made a grab for the phone. But the man had the reflexes of a boxer and before her fingers had punched in nine-one-one, a strong hand circled her wrist and removed the instrument from her hand.

"That was a real stupid move, Skye."

"Let go of me."

"What, so you can call your buddies? No chance. You and I haven't finished our little chat yet."

"I wasn't calling ‘my buddies’ as you put it. I was calling the police. Let them sort this out. Let me go," she pleaded. "I promise I'll leave as soon as they've been and you'll never have to see me again. You can even put me on the next plane to London yourself."

"Sorry, no deal. I'm staying right here, whether you like it or not. Flashing your big blue eyes isn't going to work. Either tell me who's behind this, or shut up!"

"How many more times do I have to say it? I am telling the truth. I'm working on a project that's due to be presented to the Gov… to clients in a few weeks’ time." If only she was in a position to reveal who her client was he might believe her, but she wasn't. "At least let me shut down my laptop."

Walker's voice was edged with control. "Okay, but then give it to me."

Skye snorted indignantly. "Since you're so determined to impose your presence on me, I'll fetch some blankets and a pillow—you can sleep in the spare room."

"No need. As I said, I'm not letting you out of my sight for one moment until this is over and means I share your bed."

Panic welling in her throat. "Now wait a minute. If you think—"

Walker interrupted her. His face was a mask of stone. "I've had about as much as I can take, Skye. My patience is wearing real thin. The subject is not open for discussion. If you know what's good for you, you'll—"

"I'll what? Behave like the whore you obviously think I am? No way. You may be able to force me into sharing a bedroom with you, but I'd rather sleep on the floor than sleep in the same bed as a bastard like you!"

"Whatever. It doesn't change a thing. Now, unless you want me to toss your laptop into the sea, why don't you shut it down and hand it over?"

Skye looked away swiftly. Walker's expression held a note of mockery and she couldn't stand the cold-eyed smile he was giving her any longer. She went to the table and did as he requested. It was futile trying to reason with him. For the time being at least, she had little choice but to accept his presence in the cabin. She could only hope that either she could find a way to prove her innocence or someone would come looking for her and she'd be free of this terrible, frightening sham of a relationship.

Chapter Eighteen

Skye stared moodily out of the window at the ever-darkening sky and mulled over the events of the evening. Deep down, she seethed with anger and frustration. How Walker could believe she was involved in anything as abhorrent as illegal dumping, was beyond her comprehension. The only plausible explanation she could come up with was the man must be temporarily insane. And he'd hurt her, too. She rubbed her wrist, the same one Michael had injured not more than a year ago.

Logic must prevail. Logic. It was what she was known for. She could see how he might assume she was guilty of hacking into his computer. But no one in their right mind dumped chemicals in their own backyard. Not if they had more than two brain cells to rub together. And besides, the Alaskan wilderness was only a few hundred miles up the coast. There were ample isolated spots, not to mention a whole ocean to poison, so why pick a populated place at all? It just didn't add up, unless of course you wanted to deliberately discredit someone.

But it still didn't explain how Walker concluded that there was a connection between her, the illegal accessing of his company's computers and the dumping of chemical waste around the islands. The man was downright pig-headed and insufferable, not to mention unapproachable and stubborn, mean and judgmental. She wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he'd done more than ruffle a few feathers in his career—he probably had thousands of ruffled feathers to his credit.

If only she could penetrate the deliberate blankness present in his eyes, then she would offer to secure his computer system. But as it was, he could toast evenly over a spit in hell before she'd lift a finger to help him. She had better things to do with her time than agonize over his problems. She had to find a way out of this terrible mess.

A wave of apprehension swept through her. She felt intimidated and wary of Walker. His physical presence filled every inch of the small cabin. He was much stronger than she and there was no telling what he might do while he was in this black mood. It was vital she remain calm and avoid riling him. She had to find away to reach him, to make him listen, and then convince him she was innocent.

Walker sat in the armchair next to the fireplace reading a book. Skye regarded him with a speculative gaze. Two deep lines of worry creased her brow. How could he appear so calm and relaxed? His emotions didn't just turn on a dime; they turned on pennies, nickels and quarters as well. One moment he was hot and accusing, the next just sitting! He should be out there trying to catch whoever was responsible for this environmental disaster rather than lounging around on his backside. If it were her business at risk she'd be pushing out all the stops to protect her reputation.

Her eyes darted round the room in frustration. She picked up a magazine and flicked through the pages, only to put it down again when it failed to catch her interest. She tried reading her book, but the words on the page distorted before her eyes. She was in no mood to watch TV and listening to music was out of the question as the CD player was on the shelf next to Walker and she was damned if she was going anywhere near him.

She stood and walked over to the window and stared out. The scenery hadn't changed since she'd last looked. Walker's continued stony silence was getting to her and cabin fever hit hard. She felt hemmed in and wasn't sure how much more she could take before panic and hysteria set in. He'd taken her laptop and locked it away in a cupboard, pocketing the key in the process. She was too restless and frustrated to sit and do nothing; she needed a vent for her nervousness and all her pent up feelings. It was too early to go to bed and even if it weren't, the last thing she wanted to think about was sharing a bed with him under these circumstances—correction, under any circumstances.

"Skye, sit down," Walker growled. "You're getting on my nerves wandering around the room all the time."

"I can't. I'm too agitated. You've got me caged up like…like some circus animal."

Walker's eyes darkened dangerously. "For God's sake! Do you think I'm enjoying this any more than you are?"

Skye glared at him, the tension between them increasing with frightening intensity.

"You're the one keeping me here against my will, so you tell me. I should be working. There are people relying on me. But you've already acted as judge and jury and found me guilty of some hideous crime. Well, let me tell you this, Mr. High and Mighty Walker, you're wrong. So wrong that when the police come looking for me, you're the one who's going to have some explaining to do, not me."

Walker held her gaze. He didn't like what he saw there anymore than he liked the tone of her voice.

"I'll be real pleased to see the cops. I'll even watch while they haul you away. Computer hacking is a federal crime in this country and we don't look too kindly on people who illegally dump chemical waste either. You'd better get used to being locked up, lady, because if I have anything to do with it, you'll be spending time in a place a lot smaller and less attractive than this cabin."

"You're impossible! You're being totally unreasonable. I don't know why I'm bothering to talk to you since you won't listen to what I have to say. You know, I give up. You win. Arguing is getting us nowhere. I'm going to have a bath."

Walker put his book down and started to rise from the chair.

"And I don't need a chaperone!"

Walker crossed the room with two quick strides and stood face to face with Skye. He tipped her chin with a finger, and looked down into her eyes. He smiled suggestively. "Oh, darlin', and here's me thinking you were issuing an invitation."

Skye clamped her jaw shut and stared at him with pure raging hatred in her eyes. She slapped him hard across the face for the second time that day. Turning on her heels, she opened the bedroom door, slamming it so hard behind her that the windows of the cabin rattled.

Walker rubbed his jaw. For such a small thing, she had one hell of a temper. This was turning out to be a day full of surprises. First the discovery of more fish, and washed up on his land too, then finding Skye hammering away at a laptop. And as if that wasn't enough, he'd seen reams of computer code on the screen. That was pretty damming evidence by anyone's standard.

But in the back of his mind there lurked a tiny speck of doubt. What if she was telling the truth? She'd maintained her story throughout his aggressive questioning. If she really did design computer software, then he was going to look damned foolish, but it was a risk he would have to take. Better that than having her running around the countryside like a loose cannon. At least here in the confines of the cabin he could keep an eye on her. She was right—sooner or later someone would come looking for her and when they did, he'd be ready for them. In the meantime, he’d contact McCabe, bring him up to speed on developments, and let him know he'd be staying at the cabin for a while.

Skye slid down in the hot water until she was submerged to her chin and tried to relax. It didn't work. She knew her only chance of escaping from this ridiculous situation lay with John, but could she rely on him to call her again anytime soon? Hopefully he wouldn't wait more than three or four days to contact her, as he would want to know whether she had solved the problem with the software. When he finally made contact, she'd scream bloody blue murder until Walker listened to him. If that didn't work, then hopefully John would have the sense to contact the British Consulate in Seattle and let them know that one Britain’s top software designers was being held captive by a crazed American.

When the police or CIA or whoever knocked at the door, not only would Walker have no choice but to listen, but with luck, he would be arrested on kidnapping charges. When that happened, Skye would sit back enjoy every minute of his embarrassment as he attempted to worm his way out of that.

She hated him now.

She hated him with every inch of her being. Not only was she bitterly angry with him, she was angry with herself. How could she have been so stupid to relax her guard, when all her instincts told her that she should never trust a man, especially one she’d only just met? What made it worse was that she believed Walker was honorable, that he wasn't the type of man to use a woman. Although he hadn't said as much, she actually thought he cared about her. How wrong she'd been.

Fury and humiliation choked Skye, but she wasn't about to give in. One thing was certain—this time she wasn't going to allow a man to bully or blackmail her into doing something against her will. She fought back the tears, and vowed to fight him every inch of the way until he admitted he was wrong. Then she'd walk away without a backward glance and with her head held high.

Closing her eyes, she allowed the warm water to ease away the tension from her shoulders and considered her options once more. The man couldn't watch her twenty-four hours a day. He had to sleep at some point and that would be her chance to use the phone. As things stood, there was no way Walker would allow her within spitting distance of the instrument, but he might force her to answer, for the sake of appearances. Maybe she could turn that to her advantage.

The only other option was to try and make a run for it. She still had the keys to her rental car, something Walker seemed to have overlooked. But he was bound to hear the engine start and as the man had the reflexes of some strange forest animal, how far could she get before he came after her in his truck?

The question preying on Skye's mind was would he sleep heavily enough? It certainly wasn't going to be easy, not when he guarded her like the Kohinoor diamond. He was taller and stronger than her, so hitting him over the head with a heavy object seemed out of the question, although it might knock some sense into him. What she needed was something to give her an advantage, but what?

Walker heard the water drain from the bath, and returned to his chair by the fire. He picked up his book, but paid no attention to the words on the page. A few moments later, Skye entered the room, wrapped in a large toweling robe. Her cheeks were flushed, and she’d pinned her damp hair to the top of her head, exposing the alabaster expanse of her neck.

Something primitive stirred deep within him. Even though he didn't trust her, he still wanted her, damn it. He tried to ignore the ache in his crotch, but failed. One thing was certain being holed up with a hellcat for the next few days was going to be murder on his temper and libido.

She crossed the room, barely glancing in his direction. Once in the kitchen, she set about making herself a sandwich. His voice cut through the air like a switchblade.

"If that's supper you're making, make enough for two. I haven't eaten all day."

Skye slapped butter on two slices of bread and layered it with cheese. "You can keep me here against my will, but I'm not your servant. If you're hungry you know where the refrigerator is, you can make your own damn sandwich."

She carried a plate in one hand and a glass of milk in the other, and settled down on the sofa as far away from Walker as possible. She took a bite of her sandwich. One mouthful told her it was dry. Although it was like chewing cardboard, she would choke rather than admit it. She picked up her glass, took a long swallow, and wondered what the prison sentence for murder would be, because if Walker didn't cut her some slack and soon, she was sure to find out.

Walker watched Skye with frank amusement. She was madder than a rooster locked out of the henhouse. Maybe keeping her out of the kitchen was a good idea. It wouldn't surprise him if she weren't thinking about ways to stick a knife in his back.

"Want some mayo on that?" Walker asked. "It might make it easier to chew."

Skye ignored him and took another bite. He suppressed a laugh—knew he'd riled her. No wonder she was still single. It would take a strong man to handle her. Under all that anger there was also a very passionate woman, and in different circumstances, he would have enjoyed the challenge of taming her. But he hated women who lied.

"You're going to regret keeping me here like this. I'm not involved in your computer fraud, or anything else for that matter. I'm here on vacation."

"We've already had this conversation and nothing you've said so far has convinced me that you're not tied up in this whole sorry mess. Unless you've got something new to tell me—"

"Such as?"

"Such as the name of your contacts and who's responsible for dumping the chemicals in the water around the islands."

"I don't know why I'm repeating myself again, but I'm going to. I don't know what you're talking about."

"In that case, shut up and let me eat in peace."

"Bastard."

A satanic smile spread across his lips. "There's no need to tell me what you think of me. I have no delusions as to what your opinions are. However, a lady shouldn't use such language."

"You make me sick."

"So you keep saying. It won’t make any difference. Now, I finish your milk like a good little girl and go to bed. I'll be along shortly to tuck you in."

Skye stopped midway to the kitchen. "There is no way I'm sleeping in the same bed as you."

"There's no need to yell, I'm not deaf."

"No, just dumb," Skye muttered under her breath as she slammed her plate and glass down in the sink.

Skye stared at the expanse of the large bed and thought about the first night they'd made love. Walker had been so tender that she could hardly believe he was the same hard stranger sitting in the next room. She dragged a blanket and a pillow from the top of the wardrobe.

"The bed's big enough for us to share."

Skye jumped, she spun round and glared at him with impassive coldness. "I'm not going to—"

"You've made your feelings abundantly clear, as have I. I won't try anything. You have my word. Now just get in the damned bed and go to sleep."

Skye stared wordlessly. She pressed both hands over her eyes. She was close to tears, but determinedly blinked them away. It had been a long day, and arguing with the man who had gone from stranger to lover to stranger again was futile.

"How can I trust you, when you won't believe me?"

The softness in her voice made Walker feel as if he'd been hit in the guts. The unwelcome tension between them stretched ever tighter until finally he let out a long, audible breath.

"Despite what you might think of me at this moment, I'm an honorable man. I won't do anything to hurt you physically. I give you my word. Now please, just get into bed."

For a millisecond Skye thought his attitude towards her might be softening, but then he shattered the illusion.

"It's a pity you can't be as honest with me." He shrugged his shoulders, sat down on the side of the bed and pulled off his shoes and socks.

Skye stood by the side of the bed, unable to tear her gaze from Walker's profile as he unbuttoned his shirt. When his hands went to the zipper on his jeans she felt the blood rush to her face. His nearness evoked too many memories. She retreated to the far side of the bed and turned back the covers. The thing she most feared was that he should see the confusion in her eyes.

Chapter Nineteen

Walker became acutely aware of the sensuous woman sleeping in his arms. Nothing prepared him for the intimate picture they presented and for several minutes he remained perfectly still, listening to the birds’ early morning chorus and attempting, albeit unsuccessfully, to bring his breathing under control.

He lay on his back, the crumpled sheet riding low on his hips. Skye lay in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. Her rich auburn hair fanned out on his chest like a silken veil. His left hand held the soft fullness of her breast through the thin fabric of her nightshirt, and her right leg rested intimately between his.

The birds weren't the only things stirring in the early dawn, he realized, and if Skye were to move her leg so much as a whisker she would encounter something a lot harder than his thigh muscle. Walker tried to forget about the heat building inside him, and reminded himself that Skye had made her feelings about sharing a bed with him abundantly clear. Given her state of mind last night, he had no doubt that if she were to wake now he'd probably end up with her knee in his groin.

How ironic, they couldn't remain in the same room without arguing, and yet when they shared a bed their bodies gravitated towards each other as if it they were born to be lovers. Reluctantly he lifted his hand from Skye's breast. She moaned softly, but didn't stir nor did she turn away from the heat of his body. He listened to her rhythmic breathing, and remembered the three passionate nights they had shared, and wished his life hadn't completely and utterly collapsed in the space of day.

Skye woke some time later and found herself alone in the large bed. Of Walker there was no sign—even his clothes had gone. For a brief moment she wondered if he'd relented and returned to wherever he lived. She was congratulating herself on her new-found freedom, when she heard the sounds of his whistling outside the window.

Crestfallen, she sat on the side of the bed, and rested her head in her hands. It was too much to hope that he’d had a change of mind. At least he had kept his promise. She should be thankful for that, but the prospect of another day holed up in the cabin with him filled her with apprehension and dread.

Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed, and feeling far less confident than she looked, Skye went in search of breakfast. She carried her mug of coffee and a muffin from the kitchen, and stepped out of the cabin into brilliant sunshine.

Walker's rich voice cut through the air. "I see you've finally managed to drag yourself out of bed. You've missed the best part of the morning."

Skye screwed her eyes up against the glare of the sun, and look at him as if he had just crawled out from under a rock.

"I think that depends on your point of view. The less time I spend in your company the better as far as I'm concerned."

"So that's the way the wind blows."

"What do you expect? Surely you don't think I would willingly play happily families while you keep me here against my will?"

"I was hoping we could at least be civil towards each other, seeing how we're sharing a bed."

Skye looked at her coffee mug and considered the satisfaction she would get from throwing it at him. "Go to hell, Walker."

"In due time I probably will, but not before I see you and your nasty friends put behind bars."

Skye didn't even dignify his statement with a reply. Instead, she concentrated on eating her breakfast and on finding a way to get through the day without committing murder. One thing was certain; if Walker continued his incessant tirade she was going to need a lawyer and a damn good one.

"If you release your stranglehold on that mug, I'll get you a refill."

He was right. Her fingers were white where they gripped the mug. What a pity it wasn’t his neck. She handed him the empty mug. Their fingers touched briefly and for one heart wrenching moment her body flooded with desire. But then sense kicked in and she snatched her hand away. Her desire dissolved into anger at the realisation, that despite his harsh treatment, she still loved him. The harder she tried to ignore the truth the more it persisted. But, she had to keep her distance from him in order to retain her sanity. And Walker was right—trading insults wasn't going to make her situation any more bearable.

Skye was so lost in thought that when she opened her eyes, Walker was standing directly in front of her. She took a steadying breath, and accepted the mug he offered.

"There's not much food. I haven't been grocery shopping in days. Don't you think we ought to go into town to stock up?"

Walker snorted, not rising to the bait. "Make a list. I'll phone it through to the store and get them to deliver the order."

"Okay."

Now he was confused, at the very least he expected her to argue with him. Instead, she meekly agreed to his suggestion. She surprised him further by rolling out one of the loungers from under the shade of the deck and taking her coffee to drink in the sun.

Walker wondered what had brought about this change in Skye's demeanor. He hadn’t said or done to ingratiate himself into her good books, so what had made her accept his presence in the cabin? After tying his brain up in knots for most of the morning and giving himself an even bigger headache, he decided that figuring out what Skye was up to was an impossible task. He could live with a temporary truce, but he’d keep his wits about him all the same.

The next day followed a similar pattern, neither of them really talking to each other, but not arguing either. Just after supper there was a knock at the door.

"Expecting someone?"

"No. Are you?"

Walker shrugged his shoulders in response and went to the door. He took the precaution of lifting a heavy walking stick from the stand and then drew back the bolt. It never paid to be careless this late in a game. He opened the door a few inches, and glared at the stranger standing on the step. The guy looked about forty, and was dressed in designer jeans, turtle neck sweater and an expertly cut leather jacket. He was roughly the same height as Walker although a few pounds heavier. Walker relaxed his guard; the man's hands were in plain sight, and empty.

"I'm sorry to trouble you, but I'm looking for 8971 Roche Harbor Road and think I may have—"

"You've found it," Walker interrupted.

"Then who are you?"

Walker's eyes narrowed. "I might ask you the same question."

The stranger stood his ground and returned Walker's close scrutiny with a hard stare of his own.

Skye hadn't taken much notice of the mumbled voices at the door, but as the conversation progressed, one voice in particular held a familiar ring.

"John? John, is that you?" Skye dropped her book and ran to the open doorway.

"Sweet Pea?"

Sweet Pea? Walker’s brows slanted in a frown. Was he talking about Skye? Sweet Pea couldn't be the same woman who would sooner scratch his eyes than offer him a cup of coffee? And this guy certainly didn't look like someone involved in illegal dumping. In fact he looked more like a college professor, but then appearances could be deceptive. But…Sweet Pea?

His grip on the walking stick tightened. He turned to Skye. "Do you know this guy?"

"Yes, he's my business partner, you overgrown moron! Are you going to keep him standing there all night, or are you going to let him in so that we can clear up this mess?"

Walker stepped aside and allowed the stranger to enter. He made sure the man saw the hefty walking stick.

"I've been wondering when someone show up. Take a seat on the sofa where I can see you, and no funny business. I'm not averse to using this while we wait for the cops to arrive."

John looked at Walker and then at Skye and wondered what he had walked into. Cops? Waiting for him? Until twelve hours ago, he didn't t even know he was going to traipse six thousand miles to visit Skye. What the heck was going and who was this idiot?

Skye threw herself into his arms and hugged him with desperation. He held her at arm’s length and looked her up and down. She looked bad—exhausted and there were dark circles under her eyes. The similarity was uncanny, just like she had when she had returned from seeing Michael.

"Are you all right, Sweet Pea? This, this ape hasn't hurt you has he?"

Skye was close to tears. "I'm fine, just a little tired. But what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in the office testing?"

"When I didn't hear from you for a couple of days I got worried and decided I was being unfair asking you to spend the last few says of your vacation sorting out this bug. Debbie gave me the address. I caught the first available flight to Seattle. I had to hang around for a while for the connection to Friday Harbor, but I managed to get a seat on the last plane in."

"Whatever your reasons are, I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you, John."

Walker cleared his throat.

"Well isn't this cozy? Skye, why don't you introduce your friend, and then we'll get down to discussing why you and your associate are hacking into my computer for starters?" He nodded his head in John's direction. "And despite who she tells me you are, I want to see some identification."

John kept a protective arm around Skye, and walked her over to the sofa. He sat down, keeping her close by his side. " I don't know who you are, but if you’ve laid so much as a finger on Skye, I’ll personally see that you walk with a limp for the rest of your life."

"John, meet Walker. Mr. Walker has this crazy idea that I’m trying to discredit his company. He thinks I'm involved in the illegal dumping of chemicals."

John looked at Skye and then at Walker and roared with laughter. "I've never heard anything so preposterous in my life. Are you serious?"

Skye said nothing. He could see that she was.

Skye fixed her icy blue eyes on Walker. "Walker, meet Dr. John Ridge, one of the United Kingdom’s foremost designers of computer source code and co-owner of Dunbar and Ridge Computer Associates."

Walker was stunned. John Ridge, well, well. He certainly had been expecting him to turn up on the doorstep. And just how did he fit into the game? His expression gave nothing away. He turned to Ridge.

"I presume you've got some identification to prove that?"

John said nothing. He reached inside his jacket and removed his passport. He handed it to Walker. "Is that good enough for you, or do you want to call passport control at Seattle and have it verified?"

"I'm certainly going to get it verified. I don't trust one word that comes from Skye's sweet mouth." He dialled McCabe's number and quickly reeled off the details from John's passport. McCabe promised to get back to him within the hour.

"Suppose you're telling the truth and you are her business partner, why would she be hacking into my computer?"

John felt Skye stiffen at Walker's accusation and placed a restraining hand on her arm. "Skye has never hacked into a computer in her life. She's more than capable of doing so, but her talents lie in other directions."

Skye groaned inwardly at John's admission, but listened carefully as qualified his statement.

"Skye has a brilliant mind and when it comes to innovative design, she's one of the best. Many of the software products on the market contain code written by Skye and myself. You may have seen source code on her laptop, but it was code she and I developed. I’d asked her to examine it because we were experiencing problems."

Walker eyed the two of them sceptically.

"If you've got any doubts, ask your buddy to check with the British Embassy while he's about it. I am sure someone there will be happy to verify who we are."

Walker's grin was derisive. "That sure of yourselves, huh?"

John's expression was one of pained tolerance. "Yes, I am. In fact I'd even go as far as saying that your government will take a dim view of your actions. Now, before this situation gets anymore out of hand than it already is, I suggest one of you explains exactly what is going on here?"

Skye interrupted Walker before he had chance to do more than take a breath. She spent the next five minutes explaining how they had met and the events of the previous week. She left out the intimate details of their relationship. By the time she had finished John was stern faced, and angry.

"Sweet Pea, why didn't you tell me you were in trouble? Just how long has this idiot been holding you against your will?"

"This is the third day. Walker came back from his business trip and saw me using my laptop. Before I could explain he decided I was both a hacker and an environmental terrorist. I pleaded with him to let me call you or the police, but he was convinced I was involved—"

John gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and cast a murderous glance in Walker’s direction. "Take your time, Sweet Pea."

"Walker was convinced I was involved in these illegal activities and insisted on staying here to see who showed up."

"Is this correct?"

Walker shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, give or take one or two minor details." Like the fact we're lovers, he added silently.

The phone rang and Walker snatched it up. He listened intently. He replaced the handset, and gave Ridge an embarrassed, conciliatory smile.

"Seems your identification checked out."

"What a surprise. And?"

"And you've done work for both the British and American Governments," he admitted. "Skye I owe you an apology—"

John bristled. "I think you owe her more than an apology. But you can tell it to the cops. Skye, go and pack, we're leaving."

"Wait," Walker interrupted. "Let me explain."

Skye kept her gaze firmly fixed on John.

John frowned. "You've got five minutes and then we're out of the door. This better be good."

Walker leaned forward in his chair. "I'm a marine biologist. For a number of months now someone has been dumping chemicals in the waters around the San Juan Islands. I was asked to by the State Department to investigate. So far, only marine life has been involved. About the same time fish started washing up on the shoreline, my company's computer system suffered a number of major crashes, attributable to someone hacking into the system. Then a few days ago my headquarters and laboratories in Seattle were ransacked. Someone, somewhere, is trying to find out just how close I am to locating whoever's responsible for this environmental atrocity."

For only the second time since John's arrival, Skye looked directly at Walker.

"Have you kept your virus software up-to-date or tried hiring someone to trace the hackers?"

A half smile crossed Walker's face. "I've done both. McCabe, my contact in the Department of Agriculture and Fisheries, suggested I try and contact a British guy. Someone named John Ridge. I assume that's you?"

"Possibly," John replied. "It's a common enough name."

"Well, if you are him, you're damned hard to track down," Walker said. "I scoured all the journals, the Internet; I even tried your old university, to no avail. One of the professors here at the University of Washington remembered attending a seminar you gave. I found an e-mail address for you in a journal, and wrote to it, but as of three days ago there was still no response."

Skye turned to John. "Did you receive an e-mail from Walker?"

"I'm not sure. If you used a web-based e-mail address I probably binned it. They are the address of choice for would-be hackers and the like. I don't even bother reading them. Most people who need to contact me use the phone."

"Yeah, well we try not to ask the British for help very often."

"No, because you think you have all the answers," Skye mumbled under her breath.

For a moment there was silence. Eventually, Walker turned to Skye, a silent pleading in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I've behaved reprehensibly. I know I've got no right to ask this of either of you, but would you help?"

Skye remained silent. John's face was immobile. They looked at each other, an unspoken question passing between them. John was the first to speak.

"What makes you think we can?"

"McCabe heard from someone in the Department of Defense that you're about to present some new software to the British Government."

"We develop new software all the time. What makes you think it has anything to do with tracing hackers?" Skye asked.

Walker shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe McCabe's information is wrong. I'm only telling you what I've been told." He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know about you two, but I could do with a drink."

Walker went to the kitchen and poured a measure of scotch into three tumblers. He wondered what exactly Skye's relationship with Ridge was. Could they be more than business partners? Ridge was certainly hostile towards him, but then what did he expect? When Skye realized who was at the door, she hadn't hesitated—she'd fallen headlong into Ridge's arms. He could tell from the look in Ridge's eyes that he loved her, but was it reciprocated? A primeval emotion coursed through his veins. For the first time in his life he was jealous.

Skye and John each took a glass of whisky from the tray. Walker took his own glass and downed the contents in one swallow.

"I understand your reluctance to acknowledge that such software exists, but I would appreciate it if you could see your way to getting involved. These people are sick individuals. They don't know what they're messing with and sooner or later someone could die. I'm sure the two incidents are linked. If I can find who is accessing my company's computer files, then it may lead me to those responsible for the illegal dumping. Don't answer me now, think about it overnight. I'll come back in the morning and you can tell me then."

John stroked his chin. "You make a compelling case, Mr. Walker, but I still think you've got a bloody nerve asking for our help after the way you've treated Skye. If it were up to me I'd have you arrested on kidnapping charges. However, this is Skye's call. She and I will talk it over. In the meantime, I suggest you leave before I forget I'm a gentleman and tell you what I really think of you."

"Okay. There are some people I need to speak to anyway. Just one thing before I go—"

Walker placed his glass on the table, stepped forward and dragged Skye to her feet. His arms circled her waist and gathered in his arms, his lips hungrily covering hers. For the third time in as many days her hand lashed out and hit him a stinging blow across his cheek. He tightened his hold on her waist, and drew her closer till her face was only inches away from.

"That's the last time you touch me in anger, Skye. Next time it will be because you want me."

"Don't be to sure about that," she spat. "I've still got a bruised wrist, remember. Want to see it?"

Walker let her go and strode to the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Chapter Twenty

Skye was too startled by her response to Walker's kiss to move. He’d caught her completely off guard. It wasn't anger that made her body shake, but a familiar shiver of awareness. A soft gasp escaped her lips as her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the sofa.

John stared at Skye and tried to judge her reaction. Although her beautiful face was pale, there was a slight flush to her cheeks and her eyes sparkled. Outwardly she appeared composed despite lashing out at Walker. But he knew that inside she was seething with anger or a far more primitive emotion.

"What's this about your wrist?" He rested a reassuring hand on each shoulder, then took her hands in his.

Skye looked up. "I'm fine."

"You don't look it and you haven’t answered my question." He crossed the room and took up a position next to the fireplace. "I can't believe the nerve of the bastard. He keeps you holed up here for three days against your will, hurts you and then has the audacity to kiss you! He hasn't touched you in any other way has he? Because if he has—"

"John, don't even go there! I'm fine. I've got a slight bruise, that's all."

"The man should be locked up for the way he's treated you. I hope you're not going to sit here and let him get away with this outrageous behaviour. You ought to have him arrested for kidnap and assault. He can't go around treating people as if he is a law unto himself."

Skye looked away. "John, forget it. It was nothing. No harm's been done."

"But—"

"I said forget it."

For a moment or two the silence between them hung heavily in the air. John gave Skye a sidelong glance.

"You're attracted to him, aren't you? Look, Sweet Pea, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Captives often become attracted to their captors. Once the reality of the situation kicks in, you'll see that he means nothing to you. I’m sure I don't need to remind you what happened last time you got involved with a Yank!"

"Stop before you say something you'll regret. If anything happened, it's between Walker and me. And if I choose to forget this ever occurred, that's my decision to make. Besides, you don't know what you're talking about. This situation isn't remotely similar to what happened with Michael. And no matter how much you try to persuade me otherwise, I will not be reporting the matter to the police."

"If that's the way you want to play it."

"It is. We have more important things to discuss—"

"Such as?"

"Such as whether we grant his request, and when was the last time you had a decent meal?"

"I ate in Seattle before I caught the connecting plane. Stop trying to change the subject."

"John, the matter is closed." Skye rose fluidly from the sofa and placed a hand on his arm. "I know you have my best interest at heart, but we're both tired. It's been a long day and I don't know about you, but I could do with a good night's sleep"

A smile crossed his face. "Yeah, it has been a long strange day."

"What do you expect? You're still on London time. Let’s call it a night and talk about whether or not we're going to help Walker in the morning?"

"Perhaps you're right, Sweet Pea. Eight hours sleep wouldn't do either of us any harm. We'll discuss things tomorrow, but I still say you ought to report the matter."

***

A subdued Walker arrived at the cabin at noon the next day. He knocked at the door, and was taken aback when Skye opened it. Despite the tension of the previous days she looked as if she had slept well, which was more than he could say for himself. He stood and stared, a slow smile spread across his face as he took a frank and admiring look.

Unsmiling, Skye stepped aside to let him enter.

"Do you want a coffee or should we get straight to the point?"

"Coffee would be fine if there's some in the pot, but don't go to any trouble just for me."

Moments later, Skye thrust a steaming cup into his hand and then sat down opposite him. Ridge crossed the room and rested his thigh on the arm of her chair. He put his arm about her shoulder. His message to Walker was loud and clear. Hands off!

"Have you decided if you're willing to help?"

"Assuming this software exists, and we're not admitting it does, give us three reasons why we should," Ridge answered.

Walker took a sip of his coffee and gathered his thoughts. "People who dump chemicals illegally not only risk their own lives, but those of others. As I told you last night, luck has been on our side, and no one has gotten sick. But it's only a matter of time. Do you know what a high concentration of PCBs—?”

Skye interrupted. "PCBs? Could you put that into plain English for the benefit of us computer geeks?"

"PCBs or polychlorinated biphenyls,’ are a family of chemicals for which there are no natural sources. We no longer commercially produce them here in the US, but they are still out there. They don't degrade readily and once released into the environment, they can easily enter the food chain. They tend to accumulate in the fatty tissues of animals because they are stable in nature. These accumulations increase as the animal moves through the food chain."

Ridge concentrated hard and did his best to absorb the information. "Let me get this straight," he said. "If a seal eats fish that's been polluted, then it becomes contaminated too. The more fish it digests, the higher the concentration of PCBs in its body."

"Basically, that's correct."

"And what effect do these PCBs have on the human population."

Walker inclined his head towards Skye. "I'm glad you asked that question. PCBs are highly toxic. Acute exposure can cause tissue irritation. High exposure can damage the liver, and possibly the nervous system and chronic exposure may result in reproductive problems and even cancers. This is one group of chemicals you don't want to mess with. Most companies behave responsibly when it comes to their disposal. But now and again you come across a company which is less conscientious and which is not averse to a little illegal dumping. Various countries have names for this. I think you use the term ‘fly tipping’ in the UK."

"I've read about that," remarked John. "But this still doesn't explain why you want our help."

"My first task when asked to head up this investigation was to carry out autopsies on the fish. From the chemicals found in their systems I was able to narrow the list of companies handling them down to seven. All are licensed to dispose of PCBs. One of them, a consortium headquartered here in the US, I ran into previously under very unpleasant circumstances. At the time I was working in South America and, to cut a long story short, I had its operation there shut down for eighteen months while working practices and disposal methods were improved. The company was heavily fined for illegally disposing of chemical waste and nearly ended up in the bankruptcy courts. As a consequence, I'm not exactly very popular with their board of directors or shareholders. Recently they've—"

"How do you know the same company is involved?" Skye asked.

The lines of concentration deepened along Walker's brow. "I don't, for sure. But ten months ago the directors applied for a permit to build a new plant in Anacortes, but it was refused. I know, because I was the one who recommended the application be turned down on the grounds of previous poor management and disposal methods."

"But that still isn't proof they’re responsible," Skye insisted.

"You have to admit it's a pretty strong coincidence. Shortly after permission was refused, contaminated fish started washing up on the mainland and here on the islands. The chemicals are being dumped at sea. Despite an extensive search, I've been unable to establish exactly where."

"Something like that wouldn't go unnoticed surely?" John said. "I mean a vessel dropping cargo overboard would be bound to attract attention, especially in somewhere like Puget Sound where the shipping lanes are so busy."

"You would think so. It's a huge area to cover and the coastguard is stretched as it is."

Skye's mind drifted back to the afternoon of John's telephone call. An icy chill crawled down her spine. The boat she’d seen had dropped containers of some description overboard. What if they had contained chemicals?

"What sort of vessel do you think they use?"

Walker thought for a moment or two. "Certainly nothing that would look out of the ordinary. Possibly a fishing boat or a small inter-island cargo boat."

Skye cleared her throat. "I saw a boat a few days ago. I thought it a little strange, because I'd never seen a fishing boat there before. It was a little way offshore, too far away for me to see clearly. I assumed they were putting out some form of fishing equipment."

Walker barely managed to conceal his annoyance. "This is private land and that extends to the fishing. No one should be fishing in the cove—not even for lobster. Was this before or after you found the fish washed up on the beach?"

"Before. As I said, it was too far away for me to see clearly, but the men on board seemed to be struggling to get whatever it was overboard."

"For Christ's sake! Why didn’t you tell me?"

Skye lowered her eyes and studied her hands. "You didn’t give me a chance to say anything. And, as I said, I thought they were just fishing."

"You do realize that if you'd told me about this sooner that we might have been able to trace the vessel? Of all the stupid, irresponsible—"

"Let's not get into a slanging match about who should have told who what," John interrupted. "Assuming the stuff's being dumped at sea as you suspect, then surely it's a matter for the coastguard and the navy to sort out. It certainly doesn't account for why you need our help."

Walker leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "About the same time fish starting washing up on the island, I encountered problems with my computer systems. At first, I thought it was purely coincidental, but now I'm convinced it's not. Last week my offices were broken into, hence my hasty departure. Among other things, slides I had taken as evidence were destroyed along with the relevant documentation. Someone also accessed the computers. What they didn't manage to destroy or delete, they infected with a virus."

Skye and John exchanged glances. "Computers get infected with viruses all the time, mainly from attachments contained in e-mail. It's possible someone downloaded an attachment which was infected," John said.

"It's possible, but unlikely as the system is protected by anti-virus software. And it doesn't explain why my offices were broken into."

"Supposing this consortium you mentioned earlier is responsible, why don't you just go and inspect their plant and check their records?"

"Legally we have a duty to notify them of an inspection. By the time all the paperwork has been issued they would have cleaned up their act," Walker told them. "I'm sure that whoever is behind the dumping knows of my involvement in the investigation and that they’re also responsible for the attacks on my company, which is why I’d like your help."

Skye thought back to something Walker had said earlier. "The consortium, surely that isn't the only company you've investigated over the years?"

A muscle flicked angrily at Walker's jaw. "There are more than a few companies around the world that have me at the top of their hate list. But this happens to be the only one in Washington State licensed to dispose of PCBs."

When Skye didn't respond, Walker stood and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. He'd blown it. It was obvious that Skye and her partner weren't going to help and yet he couldn't just give up, he had to find a way to persuade them. As the minutes ticked by the tension in the room stretched ever tighter.

"You're welcome to review what's left of the evidence I've gathered, if it will help you reach a decision, but time isn't on our side. If I'm going to stand a chance of catching these bastards, I need your help today, not next week."

When neither of them said anything he concluded that his final request for help was being denied, and deciding he had nothing to lose, he appealed directly to Skye for support.

"I owe you an apology," he began awkwardly. "You turned up at the cabin just as things took a turn for the worse. You seemed so antagonistic towards me that I assumed you'd been sent to watch me. When I got to know you better I realized that I was wrong and you were simply here on vacation. When I saw the computer code on your laptop, I'm afraid I put two and two together and didn't come up with four. I can't apologize enough for holding you here against your will, but you must understand that I felt I had no other choice. Can find forgive me? Will you help?"

Once again Walker managed to surprise her. An apology was the last thing Skye expected, and from the expression on Walker’s face he was sincere. She leaned back in her chair and looked at John questioningly. She didn't know what to do. On a professional note, helping Walker seemed the right decision. Not only would it prevent an environmental disaster, but it could also save lives. And there was no doubt that it would be good publicity for Dunbar and Associates. However, she wasn't sure she could put her personal issues with him to one side.

Before she had chance to formulate a reply, John gave a slow handclap that broke the silence.

"Well, that was a pretty speech, but words come cheap."

Walker glared angrily at Ridge. "Butt out! This is purely between me and Skye and has nothing to do with you." He focused his attention on Skye. "When this is over you have my promise that I will do everything in my power to put things right between us."

"Do you really think I'm going to let Skye hang around long enough for your grand gestures?" John tightened his grip on Skye's shoulder.

Walker ignored Ridge and looked directly at Skye once more. "Skye?"

Skye dropped her eyes before his steady gaze lest he should see her confusion, torn as she was by conflicting emotions. Was John right? Should she walk away and let Walker solve his own problems, or should she stay and help the man she loved?

Walker was halfway to the door, before she found the strength to speak, her voice cool and clear as ice water.

"We'll help, but only provided you agree to our terms."

Walker stopped in midstride and turned to listen.

"Firstly, your company or the US Government undertakes to pay for our time and expertise, and I should warn you we don't come cheap. Secondly, any software we install on your system will remain our property and be removed when we successfully locate the hackers. And finally, there will be no further contact between you and me once the hacker is located. Do we have a deal?"

Walker glared at her. "I'll agree to the first two, but I'll be damned if I'll agree to the third!"

Skye lifted her chin and met his gaze. "Well, good luck. I hope you can find someone with the necessary expertise to help you. Close the door on your way out."

Walker's expression darkened with an unreadable emotion. He retraced his steps and jerked her to her feet. "Sweet Pea, this is one conversation you and I are having in private." He gripped Skye's elbow, he ushered her out the door and down the path to the shore, completely impervious to her objections and those of Ridge.

"What the hell did you mean back there? And don't look to Ridge for support. I've had about as much of his interference as I can take. If he so much as moves a muscle in this direction I'll take the greatest pleasure in putting him flat on his back."

Skye flattened her palms against his chest. Over Walker's shoulder she could see John standing in the doorway of the cabin. She shook her head indicating that he should stay put.

"I meant exactly what I said. Once this is over, there will be no further contact between us."

Walker searched her face for a trace of emotion and found none. "Do you mean to tell me, that what we shared meant nothing?"

All the anger Skye had felt over the last few days welled to the surface. She wanted to lash out and hurt him as much as he had hurt her.

"What exactly did we share? Three days of mediocre sex. Sorry to disappoint you, but it meant nothing." She struggled to free herself from his arms.

Walker tightened his grip on her waist. "You're lying. It wasn't mediocre sex and you know it. It was fantastic and if I kissed you now you'd want me as much as I want you."

Skye found her body responding to his. Fear and anger overcame the desire, giving her the strength to push him away.

"Don't flatter yourself. This isn't the dark ages. Haven't you realized that women are just as capable of having meaningless affairs as men? We don't have to be attracted to or be in love with every man who takes us to bed." She could see from the look in his eyes that her arrow had hit its mark. "Now, are you going accept my terms or not?"

Walker was wounded beyond comprehension. He took a deep breath. Skye could deny it for as long as she liked but they both knew what they'd shared was real. But, he needed her help, and if it meant abiding by her rules to get it, then so be it. Releasing his grip on her waist, he stepped back.

"You’ve got a deal. But when this is over, I'll prove what we shared is real. Don't say you haven't had fair warning. In the meantime, I assume you'll need your laptop?" Without waiting to hear her answer, he spun on his heel, and strode back up the path to the cabin.

Skye didn't follow immediately. She gazed at Walker's retreating figure and pressed both hands over her eyes in despair. Weariness enveloped her, but she knew she had to concentrate. There was no doubt in her mind that Walker would carry out his threat. She pushed aside her worries, and walked back to the cabin.

John had already set up her laptop next to his on the table, and was examining the new code she had written. Skye sat down next to him and said nothing.

Walker paced up and down in front of the fireplace. His temper almost uncontrollable, as he watched Skye and Ridge get to work, their heads bent in concentration as they gazed at first one screen and then the other. Left alone with his thoughts he decided that he couldn't let the only woman who had ever meant anything to him walk away without a fight. And if he was going to convince her that what they had was something worth fighting for, he needed to get Skye alone and that wouldn’t be easy with Ridge hovering over her all the time, like the proverbial British bulldog.

Skye's silken voice broke into his thoughts. "Although we can run a trace from here we will need access to your company's mainframe and server."

"Sure. Whatever you need, just ask. I can make arrangements for us to go over to Seattle whenever you’re ready. Just say the word."

"Perhaps later today, when John and I have finished checking the amendments I've made to the code. Do you have any information about the case that might be of interest to our cyber thieves… something that would tempt them to hack into your systems again?"

Walker gave a brief nod. "I’ll ask my friend in the State Department to put out a press release to the effect that a prosecution is imminent. That ought to grab their attention. Want me to make the call?"

Skye looked at John.

"As far as I can tell without thorough testing, the code looks all right. Do it, make the call," Ridge said. "And while you're on the phone, book three seats on the evening flight to Seattle. I absolutely detest boats."

"No need, I'll fly us over. You've no aversion to small planes have you?" Walker asked.

"I don't," replied Skye. "What about you, John?"

"I daresay I'll cope. Now can we get on with this before you two start discussing such niceties as in-flight service?"

Two hours later they walked into Walker’s office.

"I’ve seen bigger coffins than that plane," John said.

Skye laughed. "You should see your face—it's green."

"If you'd seen the way the wing almost kissed the sea as we took off, you might not be so cocky!"

"Quit complaining. Let's get to work setting things up."

Twenty minutes later, the virus program Skye was running finished checking Walker's laptop for signs of infection. The tracking program had been loaded into the mainframe.

"We’re all set," John said. "It's just a case of sitting back and waiting to see if anyone takes the bait and tries to hack into the system. Are you sure that press release and the evidence will stand up to close scrutiny?"

"Positive. McCabe doesn’t make mistakes," Walker replied. "Do you have any idea how they are accessing the system?"

"There are a number of methods they could use. The simplest would be to have someone working on the inside. Someone who has access to all your files—say a secretary or a lab technician. If that's not feasible then they'd have to gain access via the back door."

Walker shook his head. "No one gets employed here without criminal, reference and credit checks."

"Ever heard of false IDs?" John asked.

Walker didn't dignify his insulting question with a response. Instead he turned to Skye.

"The back door? As in climbing up the fire escape and breaking in?"

Skye laughed. "Most operating systems have vulnerabilities and hackers take advantage of these ‘back doors’ to gain access. Alternatively, they could have sent an e-mail, with an innocent-looking attachment containing a small self-executing file." Skye's face became animated as she warmed to her subject. Her mouth curved into an unconscious smile. "A few extra lines added to a screen saver or a picture file or even hidden in a virus, is all it takes. They’re known as a Trojan horse."

Thoroughly bewildered by the jargon, Walker raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"A Trojan horse?"

Skye sighed. "A Trojan horse is simply a computer program that claims to be one thing, such as a game, but is something else entirely. When activated, it causes damage such as erasing data on your hard disk. Once downloaded, a Trojan horse can lurk undetected in your operating system's files until as something triggers it. Or it could be a small program set to search for certain key words, such as pollution or fish. When you open a document containing those words, the program sends the information through your server to the hacker. You wouldn't be aware the program had been activated. Once inside your system a hacker's second goal is to get root access—"

"Root access? Isn't that something you have done at the dentist?"

Skye smiled, enjoying the gentle sparring against her better judgment. "Root access is every dedicated hacker's ultimate goal. It means that the hacker has unrestricted access to the inner working of your system. Once he's gained that he has the ability to copy, delete or even change files, authorize new users, and install a back door to allow regular access, not to mention a whole host of other things."

"Christ! And you're telling me that I wouldn't be aware that they had this power over my system?"

"That's right. Most companies only become aware they have a problem when money goes missing from a bank account, or as in your case, documents are destroyed. Most hacking is relatively innocent and is carried out by bored teenagers, but even that can prove annoying, not to mention costly. Hackers tend to start off writing viruses, and progress on to more destructive software such as worms and Trojan horses. When that ceases to give them a satisfactory high they turn their talents to criminal activities."

Walker held up his hands in defeat. "You obviously know your subject. Why and how do you think my system was attacked? I'm only a marine biologist."

"You head the investigation, and therefore are of paramount interest to them. As to how they gained access, that's the ten thousand dollar question. John, what do you think? Internal access or back door?"

"Back door, almost certainly. Didn't you say this system was protected by a firewall?"

"Yes it was—it is," Walker replied.

"It's not very effective," John replied. "Take a look at this, Skye. Does this string of code look as if it's part of this program? What do you think? Could it be the culprit?"

Skye crossed the room, leaned on John's shoulder, and studied the screen. She gave all her attention to the lines of code. "I don’t think its part of the program. Well spotted."

"Yeah, well if you hadn't been so busy talking you might have noticed it yourself."

The tension in the room was almost palpable. Skye placed a hand on John's shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze.

"Does it really matter which of us found it? At least we now know how they gained access. And once we find our hacker we can prevent him returning." She smiled at Walker. "Can you ask your friend in the State Department to send out the press release now? It should be more than enough to draw the snakes out of the grass."

Walker did as Skye requested and gave up asking questions. He turned his attention instead to the piles of paperwork on his desk. He sifted papers from one stack to another, pausing now and then to glance at the odd letter. He noticed that Ridge had given up surreptitiously watching him and now sat at a secretary's desk monitoring two laptops and the secretary's computer for signs of anything untoward.

Skye took advantage of the temporary truce between Walker and John, and stood by the window, apparently lost in thought. She leaned her head against the cool glass and gazed down on the lights of the city far below. Despite the memories it held for her, she never tired of Seattle's skyline. Odd how life had a way of turning in circles, she thought. Barely a year ago she'd run away from Seattle and the memory of Michael. And this was all over, she'd be leaving again, only this time, she realized as she glanced at Walker, it would be from the man she loved.

One of the laptops pinged, pulling Skye out of her reverie.

"We've got a hit," John shouted over his shoulder as he studied the screen. "Let's just hope the guy hasn't spoofed his IP address."

Completely baffled, Walker turned to Skye for an explanation.

"Spoofing, is when a hacker hides his Internet Protocol address. If he hasn't spoofed it then he might intentionally bounce his communications through many intermediate computers scattered around the world to throw us off the scent. If he's done that then we have to find all the bounce points before we can locate him."

Walker pushed his chair away from his desk and crossed the room to stand beside her. "And how long will that take?" he asked.

Skye looked thoughtful. "It depends. It's not as straightforward as it sounds. If he isn't bouncing his coms—his communications through too many other computers, not long. But, if he’s using computers in third world countries to hide his location, as many hackers do, then it might take a while."

Walker glanced over his shoulder at Ridge, who was too intent on watching the three computer screens to take any notice of his proximity to Skye. At last he had an opportunity to talk to her without Ridge running interference.

"The view is fantastic, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Even better than the view from the Space Needle, but then I've never been up there at night. How far can you see in daylight?"

"As far as Bainbridge Island and Bremerton, and occasionally the Olympic Mountains. It’s the reason I chose to have my offices here. I never tire of looking of the view. Sometimes, when the clouds are low with only the tops of the other buildings visible, it's like looking down on cotton candy."

When Skye didn't respond Walker stepped closer to her. He glanced over his shoulder once more before taking her hand in his. "I really am sorry for what happened. When this is over would you have dinner with me? I’d like us to spend some time together before you return to London."

"I don't know. I've spent so much—"

Before Skye had chance to finish, Ridge shouted.

"Got him! The bastard’s right here in Seattle! A few more minutes and I should have narrowed it down to the service provider and then I'll be able to give you a more precise location."

Walker stared silently in disbelief at Skye's back as she ran across the room and hugged Ridge.

"It works! We’ve done it! We've done what everyone said was impossible and written a program that will be the curse of every hacker!"

Walker couldn't hear Ridge's response, but the sight of him returning Skye's hug and kissing her was enough to blacken his mood. Anger and jealousy tore into him. Damn it! His first opportunity to talk to Skye and Ridge had managed to butt in and ruin the moment. The man was a positive menace. Walker knew time was against him. Ridge would make sure that Skye didn't give him so much as the time of day, let alone have a conversation with him. Somehow he had to find a way to keep her in the States before Ridge took her back to London. But how?

Chapter Twenty-One

Once the trace had been made things moved quickly. The hacker's IP address turned out to belong to the waste management company on the south side of Seattle and by ten thirty the following morning Walker and McCabe were sat in the plant manager's office. During the drive over they worked out a strategy. Walker would ask most of the questions and McCabe would lend the weight of the State Department should the manager be reluctant to co-operate.

From the moment they had driven though the security gates they could tell that the plant was run down and shoddy, and poorly maintained. The offices were situated away from the main processing area and as they drove into the visitors' parking lot, what Walker saw was sufficient to make his skin crawl.

Little or no attempt was made to hide leaking pipes and steaming vents, nor the oily puddles covering almost every conceivable inch of tarmac. The air was heavy with an obnoxious smell, which Walker couldn't identify, but which he was sure would be covered by a piece of State legislature preventing whatever it was from being released into the atmosphere.

More worrying perhaps was the fact that none of employees wore protective clothing. Not even simple facemasks or specialist gloves. Walker wondered what the staff sick leave rate was and how many of their illnesses could be directly attributed to the chemicals and products they handled.

Walker spent ten minutes outlining the investigation, after which the manager categorically denied his employees were involved.

But then he would.

Walker didn't believe a word the slimy toad was saying, and judging by the look on McCabe's face, neither did he. No amount of persuasion on Walker's part succeeded in obtaining the manager's agreement to making the company records available for inspection on a voluntary basis.

McCabe had heard enough and interrupted, wasting no time in threatening to come back with the necessary paperwork to close the plant down for months, if not years, until he and the State Department were satisfied that everything was above board. But still the manager refused to co-operate.

Walker stared out of the grubby window half listening to the conversation, his thoughts drifting back to the events of the previous night. After locating the hacker, Ridge had made sure that he had no chance to speak to Skye, whisking her off to a downtown hotel as soon as he could.

He listened to the heavy rumble of a plane’s engine as it passed overhead and in a blind moment of panic wondered whether Ridge had carried out his threat to take Skye back to England at the first opportunity. For the first time in his life Walker wished he had the strength to walk away from an investigation.

He pushed his personal problems aside, and turned his attention to the truck parked next to the tanker he'd seen earlier. Like the tanker, it was parked away from the main plant next to a pipeline. From his vantage point on the second floor of the administration building, he could see that it was being loaded with oil barrels. He estimated that at least twenty-five barrels where already on the back of the truck.

He dragged his attention back to the conversation and realized that McCabe's threats weren't cutting any ice with Mr. Toad. He gave McCabe their pre-arranged signal. They concluded the meeting and promised to return later that day with a court order to enable them to examine the plant’s records.

They left the building and hurried over to where McCabe's four-wheel drive was parked. Walker brought McCabe up to speed on what he'd seen as they crossed the parking lot. They drove out of the plant, and turned on to the highway. After half a mile McCabe pulled into a service area. They didn't have long to wait before they heard the whine of an engine as a vehicle struggled to pull away from the gates of the plant.

A few moments later the fully laden truck passed them. "Quick," Walker said. "Follow it and see where it goes."

McCabe lost no time. He slammed the four-wheel drive into gear and pressed down hard on the accelerator. A quarter of a mile later he pulled in behind the heavily laden truck just as it reached the slip road to the freeway. He settled in behind to follow it. From the plant just south of Seattle, the truck laboriously made its way along Interstate 5 and continued steadily north.

An hour or so later, as it turned off the freeway on the outskirts of Anacortes, McCabe broke the silence.

"Don't you think we ought call the cops and have this guy stopped?"

Walker shook his head decisively. "I want to see where he's headed, and then I want to find out what's in those barrels. I don't see much point in contacting the cops just yet. Look what happened last time—it got us nowhere. Let's just wait and see. If he's going to dump that load, then he's not going to do it in the open or from the deck of a State ferry. If he's headed for the San Juan Islands, then he'll need to stop and load them onto a small vessel."

"Then what?"

Walker laughed. "You know, McCabe, sometimes you can be real slow on the uptake. Then we wait some more. If my hunch is correct, he'll wait for either nightfall or high tide or both. That’ll give me a chance to take a closer look at those barrels. If I'm right about what they contain, you can call in as many cops as you like."

"I'll hold you to that. Just remember I'm purely a pen pusher not some action hero. My days of back street brawls are long over. My wife will beat me to death with the microwave if I get caught up in the middle of something that turns nasty."

"I wouldn't worry about your wife killing you. If my suspicions about the contents is correct, it will do the job before she's even had chance to pick up her rolling pin."

On the outskirts of Anacortes the truck followed the road signs for the port. Just as Walker had predicted, the driver ignored the queue that had formed for the late afternoon ferry to Friday Harbor and Victoria, and continued on for a short distance before taking the turning for the entrance to Curtis Wharf.

McCabe brought his car to a halt across from the shipping office.

"Looks like you were right." The truck was parked alongside one of the vessels moored at the far end of the wharf. "I'll contact the local gendarmes now, and they can take it from here."

Walker placed a restraining hand on his friend’s arm. "Not yet. I want to see what's inside those barrels first."

"And just how are you planning on doing that?"

"Like this," Walker said, and opened his door.

"Hey, now wait a minute. You didn't say anything about taking a look in broad daylight." But it was too late. Walker was already out of the car and walking towards the shipping office.

Walker hadn't lied when he said he wanted to inspect the barrels, but he also wanted to check the vessel's sailing schedule. He pushed open the door to the office. It looked as if lady luck was on his side; the only person present was a blonde woman in her mid twenties. Walker walked up to the desk, turned up his smile a few notches and thought fast.

"Hi, there… Cindy," he said, reading the name badge she wore.

Cindy looked up from the paperwork on her desk and promptly melted. "Hello."

"I wonder if you could help me," Walker asked, and offered her another dazzling smile.

"Sure, sugar," Cindy drawled in a Texan accent. "I'd be more than happy to." She looked at Walker as if he was prime steak on her plate.

Cindy's sexy looks did nothing for him. He'd met her type before—a fashion victim looking for a brain.

"The small inter-island transport moored at the Quay, is she due to sail tonight?”

"You mean the Rosario Queen? I'm not sure I'm supposed to say. Why do you want to know anyway?" Cindy pouted her lips.

"I'm expecting some crates to be delivered and I need to make sure I have a truck waiting when she docks," Walker lied. He took a long look at Cindy’s ample cleavage, and then held her gaze with a smile.

Cindy's ego went into overdrive. For the first time since she'd taken this lousy job a halfway decent looking guy had walked into the office and noticed her. This was a welcome relief from the married union slobs who pined after her all day.

"Well, now, sugar. How about you take me for a drink when I finish here and I'll tell you then?"

Walker had other plans and they didn't include Cindy or any of her ilk, but he sure wasn't about to tell her that. "You tell me now, and I'll take you to dinner." He reached out and trailed a finger along the V of her tight sweater to her cleavage.

Deciding she was definitely on for a hot date, Cindy leant forward encouraging Walker's finger to brush her breast. She stared blatantly at his zipper, leaving him in no doubt as to what she expected would be on the menu for desert.

"Okay, sugar. Seeing as you're offerin' to be so generous an' all, I'll tell you. She sails at nine tonight. What time are we gonna meet then?"

Walker suppressed a shudder. He disliked women who openly came on to a man.

"How about eight at the Ship Inn, we'll have a few drinks first."

"Sure, sugar, anything you say."

Walker reclaimed his finger and resisted the temptation to wipe it on the back of his pants. He strode to the door, turned, and grinned. He had no intention of turning up for dinner, and while Cindy would be mad, he somehow doubted that she would be left sitting on her own for very long.

He got back into the car just as quietly as he'd left and filled McCabe in on what he'd learned.

"There's no point us both hanging around. Why don't you go and get some coffee. You can bring me back a cup and a sandwich too. Until someone makes a move to unload the truck or it gets dark there's not much we can do but watch and wait."

McCabe looked sceptical. He knew Walker too well. Chances were once he was out of sight Walker would be sniffing around those barrels like a hound after a rabbit. From the corner of his eye McCabe watched as Walker appeared to settle down for what could be a long wait. He walked back towards the coffee shop he'd seen at the entrance to the wharf, and decided to contact the local cops and advise them of the situation, even though Walker wouldn't like it

Ten minutes later, just as dusk was falling, McCabe slipped back into the car. He handed Walker a Styrofoam cup, then lifted the lid off his own and took a mouthful of the grey liquid. With a nod of his head he indicated the truck where a forklift was now busily removing the barrels and stacking them on the quay.

"It looks as if they're getting ready to put them onboard."

"Yeah, the forklift appeared a few minutes ago. If they load them into the hold, then we're in trouble. I don't fancy having to clamber aboard that ship in the dark. Let's hope they break for coffee soon, otherwise we'll have to think of something to get everyone away long enough for me to take a look." He raised his own cup to his mouth and swallowed. "Christ, what is this stuff?"

"Coffee?" replied McCabe somewhat optimistically.

"Could have fooled me. It looks and tastes more like dishwater."

"Wouldn't know, never tried it. You'd never make a cop."

"Why's that?"

"You'd never survive a stakeout."

Walker laughed. McCabe was right. Apart from preferring his food to be recognizable as such, he hated being cooped up in an office.

"Cheese sandwich," McCabe offered before Walker had chance to ask.

Walker eyed the contents of his sandwich with mild suspicion. "Are you sure of that? It looks more like a strip of cardboard to me."

"For crying out loud, quit complaining and either eat it or trash it. Either way, I don't care."

Before Walker had chance to do either, the stevedores working alongside the truck disappeared as quickly as they had arrived. This was his opportunity to examine the barrels. He swallowed the contents of his beaker, and then got out of the car. He leaned in through the open window, and plucked his jacket off the back seat.

"If I'm not back in twenty minutes call nine-one-one."

Straightening, he pulled his jacket on. He shoved his hands in the pockets and pulled out a pair of heavy leather gloves, thankful he'd had the presence of mind to bring them, along with a couple of glass sample bottles and a length of twine.

After a quick look over his shoulder to make sure there was no one in sight, he walked towards the Rosario Queen. He kept to the shadows and close to the warehouses lining the wharf. For the last twenty yards or so, he'd be in plain sight of anyone who happened to look towards the vessel, but he had no choice other than to go for it. He took one final look around, and sprinted across the wharf to the side of the truck. He skirted the back of the vehicle to where some of the containers were stacked in a cargo net ready for the ship's crane to lift them aboard.

The first few he examined were all tightly sealed, and gave no indication of the contents. Cursing, he checked the remainder, always conscious of the fact that the clock was ticking and the stevedores could return at any moment.

Among a group of three standing a little to one side, he came across one that was leaking. He bent down to get a better look in the half-light, and ran his heavily gloved hand over the seal. It was covered in a thick black liquid. When his glove didn't immediately disintegrate, he let out a sigh of relief; at least it wasn’t acid. If it had been, he would have been looking at serious burns. He raised his glove to his nose and sniffed cautiously. The substance smelt noxious, but he couldn't identify any particular chemical. He managed to loosen the small seal on top of the barrel and remove it. He lowered a sample bottle on a length of twine into the contents.

"Hey, you! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He looked up at the figure running towards him. In his haste to get away, he dropped the cap to the bottle. He bent down to retrieve it and his world went black.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Skye ignored the ‘Do not disturb’ sign hanging on the knob, and rapped firmly on the door. A muttered curse came from within as the occupant struggled with the bolt.

"For God's sake, can't you people read?" The door sprung open. "Skye! What do you want?" John growled. "I'd just fallen asleep for the second time in seventy-two hours. What's the matter? Is the hotel on fire or something?"

"I'm sorry, I know you're tired, John. It's just that…I want to fly home…now, today!"

"Skye, be reasonable. Can't I at least have one night's sleep in a comfortable bed before I spend twelve hours cramped in a metal tube?"

Skye faltered, all her well-rehearsed words vanished. She was tired too, both physically and emotionally, and John's grumpiness was more than she could bear. The tears that had threatened to fall suddenly found their way down her cheeks.

John leant against the doorframe and ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

"Oh, hell, Sweet Pea! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bite your head off, but you know how grumpy I get when I'm suffering from sleep deprivation. I guess whatever it is you have to tell me shouldn’t be discussed in a hotel corridor." He opened the door to let her pass. "You'd better come in."

Skye stepped inside and sat down in the solitary chair. The curtains were drawn and the only light came from a lamp on the bedside table.

John regarded her quizzically. He'd never seen her in such a state before. Sure, she had behaved oddly when she returned from Seattle last year, but on that occasion she'd been devoid of emotion. This was vastly different. Was she suffering from some from of delayed shock? He wondered if all her pent up anger towards Walker had somehow transmuted into anguish and despair. Bloody Americans. Why couldn’t they treat a woman with respect?

"Give me five minutes to shower and dress and then we'll talk,” John said.

Overwhelmed by the events of the past few weeks, Skye yielded to the compulsive sobs that shook her body.

The shower turned off, and John emerged, fully dressed from the bathroom and thrust a box of tissues in her lap.

"Blow your nose and stop crying. Now tell me what this is all about." He pushed aside the quilt and sat down on the end of the bed opposite her. "I had the distinct impression you wanted to stay and finish your vacation. What made you change your mind?"

Skye finally lost control of her emotions and sobbed again. "I just want to go home. Isn't that reason enough?"

"Sure it is, and after the events of the last couple of days, I can understand why you might want to leave. But we have to be practical about this. For one thing, my body clock is so screwed I don't know whether it's night or day. In the last seventy-two hours I've crossed an ocean and a continent, traced a computer hacker, and all on less than six hours sleep. You're not much better. You stayed up most of last night and God knows how much rest you've had in the past few days, I surely don't. I don't think delaying our departure by a couple of days will make much difference. And in case you had forgotten, your luggage is still at the cabin. You can't just leave it there, you’ll have to go back and pack."

Skye sniffed. "I'll get the realtor to pack for me."

"I suppose they might agree. But you'll only complain that all your clothes have been creased beyond redemption. What if they forget something? It's not as if it's a five-minute car journey to come back and collect anything. I'd never hear the last of it. Then there's your rental car, you can't just leave that at the cabin. It would be far better to go back to the island, pack up your things, return the car, and fly out in a few days’ time, don't you agree?"

"John, I've taken about as much as I can. Everything has become so sickeningly familiar. I can't cope anymore. I just want—"

"Hold it right there. What do you mean 'everything is so familiar'?"

Skye flung her arms out in despair. "I mean this whole situation, the ruined vacation…Walker… everything! It's like history repeating itself," she cried.

"I know I'm tired and not at my sharpest, but you're not making any sense. How can history be repeating itself? You've never stayed on the San Juans before and this was the first time you've met Walker, isn't it?"

"No, yes…but—"

"Then I don't understand what the urgency is, unless something else happened and you've not told me. I think you had better explain exactly what you mean, don't you? But before you do, I'm going to call room service and order some coffee and a sandwich. Want some?"

Skye nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Perhaps something to eat and drink would help calm her down. She bit her bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop her renewed waterfall of tears and realized it was unreasonable to expect John to fly home with her that night. But she was so miserable that to remain in Seattle any longer was wholly unacceptable. Her head was pounding and a couple of painkillers and a night under a duvet was a comforting thought, but she would forego both if it meant getting away as soon as possible.

"Here, drink this." John held out a glass of amber liquid.

Skye looked at him questioningly as she took the glass he offered.

"It's brandy, from the mini bar. Since Walker's paying the bill, I don't see why you shouldn't have some. It might help."

The mere sound of Walker's name was enough to make Skye weep again. She took several deep breaths before she managed to stem the flood long enough to lift the glass to her lips. The brandy was liquid fire coursing through her body. Little by little warmth crept back into her weary limbs.

"Feeling better?"

"Y-yes."

"Now take your time. Start at the beginning and tell me what's made you so desperate to go home that it can't wait forty-eight hours."

A glazed look of despair began to spread over Skye's face. For over a year, she'd kept her own counsel, but now that everything had become too much for her to bear she had no option but to tell him the truth. She felt so ashamed and humiliated. Conscious of his scrutiny, she found it almost impossible to look John in the eye. In a voice that was barely audible she slowly told him why she wanted to leave.

"You assumed I cut my vacation short last year, because Michael had been recalled to his ship."

"I never made that assumption. I knew you were upset. I figured that whatever had happened between you two was best left alone. I thought it unwise to push you too closely on it, and that if you wanted to, you'd tell me in your own good time."

"I came home early, because I found out that Michael wasn't the person I thought he was. At first everything was wonderful. He was attentive, generous and loving, but then things changed. Just small things at first. We'd go out to dinner and he would get called away, leaving me to pay the check. Or he'd suddenly have to rush back to the ship without warning." She paused to catch her breath, and then closed her eyes as she recalled the memory. "One morning, Michael was recalled to his ship. I assumed he’d be gone all day. I caught the ferry to Seattle. It's always busy with commuters and that morning was no different. When I got back to the hotel suite later that afternoon, he was waiting for me. He seemed in a strange mood."

"Don’t tell me he’d been drinking or taking drugs?"

"I don't know for sure. But he seemed, at odds with himself, if you know what I mean."

John shook his head. He didn't know what Skye meant, but he didn't like the sound of it, and he had a feeling that he was going to like what she was about to say even less.

"Before I had chance to say anything he grabbed hold of my arm and asked me how my boyfriend was. At first I didn't know what he was talking about and he accused me of being a liar. Then he said something about the guy I had coffee with, and I remembered that I'd shared a window table with one of the early morning commuters."

"But I thought you said Michael had been recalled to his ship?"

"He had, but it turned out that he'd finished early. The dockyard is near the ferry terminal; he must have gone there and seen me waiting for the ferry. When I asked him why he didn't come over to me, he ignored the question. He followed me and saw me sharing a table and decided that I was two-timing him, which was ridiculous. When I told him he was being unreasonable he became aggressive, and accused me of being out to get what I could from him." She covered her eyes and began to shake as the fearful images built in her mind.

John took her icy hands in his and rubbed them. "He can't hurt you now. Just take your time."

Skye wiped her eyes. Her mouth felt dry. "He wouldn't let go of my arm, he just held it tighter and tighter until his fingers dug into me." She rubbed her arm as if the bruises were still there and she was trying to ease the pain. "I tried to calm the situation down, but he wouldn't believe anything I said. He insisted I was cheating on him and lying. I told him he was the one with the problem not me—that he was being too possessive, and obviously didn't trust me, otherwise why had he followed me? We just went round in circles, until finally I noticed he was holding something in his hand."

Skye clenched her hand until her nails dug into her palm, oblivious of the pain. Although John hadn't said anything, she'd known him long enough to realize he was exercising supreme control over his temper, but how much more could she tell him before it boiled over and he vented it on her. A chill black silence enveloped the room, until she found the courage to go on.

"While I'd been out, he'd been through my luggage and diary—"

"I didn't think you used one. Don't you keep everything on your laptop?"

"Yes, but I carry a small dairy for making notes and keeping odd papers in."

"What did he find?"

Skye gazed at John in despair. "He found the photograph of Laura."

John got off the bed and walked round the room before coming to a stop in front of Skye. He knelt down, took her in his arms, and hugged her. He rocked her gently back and forth.

"Shush, it's okay. Come on now, stop crying."

Skye buried her burning face against John's shoulder as she succumbed to gut-wrenching sobs.

"I never told him about Laura, you see? And after he found the photo, he wouldn't believe a word I said. I suppose I've only myself to blame for what happened next. But I never meant to deceive him."

"So he threw you out?"

"I offered to leave, but he wouldn't hear of it. Instead he forced me…he forced me to—"

"Christ almighty Skye, the bastard didn't rape you?"

Skye swallowed the sob that rose in her throat. "No. He found another way to punish me instead."

John swore heartily, he couldn't hide his disgust or anger any longer. "Go on."

"He blackmailed me. He said that if I didn't do this thing for him, he'd make sure that no one, Government or company, would employ us. He'd make sure that they knew we couldn't deliver, that our work was third rate, and… and until I agreed, he’d keep me locked up in the hotel room."

"How much did you give him?"

"He didn't only want money. Don't you see? I had no choice but to do as he asked. We were bidding for that big contract and I was so frightened. I thought if I didn't do what he wanted our company would be bankrupt. You do understand that, don't you?"

The only outward sign of John's irritation was the tightening of his jaw muscles. The guy was a psycho—and he’d thought Walker was sick. If only she'd told him this a year ago he would have made damn sure the little shit was kicked out of the navy. No wonder she'd been afraid of her own shadow for the past year.

"How much did you give him?"

"Ten thousand, but it didn't come from the company account, I swear! No matter how much he threatened me or hurt me, I couldn't do that to you, John. I used the money from the trust fund my parents set up for me."

This time John didn't hide his shock and rage. "Why didn't you call the cops or just leave, for God's sake?"

"I couldn't. He never left me alone. He unplugged the phone. When room service delivered our meals, he locked me in the bathroom until they left. I had no chance to call for help."

John's eyes darkened dangerously. "You said he asked for more than money. What else did he want?"

Skye flinched as she spat out the words. "He said that if I didn't write a piece of software for him, he'd invite some of the guys off the ship to…to use me like the whore he said I was."

"He said what?"

"Please, don't make me say that again." Skye cradled her head in trembling hands. "I…I can still see him leaning over me, telling me how much the guys from the ship would—"

"I get the picture, for God's sake! So you agreed to help him?"

Skye nodded woodenly.

"And this software you wrote for him—what did it do?"

"It automatically e-mailed copies of military documents that he—"

John leapt from his seat as if propelled by an explosive force. "What in God’s name were you thinking? How could you take such a risk? Never mind what it would have done for our reputation, didn't you realize you could be locked away for years for what you'd done?"

"Don't you see I had no choice? But, it's not as bad as it sounds."

"Really? This ought to be good. Surprise me."

"John, I may have been desperate, but my brains hadn't totally deserted me. I had plenty of time to think while I was working on the software. It struck me that Michael was selling military documents for one reason only—money."

"The bastard was a bit short of cash, so what?"

Skye took a deep breath and moistened her dry lips. "If money was his objective he wasn't going to be too interested in the finer details of how the software worked. He was virtually computer illiterate, strictly an end user. I wrote the software and showed him how to use it, but omitted to tell him one thing."

John raised an eyebrow. "And this one thing was?"

Skye smiled through her tears, but didn't answer.

"What did you do, write in a string of code that deleted the e-mail rather than sending it?"

"Not quite. I added a string of code that ensured that every e-mail sent from Michael's computer was copied to the Judge Advocate General's Office."

"And who or what is the Judge Advocate General?"

"He's only the most senior attorney in the US Navy."

Despite the emotional tension in the room, John laughed heartily. "You played the little shit at his own game. Nice one! But if Michael kept you locked up, how did you get away?"

"He became careless. He came back to the hotel one night very drunk or high or both. He kept saying something about a big pay off. He passed out. I managed to get the keys off him and sneak out of the room. I hailed a cab and asked the driver to take me to a hotel, any hotel in Seattle. He dropped me off at the most run down, seedy motel imaginable. I remember bolting the door and collapsing on the bed and then the rest is a blank. I woke up two days later and booked myself on the first plane back to London. The rest you know."

John was at a loss for words. He was disappointed that Skye had been so unsure of his reaction, that she carried this burden alone for over a year.

"I'm glad you've told me, but you didn't have to bear this alone."

Skye smiled. "I know, but you helped me once before. I thought if I told you about this, you'd hate me, be so disappointed in me after the last time, that you'd never forgive me."

"Dry your eyes.” He offered her another tissue from the box. "No matter what happened to you, no matter what you did, I’m always here for you. I could never hate you, don't you know that?"

Tears still trembled on Skye's eyelids. She couldn't trust herself to speak and merely nodded her head.

"So what happened to Michael, do you know?"

"When I returned to London, I contacted the Judge Advocate General and his commanding officer and made a complaint. I made it abundantly clear that not only had I been coerced into writing the software against my will, but I also made sure they knew I was responsible for ensuring that any information he passed on via e-mail was copied to them."

"And?"

"I went to the American Embassy and made a formal statement which was used at his trial. Michael was charged with blackmail and assault. I understand he's since been dishonorably discharged from the Navy, has lost all rights to his pension and is currently languishing in a military prison."

"Thank God for small mercies. But what about you?"

"Am I going to be charged for stealing restricted information? No."

John offered up a silent prayer of thanks. "I understand about Michael, but what has this to do with Walker?"

"Don't you see? It's as though everything has come full circle. Michael…Walker, they're the same. They've both used me in their own way. Walker kept me locked in the cabin against my will—"

"But you agreed to help him when you could have said 'no,' walked away, and left him to fight his own battle. Why? And why the rush to fly home?"

"Because…I don't know—because I love him!" Skye blurted out.

"Ah!"

"Is that all you're going to say?"

"What else can I say?" There was a lot he wanted to say, like how much he was in love with her. "I assume from the look on your face that being in love with Walker doesn't exactly make you happy?"

Skye sighed. "He lied to me, and used me. He doesn't trust me. He's just like Michael. And he certainly has no feelings for me. The man's cold—cold as the fish he studies. And if you must know, the only reason I helped him was because I didn't want to see innocent people hurt."

"I see. And that's your reason for wanting to go home?"

"Yes."

John considered Skye's predicament. He wasn't convinced she was in love with Walker, although he did believe that Michael and Walker were cut from the same cloth. Both had used her and under the circumstances, he didn't have it in his heart to deny her request.

"I dare say I can manage to fold my body into an airline seat once more. I'll see if there are any seats available on this evening's flight to London. In the meantime, phone the realtor and ask if they can help you with your things. Don't forget to ask them about returning your rental car too."

Skye rose to her feet, her tear stained face eager and alive with affection. She hugged John, and kissed him on the cheek. She rushed from the room.

The door closed softly behind her and John picked up the phone.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Walker opened his eyes, closed them, and opened them again. It took a few moments for him to orientate himself to his surroundings such was the pulsating in his head. It was almost pitch black. He ignored the searing pain, and tried to shift himself into a more comfortable position only to discover his hands and feet bound.

In the yellow glow cast by a single bulkhead bulb, he saw a vertical steel access ladder rising up to a watertight access hatch about twenty-five feet above his head. He was in the cargo hold of the Rosario Queen. In one corner of the hold, secured by ropes, were some crates and to the side of those, the barrels he'd seen earlier on the quay. The smell of rotten fish and heavy diesel oil filled his nostrils making want to vomit. He swallowed hard, and forced the acid back into his stomach and tried to concentrate.

The unmistakable throb of a diesel generator came from below deck. The vessel rose up and down with the gentle swell of the tide and he assumed that it was still moored to the quayside.

He took a deep breath in an attempt to clear his head, and made a quick assessment of his situation. He didn't like what he found. His boots had been removed, but he was still wearing his socks and jacket. With a great deal of effort, he sat up, and was relieved to find he no longer felt nauseous. Thankfully, he didn’t have double vision, so he wasn't concussed. Even so, his head ached abominably.

The bulkhead door groaned as it opened. Voices approached out of the half-light, Walker closed his eyes and slumped forward feigning unconsciousness. Heavy boots crossed the deck, stopping inches away from him. A hand shook him roughly. He opened his eyes and groaned for effect. Two men stood over him. Both were heavy set, weighed a good two hundred pounds and sported broken noses. The words Dumb and Dumber sprung to mind. Dumb was the first to speak, and wasn't as stupid as he looked.

"So you're awake—want to tell us who you are and what you were doing on the dock?"

"The name's Walker. I wasn't doing anything, but tying my boot lace."

"You, pal," Dumb said, jabbing a finger at Walker, "were sticking your nose in where it had no right to be."

"I've told you the name's Walker—not 'pal'."

"Look, pal," Dumber repeated, "we saw you sniffing around our cargo like a dog after a bitch on heat. What did you find that was so interesting?"

Walker watched the two men. They began to irritate him, but winding up these goons would not be a wise move. He'd seen a few bar room brawls in his time to know that even if he'd been able to take these two on without a weapon, his chances of surviving were slim.

"Look, guys, there's been a misunderstanding. I'm not interested in this ship. I'd been to the office, to enquire about some cargo I was expecting. I came out and decided to walk along the quay, noticed my bootlace was undone, and bent down to tie it. Nothing more complicated than that. Next thing I know, I wake up in this stinking hold, my hands and feet bound and you two are standing over me. No hard feelings, guys. Untie me and let me out of here. I won't cause any trouble."

"Yeah, and I'm the fairy on the Christmas tree. No way, pal. Cindy told us about the little chat you had with her. We're not carrying anything for the islands, so why all the interest in the Rosario Queen?"

Walker's mind raced. Cindy? The woman he'd conned out of information a few hours earlier. The same Cindy who was itching to get into his pants? Nah. Impossible.

"I told you I was expecting a delivery."

"Maybe you were expecting a delivery, but not from this ship. From where I stood you were paying far too much attention to our cargo for someone just out for a walk. Seeing you're so interested in what we're carrying you’re coming with us." Dumber gave Walker a shove. He fell sideways to the deck. "We'll decide what to do with you later. In the meantime, enjoy the ride."

The door of the hold slammed shut with a resounding thud. Walker listened as the footsteps retreated, then shuffled across the deck on his backside. He was breathing hard, and beads of sweat popped on his forehead. He rested his back on one of the crates, and tried to break the ropes binding his wrists, but they refused to budge. Resigned, he leant back and closed his eyes to the throbbing pain in his temples. There was little he could do until McCabe showed up with the cops.

The deck beneath him shuddered. Deep within the freighter the engine cranked up—they were getting underway.

"Come on, McCabe, time is running out! Don't sit back and let this freighter put to sea."

Back on the quayside, McCabe waited impatiently. He checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes. There was still no sign of Walker. What the hell was he doing? He decided to wait another five minutes and if Walker hadn't showed up by then, he'd call the cops. He watched the Rosario Queen through his binoculars.

The small freighter bristled with activity. Seconds later the rusting hulk nudged away from the quayside and steamed out into the channel. McCabe swore heartily and picked up his cell phone, punched in nine-one-one and requested the Coastguard. He identified himself to the young rating on the line, explained the situation, and requested that the Rosario Queen be intercepted immediately and escorted back to port.

The rating was most apologetic. The Coastguard cutter was already off station dealing with another incident. It would be a couple of hours before it was free and able to comply with his request.

"Christ Almighty! Can't you send a helicopter to intercept her?"

"Sorry, sir. We're dealing with a major incident. Our resources are stretched to the limit. As soon as things quieten down, I'll send the cutter to investigate."

"Yeah, but will you know where to look for her?"

"Provided she's switched on her radar, which is a Federal requirement, then—"

"Switched on her radar? Which palm tree did you climb down from, sailor? Do you really think a freighter involved in illegal activities is going to use ships' radar for Christ's sake?"

"Well, I—"

"Put me through to your Commanding Officer—now!"

***

Walker listened to the steady throb of the engine and tried to gauge how far they'd steamed. He had no idea what time it was and could only estimate how long they'd been at sea. He knew a freighter this size newly commissioned, would make no more than ten knots. This rusting hulk had a lot of hard sea time under her keel and he estimated was making six to seven knots at best. The Coastguard cutter should have no problem catching up.

The freighter's captain wouldn’t take any chances. He would run without navigation lights and without radar too, anything to avoid his ship being identified, even if it meant risking being hit by another vessel in Puget Sound. He’d also run close inshore for as long as possible before heading out to deep water, and that meant one thing—whoever was in command of the Rosario Queen knew the waters of Puget Sound and the islands well.

Walker closed his eyes. He knew none of the local boats would willingly poison the waters where they earned their living. This left only two possibilities, either the owners of the Rosario Queen were in deep financial shit and were being paid exceedingly well, or the ship was owned and worked by one of the many migrant crews who had moved into Anacortes from mother Russia. The immigrant crews cared nothing for the environment they worked in and often exploited every regulation in order to maximize their catch. They probably weren't averse to a little illegal dumping either, provided the price was right.

Walker didn't like either idea very much. If he were a betting man, he'd lay money on it being a hard up skipper. Everyone knew that fish stocks were diminishing and there were too many boats. It was a worldwide problem. Illegal dumping in the ocean would be easy cash to a less-than-scrupulous skipper.

He wriggled his toes to bring the circulation back into his numb feet. He felt certain that when the time came, the barrels wouldn't be the only things being dumped overboard. What he needed was a miracle, preferably in the form of McCabe and the Coastguard, but would settle for getting his hands and feet free. When he'd done that, he'd worry about what to do next.

The freighter pitched to port and then to starboard as she rolled with the current. In the eerie shadows Walker thought he saw the glint of something metallic on the deck near the barrels. By alternatively pushing his feet out and pulling his backside in, he managed to shuffle across the deck. His shoulders burning with the effort, his fingers closed around a sharp object.

Whether he held metal or glass, he didn't care. Gripping the object in his fingers, rubbed it against the rope. The technique always worked in the movies, so he hoped it would work for him. More than once he felt the object slice into his skin. Despite the pain and the blood trickling down his wrists he continued to saw away at his bonds. After a while he tested the ropes. They seemed as tight as ever.

He leaned back against the bulkhead. He'd been in tricky situations before but always managed to find a way out. This time, he was in way over his head and there was little he could do about it. He'd just have to pray either the Coastguard arrived in time or an opportunity arose for him to escape. In an effort to conserve his energy, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

Up in the wheelhouse the captain cut the engines and dropped anchor in the lee of the islands. Silently, the crew went about their business. This wasn't the first time they had disposed of their cargo. Using only hand signals, they released the well-oiled bolts on the access hatch, and manoeuvered the small deck crane into position.

Chapter Twenty-Four

"The Coastguard cutter is on her way, sir, and the Navy's has scrambled a helo—a helicopter from Whidbey Naval Station. It should be with you shortly. It's a big area to cover, but a freighter that size can't have gotten far."

McCabe rubbed his chin. "Sailor, I don't need you to remind me how big the search area is! I suggest you get off this damned phone and get on with the task of locating that freighter before we have a major environmental catastrophe on our hands."

McCabe broke the connection as he heard the whoop-whoop of a helicopter overhead. It touched down on the quayside and he climbed aboard. Someone thrust a helmet and headset into his hands as the large machine lifted off, and headed out into the onyx night.

The helicopter was covering a search area slightly to the north and west of the cutter, using its powerful searchlight to identify any vessel it came across. Through his headset, McCabe heard the response of a fishing vessel as the Coastguard cutter interrogated its captain. With its identity confirmed, the cutter moved on to the next radar target and repeated the procedure until every vessel in the fishing fleet was accounted for.

McCabe's brow was damp with sweat. Time was fast running out for Walker, if it hadn’t already done so. These people were ruthless and had no qualms about illegally dumping dangerous chemicals or eliminating anyone who got in their way. McCabe tried not to think too hard about what fate might await his friend—he just hoped they would be in time to prevent him ending up on a slab in the morgue.

He anxiously scanned the waters of the straits through a pair of night vision goggles. There was nothing in sight, just miles of open water. That damned freighter had to be out there somewhere—if only they could get a fix on her.

McCabe didn't paid much attention to the incessant chatter of the fishing fleet, but suddenly he honed in on a conversation between the captain of a tanker and the mate of a seine netter who was complaining bitterly about the near collision it had with a vessel. The vessel had been running without navigation lights.

"That has to be her! Someone get on the radio and get the location of that tanker."

"Whidbey's already on it sir," the co-pilot shouted. The helicopter banked to the left. "We're getting a GPS location for her now. We're approximately ten minutes flying time from her."

"Hold on, Walker, hold on," McCabe prayed. The pilot dropped the nose of the helicopter. Skimming the tops of the waves, it gained speed with each passing second.

***

Cold, stark fear ran down Walker's spine as the heavy watertight hatch above his head opened. This was it. This was how his life was going to end. He’d be tossed overboard with the toxic chemicals whose safe disposal he had tried hard to ensure. He knew his chances of survival in the icy waters of Puget Sound were slim. At best, he'd last half an hour before hypothermia set in. That’s if he could stay afloat with his hands and feet tightly bound. And if he could, would it be long enough for him to be picked up by a passing vessel?

Things looked blacker by the second.

He thought about the sassy auburn-haired woman he'd left behind in the city earlier that day. Skye had been on vacation. He'd dragged her unwillingly into this unholy mess. And what had he done? Kidnap, assault—well almost, if he counted the bruises he'd given her. Blackmail too, depending on your interpretation of the word, and probably countless other misdemeanors. The list was abominably long. If that wasn’t bad enough, he had stupidly let her walk away without telling her she was the only woman he'd ever truly loved.

He had no right to expect anything of her and wouldn't blame her if she'd high-tailed it back across the Atlantic. If he'd been in her shoes, he would have done just that. But he was certain of one thing. If, and it was a massive if, if he should—

Steel-toed boots clanked on the deck above. The boots swung over the side of the hatch and descended the access ladder into the hold. He felt the rush of adrenaline as panic welled in his stomach. He didn't have a chance to dwell on what fate was about to befall him as two rough-looking seamen dragged him to his feet. A flash of humor crossed his face. The Rosario Queen's crew all came from the same school of charm and etiquette—the two men could easily be cousins to Dumb and Dumber.

Whatever they planned, Walker decided he wasn't going to make their job easy. He struggled violently as they hauled him towards the bulkhead door. He twisted first one way and then the other in an attempt to loosen their grip on his arms. A fist slammed into his face and, for a millisecond, his world went black. A hand grabbed a fist full of his hair, forcing his head up to meet a pair of weasel-like eyes.

"We can either do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way. Now which is it to be? Are you gonna co-operate or does my friend here have to give you more of the same?"

Walker nodded.

"Okay, let's get movin'. The boss wants you up on deck."

They half-pushed and half-dragged Walker along the corridor until they reached the companionway. Either one of them had to carry Walker's dead weight up the narrow staircase, or they must untie his feet. Walker watched as the question passed silently between his two guards. He saw a flash of steel as the shorter of the two seamen withdrew a gutting knife from his belt and bent down to cut the rope round his ankles.

That was the only invitation Walker needed. As soon as he felt the rope slacken he lashed out with his foot at the guard standing behind him. At the same time he used the momentum to propel himself forward to head-butt the other guard in the stomach. Before either could react, he had regained his balance, ducked around the stairwell, and sped along the corridor as fast as he could. But his escape was short-lived. He'd hardly covered ten yards before he was tackled from behind and brought down. A pair of heavy sea boots connected with his ribs in a vicious kick, forcing the air from his lungs with a whoosh and leaving him gasping for breath.

"That was a real stupid move." The tip of the gutting knife pressed against Walker's throat. "One more stunt like that, jerk, and I'll have no hesitation in using this. Understand?"

Incapable of talking, Walker inclined his head a fraction.

"Good. Then, let's do as the captain ordered and go on deck."

Dizzy and shaking in agony, Walker struggled to his knees, gulping air into his oxygen-starved lungs. If he breathed deeply, the pain in his ribs was incandescent. Cracked or broken, he wondered. Either way it wouldn't matter, for his chance of staying afloat was now infinitesimal. Two pairs of strong arms hauled him to his feet. The cold steel at his throat never wavered. Breathing shallowly through his teeth, he shuffled along to the companionway. He was unceremoniously shoved up the narrow stairway. Once on deck, his guards kept their grip on his arms. This time there was no chance of escape. All he could do was watch, shudder in pain and await his fate.

The Rosario Queen rolled in the gentle swell. In the glare of the deck lights, Walker saw that the small deck crane had lifted some of the barrels from the hold. The crew released them from the cargo net and rolled them off to one side. The crane swung into action again, disappearing into the depths of the hold for another load.

Walker glanced over his shoulder out to sea, but the illumination from the deck lights ruined his night vision, making it impossible for him to make out any landmark on the horizon. This was one cautious captain.

Moonlight filtered through a web of clouds, and there was little breeze. Walker guessed that it was slack-tide—that time when the sea is often at its calmest—perfect for dumping the barrels over the side into the black depths of the sound.

The wheelhouse door opened and three figures stormed their way towards him. The first Walker took to be the captain of the freighter, the second he recognized as the manager of the waste management plant. His mind raced. There was no doubting the manager's involvement now, but who was the third guy? Was he the brains behind the operation or just another monkey?

All three picked their way over the deck, avoiding trailing ropes and deck cleats until they stopped inches from Walker and his guards.

"Mr. Walker, it seems we meet again, however this time I appear to have the upper hand."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that. It's only a matter of time before the Coastguard locates this freighter."

"Ah, yes, your associate, McCabe. He's contacted the Coastguard, but I wouldn't rely on their intervention. Before we sailed there was a major incident—I won't bore you with the details—but suffice to say the Coastguard cutter is miles away and not likely to turn up before we've finished our business. Isn't that right, captain?"

"Yes, sir. She won't be with us anytime soon."

"As you can see, we're about ready to conclude our nights’ work. But before we do—"

"Why?"

"Why dispose of these chemicals illegally? That's an easy question to answer—because your actions nearly ruined me. You weren't satisfied with closing down my South American operation; you also had a hand in refusing my company's application to build a new plant here in Washington State. I needed that plant to recoup my losses."

"Your planning application was turned down for one simple reason, his bad management." Walker indicated the plant manager with a jerk of his head.

"That's a matter of opinion. But there's something else, something far more personal. I've waited a long time for this. You don't recognize me, do you, Walker?"

Walker struggled to put a name to the face. "Should I?"

"We've met before, under far different circumstances and in more pleasant surroundings."

"If I knew you, I'm sure I'd remember."

"I doubt it, although most people remember my sister. And you do remember my sister, don't you?"

"Hey what’s this, an inquisition? I meet lots of people in my job—scientists, secretaries, and even dumb-asses like you! If you're going to kill me, just get on with it."

"Tut, tut, Mr. Walker. Where are your manners? Let me refresh your memory. She has blonde hair, stunning blue eyes and even if I say it myself, a figure most women would kill for. She certainly captivated your attention. You even implied you loved her, although you didn't exactly say as much. Ring any bells?"

Walker shook his head. "Look, can we just cut to the chase. If you've something to tell me, come out and say it."

"You dated my sister, or more precisely my half-sister. But what did you do? You used her. You used her like some high-class call girl—only you didn't pay—until now that is. She loved you, but you made her look a fool."

"I don't know who you're talking about—"

"It's too late to play the innocent, its payback time."

"I can assure you that I've always made it clear that my work makes it difficult to be involved with someone. I have to be free to travel and if your sister—half sister—couldn't accept that then I'm sorry, but it's not my fault she got hurt."

"Arlene. Her name is Arlene. Ah, I see by your face you remember."

"Arlene Allensbury. Oh, yes, I remember Arlene. We had dinner once or twice when I was in town and that's all I intended it to be. But your sister started turning up unexpectedly at my office, at my apartment, when I entertained clients—she was stalking me, for Christ's sake! She had the gall to tell anyone who would listen that she was my fiancée. I took her to dinner to try and explain how I felt, but she didn't get it and started screaming. I tried to calm her down, but she just lost it, so I left and drove home. She managed to get to my place before I did. She'd wormed her way past the doorman. Your darling sister was in the middle of trashing my apartment. Your sister is sick. I called the cops and they took her away in plastic cuffs, frothing at the mouth. The psychiatrist who treated her at the hospital said she was psychotic."

"She was not! You drove her to this. She loved you, Walker. She loved you so much that she couldn't imagine life without you. Do you know what she did?"

"No, tell me."

"She tried to kill herself. My beautiful sister took an overdose because of you. All because of you!"

"Look, Allensbury, I'm sorry, but your—"

"You're sorry? It's too late to be sorry. My beautiful sister doesn't even recognize me when I go visit her. She sits in a chair and drools like a baby! Can you imagine what that feels like?"

"No, I can't. I suspect your sister was sick long before I met her. My involvement with her had nothing to do with her illness. Despite how you feel about me, you're putting lives at risk by dumping these chemicals. Is that what you want on your conscience—the deaths of innocent people? Why don't you tell the captain here to turn his vessel around and head back to port? I'm sure if you turn yourself in, we can cut a deal with the DA."

"Do you really think I'm that stupid? I have no intention of letting you off the hook. Besides, there's the good captain and his crew to think about. No, Mr. Walker you are going to pay."

"Killing me won't make your sister sane again, Allensbury, if she ever was in the first place. Nor will putting the lives of thousands of others at risk. Be sensible about this, and turn this vessel around now. What use will you be to your sister, languishing in the state penitentiary?"

"I have no intention of being caught. Your body will never be found or at least nothing that will be recognizable. The ocean will see to that. We've talked long enough. Captain, have your men get those barrels over the side. You know how to deal with Mr.Walker."

Walker watched helplessly as one barrel and then another entered the water, bubbles rising from the seals as they sank into the depths. Now would be a good time to show your hand, McCabe, he said to himself.

The two guards hauled Walker towards the barrels on the deck. A deckhand removed the bolts from a section of handrails and lifted them out of the plugs that normally secured them. A rough hand pushed him in the back and suddenly he was flying through the air.

It seemed like a lifetime before he hit the water. There was a feeling of pressure and a bubbling sound in his ears as the water rushed past and he started sinking. He kicked hard for the surface, his lungs bursting with the effort of holding his breath. A thousand icy daggers stabbed every inch of his body. He ignored the searing agony in his ribs, and kicked again as dread set in and he wondered if he had the strength to make it to the surface.

Suddenly he felt the breeze on his face and he was coughing and gagging trying to clear his lungs of the salt water he’d ingested. No matter how cold he felt or how much pain he was in, he had to stay afloat for as long as possible. He watched the Rosario Queen steam away, leaving him with only the stars for company.

Chapter Twenty-Five

McCabe willed the helicopter to go faster. Just how long did it take to cover thirty nautical miles? Was his friend even alive? His concern showed in the lines on his drawn and haggard face. Every nerve in his body tingled. He hadn't felt this anxious since his wife gave birth to their first child, for Christ's sake. A burst of static erupted from his headphones as a voice came over the radio.

"The target is changing course to the north-east." A stream of GPS co-ordinates followed. The helicopter pilot didn't miss a beat of the rotors, changing course before the transmission had ended.

"She's dumped her cargo!" McCabe slammed his fist into the fuselage. "We're too damned late."

"With respect sir, you don't know that. She could have picked up another vessel on her radar and decided to high-tail it out of there."

"No way! The captain of the Rosario Queen hasn't switched on his radar, nor will he. Not even if he were about to hit an iceberg and join the Titanic on the ocean floor. I'm telling you, she's dumped her fucking cargo."

"Either we go check that out, or we intercept the vessel. It's your call, sir," the co-pilot shouted back from the cockpit.

"Can't we do both? Can't we fly over the ships’ original position before intercepting her? If any of those barrels are still floating on the surface they represent a major shipping hazard."

"We're getting low on fuel. We've got forty minutes of flying time left, at best. That gives us one shot at this. If your description of those barrels is accurate, I doubt they'll float for very long. Under the circumstances we should go after the Rosario Queen and try to stay with her until the Coastguard cutter arrives on station. When the cutter arrives, we can peel off, refuel, and come back to take a closer look at her original position—see if there are any barrels remaining on the surface. If necessary drop a buoy. I suggest we put an exclusion zone around her last position to alert shipping of a potential hazard. That way we cover our backs. But if you insist on flying over her last position then we may run the risk of losing her again."

McCabe thought hard. What would Walker do in this situation? Would he go after the vessel and the crew, or would he inspect the freighter's last position? There was no doubt in his mind. Walker wouldn't leave the area without first checking to see if she had dumped her cargo. McCabe had a bad feeling about this, a real bad feeling. The crew wouldn't let Walker go. Chances are they’d throw him overboard with the barrels and leave him to the mercy of the sea.

The minutes ticked away. The co-pilot broke into McCabe's thoughts.

"Sir?"

"Shut up, I'm thinking." McCabe's mind whirled along with the helicopter’s rotors above his head. Should he give the order to follow the Rosario Queen or fly over her earlier position? He'd run the risk of losing the vessel, but he couldn't take the risk of losing his best friend and the best marine biologist he'd ever known.

He keyed the send button on his radio mike.

"Turn back. Let's check out that damned ship's last position. And go in low. I want to see the skids of this bird kissing the tops of the waves. I want to be one hundred percent certain there is nothing floating on the surface. And get the boys at Whidbey to keep tracking that damned ship so we know exactly where she is at any given time."

"Yes, sir!"

The helicopter banked hard left throwing McCabe against the cold wall of the aft cabin. He hoped and prayed he'd called it right and that he wasn't about to embark on a wild goose chase. His instincts told him Walker was no longer on the vessel.

***

Walker estimated he'd been in the icy water for no more than ten minutes, but already his body temperature was dropping. Against the ever-darkening sky he could just make out the silhouette of the Rosario Queen as she steamed steadily north. His initial panic had gone and he felt surprisingly calm. But despite his calmness, he recognized the on-set of symptoms of hypothermia. It took a supreme effort to keep his chin above the waves and more often than not he found himself holding his breath as a particularly large swell washed over him.

He tried changing position to float on his back, but with his arms still tied, it was impossible. He needed to get his arms in front of him, but that was easier said than done in a choppy sea. Even as a lanky schoolboy he'd never been able to manipulate his body as other students had and thirty-odd years later, he still couldn't.

The ache in his shoulders became unbearable, and the ropes binding his wrists rubbed his skin raw. With immense effort, and with his thigh muscles burning, he forced his legs back, bringing his body into an upright position. This allowed him to tread water, but also sapped his energy. How long he could maintain this effort was a matter of conjecture. Every seventh wave seemed to be more powerful than the six before it, driving him under, further diluting his strength, and forcing him to use what little reserves of energy he had left to kick hard for the surface.

Of the barrels, Walker could make out a few which remained half submerged on the surface, a stream of air bubbles rising from the seals, as their contents spilled into the sea. He tried to keep away from them, but in the choppy sea he had no way of knowing whether their deadly cargo was sinking or floating on the surface. The hazard the barrels posed to shipping diminished with each passing minute, as they sank and joined the others on the sea floor, where they would become an even greater hazard to ocean life and ultimately man.

In the ever-increasing darkness, Walker weighed up his situation and decided it wasn't good. In fact it was hopeless. He should have listened to McCabe and called the cops when he’d suggested, rather than trying to deal with matters on his own. Of all the stupid, dumb decisions he'd made that had to be the worst. When would he learn that dealing with a gang of eco-criminals required all the help he could get? But hindsight was a wonderful gift, but it was just that, hindsight.

He lost track of time until all he could think about was the bone-numbing coldness of the ocean and his non-existent chances of survival. He was cold, so cold that he started to convulse. Despite the pain in his ribs and shoulders, all he wanted to do was sleep. He'd already drifted off more than once, dreaming about his childhood only to jerk awake, coughing and spluttering from the seawater he'd swallowed. He had to stay awake—he just had to!

He couldn't succumb to hypothermia and die like this, but if help didn't arrive soon he knew he'd be done for. What little reserves of energy he had would soon be depleted, and he'd slip into the inky blackness not having the strength or the will to force himself to the surface.

Turning his face skyward he tried to pick out familiar stars, but that only remind him of the first time he'd tasted Skye's sweet mouth. Skye, sweet, sexy Skye. Too late, he realized he loved her, but his stupidity and mistrust had made her turn away from him.

When he closed his eyes he could see her as she had been that day on his boat, the wind whipping at her hair, a radiant smile on her face. She was so beautiful, intelligent and so darned sexy. He wanted her, even more than that he needed her. Although he'd not shown it, she made his life whole. If she would have him, he wanted to spend the rest of his life and have children with her.

And yet in truth he knew he'd lost her.

By now Ridge would have poisoned her mind against him and dragged her back to London. Everything in his life had taken a downward spiral since he'd taken this assignment. But he made himself a promise. If he got out of this mess he would find her and put things right between them, even if it meant following her halfway across the globe.

In among the stars he spotted the twinkling lights of a plane as it climbed out of Anacortes airport, heading north towards Alaska. Drifting, his mind wandered. He shook his head to clear the salt water from his eyes and looked around, desperately seeking signs of a ship. He thought he saw a light in the distance, but when he looked a second time, it had vanished. Damn it! He was hallucinating. His exhausted mind was playing tricks.

His chin fell onto his chest in utter despair. He dozed for a while. When he woke, the light he'd seen off to his right seemed to be getting closer. As he watched, it detached itself from the horizon and climbed into the sky. A plane! And what's more, it was heading in his direction, sweeping the sea as if searching for something or someone. He shouted through salt cracked lips.

"McCabe!"

McCabe had come looking for him. Thank God. Everything was going to be all right after all. Over the lapping of the waves, he could hear the distinct sound of a helicopter.

"Come on, come on, baby! That's it, keep coming this way."

Then to his utter dismay the machine changed course and headed away from him. Walker screamed in frustration, his hopes dashed. Despair shrouded him. It was pointless. His chances of being rescued were non-existent. He may as well accept his fate and give up. But giving up wasn't in his nature, but this time the odds stacked against him were just too high.

The strong currents of Puget Sound tugged at him, dragging him along with the changing tide. The wave strength increased and Walker found it more and more difficult to keep his head above water. Caught in a sudden cross current, a particularly fierce wave washed over him. The sea became a white churning cauldron, tossing him in one direction and then another. He kicked hard but despite all his efforts he was dragged under.

His lungs were bursting from the effort of holding his breath. He was on the point of blacking out when the submerged tree trunk slammed into the back of his head. It was a long time before his semi-unconscious body emerged on the surface, the sea once more calm as the wave rolled on towards the islands. He floated face down in the water, an invisible form in a black sea.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Skye had said little since they checked out of the downtown hotel. She sat chewing her bottom lip, deep in thought as the taxi carrying her and John to SeaTac airport threaded its way through the early evening traffic. John leant back in his seat, and watched her from under hooded eyes. He wondered whether to say something or to leave her alone with her thoughts. Ever since she had appeared at his hotel room door earlier that morning, a small waif-like figure with the weight of the world on her shoulders, he'd wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right.

He'd known Skye for the best part of fifteen years, ever since her first term at university when she had mistakenly assumed he was the professor rather than a lowly post-graduate. Since that first encounter he had been more than a little in love with her. He'd known it wasn't reciprocated, and in the early years of their friendship it hadn't stopped him hoping that one day she might learn to return his feelings. But as time progressed, their acquaintance never moved beyond the realms of friendship and he'd accepted that Skye would only ever see him as a friend.

He'd always been there for her, and always would be, no matter who or what came between them. When first her mother, and then her father died, it was his shoulder she'd cried on. And when something unexpected happened, he'd been there with a box of tissues and when occasions demanded, his couch for the night. They'd always been open and honest with each other.

He reached out and caught her hand and gave it a re-assuring squeeze.

"We're nearly there, Sweet Pea. Are you sure you want to go through with this? You look tired out. Why don't we grab a couple of rooms in the airport hotel and fly back tomorrow?"

Skye shook her head. "I'd rather fly tonight."

Within minutes, the taxi came to a halt outside the main terminal building. John released Skye's hand and got out. He paid the driver then helped her out of the car. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and picked up his overnight bag with the other.

Like all airports SeaTac was crowded with people and humming with noise. He paid scant attention to the bustling crowds, as he hustled Skye through the melee towards the first class check-in desk.

"I know we don't usually fly first, but on this occasion I thought you needed the peace of the upper deck rather than being seated with the rabble downstairs. Besides, I don't think my long bones could stand being cooped up in economy for another twelve hours. Before you complain about the extravagance, I think the business can afford it now that we know the software works."

Skye focused her pain-filled eyes on John, and managed a weak smile. Once again he had come to her rescue, she really didn't deserve him as a friend, but she was so glad he was. Thoughtful, and always attuned to her needs, she just wished she could return his feelings for her, but sadly she couldn't. That burning, all-consuming spark of passion was missing. But her little experience of passion had taught her that it was an over-rated commodity and more often than not the pleasure was short lived, while the pain it brought lingered. Maybe she should settle for something less? A more staid relationship perhaps. One built on trust and mutual respect rather than intense passion.

But not yet.

First she had to get over this sorry mess and get her life back on track. Once back in England, she'd take things one day at a time, and throw herself into her work, as she had done last year.

Their meagre amount of luggage checked, they passed through the interminable security checks and on towards the gate.

"We've a couple of hours to wait before our flight is called. I'm hungry and I'm sure you must be too. Let's get something to eat and drink and then perhaps you should call Debbie and let her know you're flying home," John said.

Debbie? Skye halted midstride, shocked and aghast that in her heartbreak she had ignored her friend. How could she have forgotten Debbie? She would be out of her mind with worry and yet Skye knew she couldn't call her. She couldn't face the endless probing questions, not yet. She felt a wave of momentary panic and fought hard to hold on to her fragile control.

"I can't talk to her, not now. Would you phone her? Tell her we've got a problem with the business, anything but the truth. I couldn't bear that. I'll speak to her in a few days. I need...I need some rest, time to clear my thoughts. John, please, I can't face talking to her right now."

John studied Skye's pale face, her sapphire eyes brimmed with tears, her pain clearly visible. What the hell? Against his better judgment and all the promises he'd made himself over the years, he reached out, pulled her into his arms and held her tight, savouring the feel of her against him. His lips brushed her hair.

"Hey, no tears, remember? Don't worry. I'll take care of everything. I'll call Debbie, tell her there's no need for her to worry and make some excuse to keep her off the phone until you feel like talking." When she relaxed, he reluctantly loosened his hold on her; finally letting her go when he was sure she had her emotions under control.

"If my memory serves me right, there's a restaurant further along, or if you prefer we can grab a coffee and a burger."

John grimaced. "Oh Lord, you want me to eat a hamburger? Don't you know what they put in those things? Please, I'd prefer to keep my cholesterol levels as they are."

Through her sadness, Skye laughed. "Oh, John, you're such a snob. Come on, the restaurant it is then."

Under John's watchful gaze, Skye picked at her food. It wasn't that it was good, it was, but she wasn't really hungry. She managed to eat enough of her main course to satisfy him, but declined a sweet from the trolley. Over coffee he finally brought up the subject of Walker.

"Do you think he caught the criminals behind the dumping?"

Even though John hadn't mentioned Walker by name, Skye's eyes widened in alarm. She didn't want to start crying again in such a public place.

"I hope so. I hate to think of all those chemicals being dumped and leaking into the sea. We did all we could, it's up to the authorities now."

"I suppose you're right. What about Walker?"

"What do you mean, what about Walker? I want nothing more to do with him."

John's eyes searched her face, probing her thoughts. "Skye, you know that's not quite true. The man obviously loves you. The least you could do is call and tell him you're leaving. He deserves that much surely."

Skye looked away, her mind a gamut of emotions. Part of her hated Walker with a vengeance because of how he'd treated her, but the other part cared. No, cared wasn't the right word—loved. She loved him. Plain and simple. But he'd hurt her beyond belief and right now she wanted as much distance between them as possible.

"I don't think he deserves anything more from me, except a very hefty bill for my services. I agreed to help him and I have. He consented to my conditions; there is to be no further contact between us. There is nothing more to be said on the subject. Besides I don't know how to contact him, and—"

John produced a business card out of his jacket pocket.

"He gave me this, when he left us at the hotel this morning. I have his office number right here. Call him. Call him before you leave. Don't do something you may regret for the rest of your life."

Skye shrank from the piece of paper, her eyes suddenly icy blue.

"Call him? Call him and say what? Thank you for ruining my vacation? Or thank you for thinking I'm a criminal? Thank you for making me an emotional wreck? I don't think so. I couldn't bear to listen to his excuses, besides the man is an emotional vacuum where people are concerned. His only interest is the marine life he studies. I have no intention of contacting him now or ever."

Silenced by Skye's dark angry expression, John was secretly pleased by her reaction to his suggestion, but strove hard to hide it from her. Best to let her think he'd put his size twelve feet firmly into his mouth. In a few months' time, he'd renew his efforts to win her.

Soon after they'd finished their meal, the non-stop flight to London was called. They settled into their seats for the long journey. Skye took one last look out of the window as the huge plane climbed steadily out of SeaTac, heading northeast. The lights of Seattle twinkled below, becoming smaller and smaller as the plane gained height. Through the low cloud base Skye thought she caught a glimpse of the Space Needle and somewhere off to the right, she knew, was the building housing Walker's office.

Fleetingly she wondered if he was back at his desk, compiling his report. Another ecological disaster safely averted, thanks to his expertise. What would he do now that things were over? Would he sit around waiting for the next phone call requesting his presence in some far-flung corner of the world? Would he think of her and the brief time they'd shared? Would he even miss her?

She doubted it.

No, she was sure he'd dismiss the whole affair as business; filing the days they'd shared and loved, along with his report. Her heart squeezed in anguish. Conceivably John had been right. This wasn't the way to end things. Perhaps she should have called his office, but hearing his voice would have completely destroyed her. Besides, what could she say? ‘Tell me you love you and I'll stay?’

A man like Walker would never plead with a woman. His work would always come first. There was no room in his life for a permanent relationship. He was a man who travelled light and couldn't afford any baggage to slow him down. She'd done the right thing. She’d walked away with her dignity relatively intact, knowing that by giving her expertise she had acted without malice. It had cost her personally, but in time she'd forget the pain and the hurt. She'd learn to pick up the pieces of her life and move on.

John watched Skye's inner struggle and noticed how her fingers had tightened on the arm of her seat as the huge plane lifted off the runway. Inwardly, he let out a sigh of relief. Skye was back under his protection and he was going to make sure nothing like this ever happened to her again. And if that bastard dared to come looking for her, he would have to get past him first, and he wasn't about to make Walker's job easy. Once safely back in London he would do everything in his power to ensure Skye forgot the two Americans who had so nearly ruined her life. He reached across the small table between their seats, and took her hand, linking his strong fingers in hers.

"Try to relax, and get some rest. I'll let you know when they serve dinner. Do you want a brandy to help settle you?"

Skye didn't drink when flying, but perhaps a small brandy would help take the chill out of her bones and ease the misery in her heart.

"I couldn't face another meal, but a drink might help me sleep."

Although clearly exhausted, Skye's body fought against sleep, her mind a maelstrom of thoughts and memories, depriving her of the rest she so badly needed. The further the plane flew, the paler her face became, the circles beneath her eyes darkening with each passing mile. She sensed she was near to emotional collapse, but steadfastly refused to give in to the overwhelming anguish. Somewhere over Canada, totally exhausted, she fell asleep.

John covered her with a blanket, turned out the overhead light and for the first time since seeing her with Walker, he relaxed.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The helicopter had been circling over the Rosario Queen's last position for fifteen minutes, the powerful spotlight searching the surface of the sea. McCabe's eyes burned with the effort of staring at the water, his body tense with apprehension. He was too late, damn it! He'd called it wrong. Walker must still be on the freighter, now miles away to the north. By the time the helicopter refueled on Whidbey, she'd be even further way. He turned away from the cabin door and rubbed his eyes, his expression darkening to an unreadable emotion.

The suddenly the winch man called out.

"There! About thirty yards off our port side I think I see something"

The pilot brought the large machine down into the hover. McCabe pushed his way to the port window and focused all his attention on the spot the young airman indicated.

"Can you see it? There's something floating in the water."

Try as he might McCabe couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. He shook his head.

"You're mistaken, there's nothing out there, damn it! Pass me those night vision goggles. If there's something out there, they'll pick up the body heat." He snatched them out of the airman's hand, and turned his head away from the window just long enough to pull them over his head. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the eerie green light. He scanned the surface of the sea.

"There's nothing out there. I can't see a damned—" Just then the moon appeared through the clouds and cast a ghost-like shadow on the water and… Yes! God damn it there was something in the water. He could make out the shape of an object as it floated just below the surface. It gave off a faint heat trace and so it couldn't be one of the barrels he and Walker had seen loaded on the freighter, but he wasn't convinced it was a body either. The heat trace became fainter.

"It's a damned porpoise, you idiot."

He pulled off the goggles and his headset and threw them on the floor of the cabin. It was hopeless, like searching for a single fish in a shoal of thousands! If Walker wasn't on that freighter, and his gut told him he wasn't, then he could be anywhere in this huge ocean. It was an enormous area to search with just one helicopter and time was fast running out. Without the proper equipment no one could expect to spend more than half an hour—three-quarters at the outside—in the icy cold water and survive.

He glanced at his watch, and did some quick math. The tide was on the turn. The strong current could carry Walker's body to Alaska and back before it was found. He had no way of knowing if these unscrupulous bastards hadn't tied Walker to one of the barrels before throwing him overboard, or worse, killed him. Whichever, the outcome would be the same; Walker's body would be lying on the ocean floor along with the bottom feeders. They could search till Doomsday and never find any trace of him.

One of the crewmen mouthed something to McCabe and indicated his watch. He guessed the young airman was indicating that the large machine was nearly out of fuel and would be returning to Whidbey to refuel. McCabe leaned closer, and lifted the airman's ear protectors.

"I don't care if this damned machine is running on fumes, tell the pilot to go round one more time!"

"But, Sir—"

"DO IT!"

McCabe watched as the young airman keyed his mike. He didn't care if they had to ditch the bird in the sea; he wanted to be one hundred and ten percent certain Walker was not in the water before they left the area.

The pilot did as requested, and took the helicopter in for one more circuit of the search area. The downwash from the helicopter’s rotors flattened the wave tops and kicked up spray. McCabe rubbed the ache in his temples, and wiped away the imaginary grit in his eyes before pulling on his headset and night goggles once more. He took up position in front of the starboard window, and stared out into the blackness.

Up in the cockpit, the co-pilot held his breath, and offered a silent prayer to the patron saint of pilots, his eyes never leaving the fuel gauge, the indicator already well into the red zone.

McCabe had to admire the skill of the two pilots as they held the huge machine steady with nothing to guide them but the instruments. It seemingly hung in the sky, held by some invisible thread, impervious to the elements, the only controlling factors being their skill and the amount of fuel remaining.

McCabe's jaw clenched, his lips compressing into a thin line. The pilot's less than calm voice filled his headset.

"Sir, I have no choice. We have to break off the search now, otherwise we won't make it back to base."

McCabe bowed his head in defeat. Although anxious for his friend, he couldn't justify putting five other lives at risk by expecting the pilot to continue searching when fuel was so dangerously low.

"Break off and head for Whidbey, but tell the boys on the ground that I want this bird refueled and back in the air in under five minutes."

The pilot acknowledged the transmission. He gained height, and banked slightly to the right in readiness to peel off.

"There! About twenty feet off our port side, I've got a heat trace. It's…it's a body. Yeah, it's definitely a body!"

McCabe shoved the man roughly aside. By God, this time he was right. In the powerful glare of the searchlight, he could clearly see the outline of a body in the water. He secured his safety line, and stood back as the diver opened the door and clipped his harness to the winch cable before easing himself out and into the blackness of the night.

Slowly, all too slowly, the cable paid out, lowering the wetsuit-clad diver closer and closer to the sea, until finally he disappeared from view under the belly of the aircraft. McCabe held his breath as the pilot delicately manoeuvered the large machine, holding it stationary less than fifty feet above the rising waves. The winch man lay on the floor of the cabin, his body half out of the open doorway, his hand steadying the cable, his voice calm and steady, as he guided the diver and the pilot, ever closer to the target.

McCabe hardly dared hope, and for eight long minutes the only sound that filled his head, was the powerful beat of the helicopter's rotors. There was an urgent string of commands in his headset and the remaining crew leapt into action.

"What's happening? Has he reached him? Is it Walker? Is he alive? God damn it! Someone talk to me!"

But McCabe’s questions went unanswered. He watched as inch by inch the cable was winched in. Unable to bear the tension, he leaned out of the doorway as far as he dare, the only thing between him and certain death being the thin line attached to his safety harness.

In the moonlight he could make out the form of the diver emerging from the sea. McCabe turned away from the doorway, unable to watch the unfolding scene, fear, stark and vivid in his face, for in the second harness he'd seen the unmistakable shape of a limp and seemingly lifeless body.

All hell let loose as the diver appeared in the doorway of the aircraft. Willing hands reached out and dragged him and the unconscious form into the cabin. The crew worked as a well-oiled machine, their actions honed by years of training. Anxious as he was to see if it was Walker, McCabe stayed out of their way, knowing that in this situation his presence would be a hindrance rather than of help.

Within seconds the bonds securing the inert form's hands were cut and the body rolled on to its back. Resuscitation equipment and blankets appeared from nowhere, as the crew medic set about clearing the airway, and putting a line into a vein.

The tension was unbearable, and resting a hand on an airman's shoulder, McCabe gently pushed him aside, just long enough to get a glimpse of the body's corpse-like face. He staggered backwards, blindly searching for something to hold onto.

Walker appeared to be in a catatonic state, his face grey and ghost-like. His lips had an odd blue tinge about them, and where McCabe had briefly touched him, his body had felt colder than an Alaskan winter. He couldn’t tell if Walker was breathing—his chest barely rose and fell with the effort.

McCabe did his best to hold his emotions in check, but failed. Tears ran silently down his weatherworn face. He slumped to the cabin floor and put his head in his hands, experiencing a mixture of uncontrollable rage, fear and unbelievable sadness.

Walker looked as though he were dead.

It was his fault!

A raw and primitive grief overwhelmed him. The crew continued to work on Walker, trying to breathe life into his lifeless form. They stripped his body of its wet clothing, wrapped him in blankets, adding a heat retaining space blanket as a final covering. A drip was attached to one arm and a heart monitor to his chest, although it barely registered a beat.

The pilot came over the radio.

"Whidbey want to know what we've got and the patient's status."

In response, the medic started calling out Walker's vital signs.

"Tell them we're bringing in a male, approximately six feet tall, one hundred and eighty pounds. Unconscious, pupils fixed and dilated, no discernable output, with a body temperature of less than ninety-four degrees. CPR commenced. Ask them to have a full cardiac-pulmonary resuscitation team standing by, including a surgeon experienced in cardio-pulmonary bypass techniques and an emergency operating room. He has a head injury requiring a CT scan."

"What's the point? Can't you all see he's dead?" McCabe said. A hand descended on his shoulder.

"He's still in with a chance, sir. In circumstances such as these, the body kind of shuts down—the technical term is hypoxemia. It's similar to hypothermia. The body loses heat; the heart rate slows, as does the respiratory rate. Cold-water near-drowning can be survivable. In some cases, people who've been submersed in very cold water for as long as an hour can be fully resuscitated." He nodded towards Walker’s inert form. "In his case there's been a cessation of breathing."

"He's dead. He's dead and it's my fault!"

"No, sir, he's not dead, at least not yet. He's in cardiac arrest, but we've started CPR. His body temperature has dropped a little since we've picked him up, but that's only to be expected. We call it ‘afterdrop.’ We've removed all his wet clothes and have heat pads around his body. He's wrapped in blankets. The doctors at Whidbey are experienced in dealing with near-drowning victims. Once we land they'll put him on cardiac-pulmonary bypass to re-oxygenate his blood. They have other techniques for raising his body temperature too. How he responds depends a great deal on how long he's been unconscious and in the water. Don't give up hope yet."

McCabe glared at the young airman, his anguish almost overcoming his control. Was there any truth in what he was saying? Could Walker be in with a chance? He stared at Walker’s stricken body. He had his doubts. But what did he know?

What he'd been told did sound plausible. But how could he believe it when every summer the papers were full of articles about people who'd fallen overboard while out sailing and who had subsequently drowned? It was a well-known fact that the water in the sound was icy cold all year round and without a survival suit, it was impossible to survive for longer than thirty minutes. Even by McCabe's estimation Walker had been in the water far longer than that.

"Someone mentioned a head injury—how serious? Does it affect his chances?"

"It won't help, that's for sure. And as for how serious it is, it's difficult to tell without a scan. There has been some blood loss. Whidbey has all the equipment standing by. We'll be landing shortly. Our medic is doing everything he can. Your friend looks fairly fit and healthy and he's young—they're all things in his favor. Provided there's no brain injury or cardiac damage, then I'd say he has a slightly less than even chance."

McCabe sat quietly in a corner of the cabin as the helicopter flew low and fast over the sea, in a race between life and death. The flight seemed to take forever, and during that time his eyes never left Walker's face. In his mind he repeated the mantra, ‘Don't you die on me, Walker! Hold on, help is coming, hold on.’

Then suddenly they were on final approach to Whidbey Naval Air Station. No sooner had the large machine touched down than the doors were thrown back and the stretcher carrying Walker was loaded into the waiting ambulance and whisked away at high speed to the medical facility.

McCabe felt helpless. Walker's life hung in the balance and would be determined by the skill of the doctors. All he could do was await the outcome of their efforts.

The endless night greyed into dawn and still the doctors worked on Walker. No matter how much McCabe reproached himself, it wasn't going to bring his friend back. He sat in the waiting area and made himself a promise. One way or another he would nail the bastards responsible for this. Even if it took him the rest of his life, he would follow them to hell and back if he had to, but pay for Walker's life they damn well would.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

London, Five Months later.

Skye looked up from the papers on her desk, as John put his head round the door of her office.

"Hey, Sweet Pea, do you have a few minutes?"

"Sure, I was about due for a break anyway. What can I help you with?"

John crossed the room in three strides. He propped a hip on the corner of Skye's desk and studied her face. She looked well, in truth she looked fantastic. The dark circles under her eyes, and the sadness in her face, which had been all too evident when they first returned from Seattle, had gone. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes were bright. In fact, she was a picture of radiant womanhood—a woman whose smile held a depth that had been missing for far too long.

"Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

Skye leaned back in her chair and laughed. In the last two months, hardly a week had passed without John asking her to dinner and even though she felt guilty, she had always found a reason to turn him down. And yet she knew she owed him so much—her sanity for one thing. Without John, she would have never got over the events of spring, but with his gentle encouragement, she learned to pick up the pieces of her life and start anew. And without him, she would never have got this far in her career either. She had a lot to thank him for.

"I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

His mood suddenly buoyant, John's expression softened to one of tenderness. He brushed her cheek with his fingertip. His mouth curved with a secret smile.

"Great. I'll book a table and pick you up about eight. Any preference what we eat? Italian, Thai, or Chinese?"

"You choose, but please, no Sushi! I've gone right off fish. Just let me know whether I need to wear something casual or smart."

"I think we should go up market and push the boat out a bit, don't you? After all, we deserve it after all the hard work we've put in of late. And it's not often I get to take my beautiful business partner out to dinner."

Skye's rich laughter filled the air." John Ridge, you're the biggest liar I know. Me, beautiful? You need to have your eyes examined! Besides, there was that dinner last week, admittedly there were seven other people present, but I seem to remember you were there too."

"Yes, but I had to share you. I want you all to myself for one evening, so that I can stare into your magnificent blue eyes and whisper sweet nothings into your ear. I can't do that with an audience or when I'm sat at the other end of the table."

"If I didn't know you better I'd say you were flirting with me! What happened, did your latest conquest turn you down?"

He placed his hand on his heart and adopted a forlorn expression. "You wound me. My intentions are strictly honourable. Honourable that is until after I take you home and you give me coffee."

"You're incorrigible! After I give you coffee, you leave end of story."

"You're breaking my heart, Sweet Pea."

Skye enjoyed their gentle sparring, but that was all she regarded it as—innocent flirtation. "Away with you! How many women have you been out with this week, two? Three?"

"Let me see… you'll be the third. It is only Thursday after all." She would be the first, since they had arrived back in London, but he wasn't about to admit it.

"Only three? Careful John you'll be losing your reputation."

"Hah, Hah very funny. Seriously, when did we last have dinner together?"

Skye remained silent.

"Exactly! You can't remember anymore than I can."

"Get out of here and let me do some work, before I change my mind."

John held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm going. Just don't stay too late; I don't like to be kept waiting." He closed the door behind him, and a heard a soft thud, followed by laughter.

Skye picked up her notebook from behind the door, and sat down. She turned and stared out of the window towards Tower Bridge. She had come a long way from being the pathetic creature that had stepped off the plane from Seattle five months ago.

In the first few days following her desperate flight from Walker, she had decided that her feelings for him weren't going to ruin her life. Instead she pushed all thoughts of him to the back of her mind and determinedly set about building a future for herself.

While her memories of Walker were stark and raw, she hadn't sat around moping like a lovesick kitten. There was no point. He'd made it blatantly obvious he didn't trust her, even though he appeared to change his mind during the last few hours they had spent in each other's company. No, she'd reasoned, if he really loved her, he would have been in touch. Instead, all she had received was a cheque in the mail in settlement of her fee. No phone calls, not even so much as a 'thank you' note.

The new software was an outstanding success and countries around the world queued up to buy it. Dunbar and Ridge Computer Consultants had gained worldwide acclaim and were now financially secure.

On the strength of this, John had rushed out and purchased a new car that was able to go from nought to death in less than six seconds. He scared the life out of her every time he roared into the car park and no doubt she would require a week of tranquillizers to regain her equilibrium after he'd driven her home. Not to mention a shoehorn to get into it in the first place.

John hummed tunelessly as he walked the short distance to his office. Skye's transformation was amazing. She had regained her confidence and with it her strength of character. She'd always been beautiful to him, even at eighteen with a mouth full of braces, but over the last couple of months she'd blossomed like some exotic flower. Not only was she stunningly attractive and highly intelligent, both qualities he admired but rarely found in a woman, she also possessed some rare inner quality that made her stand out from the crowd.

Whilst he hadn't approved when she had once more thrown herself head long into her work, he'd kept quiet, later admitting to himself that it kept her mind off Walker. And it wasn't just work that had brought about this change in her. In the last five months, she had learned to sign for the deaf, scuba dive and fence, and they were the things he knew about. She managed to fill every spare hour with some activity. And then there was that special project she was working on. The one she was so secretive about. He had a feeling it wasn't related to work—but what was she planning?

Things were finally going his way. He was very careful, not to mention Walker's name in her presence. Why keep her mind focused on the past when the present was far more important, especially to him? Given the chance he would have welcomed the opportunity to teach the Walker a lesson or two for his despicable behavior towards her.

***

Skye emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. She opened the doors of her wardrobe and wondered what to wear. Moving the hangers along the rail, she selected a long skirt and matching blouse then discarded them in favour of a trouser suit.

Ordinarily she would have worn her favourite jade colored dress—the same dress she had worn on Debbie's last night at the cabin. The same night that Walker had joined them for dinner. Skye sat down on the bed, her legs suddenly weak.

"Damn you, Walker! You could have called me or written after all I did for you. You can't even do the decent thing and send me my suitcase. I bet you've thrown it into the sea in a fit of pique. Well, I hope you rot in hell!"

Whilst it had been darned inconvenient, clothes and personal items could be replaced—a broken heart took somewhat longer to mend. Determined not to let thoughts of Walker spoil her evening, Skye held the suit up and stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Twisting this way and that, she used her left hand to hold her hair up off her shoulders and neck. It was too business-like for an evening with a friend.

She riffled through the hangers, and settled on a calf length floral strapless summer dress, with a fitted bodice, in shades of yellow and gold. A little bit frivolous perhaps, but somehow it suited her mood. She pinned her hair up on the top of her head, and left some tendrils to fall in soft curls around her face.

The doorbell rang just as she put the finishing touches to her make up. She collected her wrap and purse off the bed, and went downstairs to open the door.

For a moment John didn't know what to say, Skye was a vision of loveliness that quite simply took his breath away.

"You look stunning." Unable to stop himself, his hand slipped around her waist, and he softly kissed her cheek.

Taken aback by his reaction, Skye stepped to one side, smiling self-consciously.

"My, my, more compliments. You'll give me a big head if you're not careful. You don’t look bad either." She said, admiring his striking appearance in a well-tailored suit. But wow! Your cologne's so strong it would gas a badger, she added silently. She took a deep breath. "I don't look any different now than when I walked into your office as a freshman all those years ago. Only older."

"If I recall, you were wearing jeans ripped at the knee, your hair was in a pony tail and your teeth had enough metalwork to cover Buckingham Palace. The dress is a definite improvement." He gave her legs a long appraising look. "As for the rest—I'll be the one to judge how you look. Are you ready?"

Skye stared at the gleaming, sleek, red Ferrari parked on her driveway.

"You are sure you can handle that thing? You won't drive too fast will you? I'd rather like to arrive looking as I do now, not as if I've been pulled through a hedge backwards at ninety miles an hour."

"I promise I won't go over the posted speed limit, even if it makes us late for our table." He held open the passenger door. "Now, I hope you don't mind, but I thought we'd dine out of town. I've booked a table at a place in Richmond down by the river. It's such a lovely evening I thought you would enjoy the setting."

The leather of the seat felt cold against her skin, Skye watched in admiration as John lowered his tall frame into the impossibly low car. Her fingers tightened imperceptibly on her small evening purse as the engine started with a growl and the needle on the speedometer climbed frighteningly quickly. Twenty minutes later, when John pulled smoothly into the restaurant's car park, Skye breathed a sigh of relief. Tranquillizers for a week? Make that two and triple strength, she mentally amended as John handed her out of the passenger seat.

The restaurant was impressive, the décor tasteful, and the lighting subdued. As the waiter showed them to their table, John smiled secretively. He'd chosen this restaurant especially for its quiet and sophisticated ambiance. When a waiter appeared at their table with a rose, Skye was rendered momentarily speechless. She accepted it graciously and breathed in its heady bouquet.

"If you treat all your lady friends this way they must be very impressed."

"You're the exception. The others are lucky if they get a McDonald's Happy Meal."

Two dimples appeared in Skye's cheek as she suppressed her giggles.

"Yeah, right, and I just stepped off the boat last week. So, why all this? Are you after a pay rise, because if so, the answer's no."

"Skye, if I wanted a pay rise I'd take one. Does there have to be a reason for us to have dinner?"

"No, but this is pushing the boat way out the other side of the ocean."

"So?"

"So, we could have gone somewhere, well, less expensive."

"How do you know how expensive this is? There are no prices on your menu."

"Exactly! That's what's worrying me."

"Relax, I can afford it."

"Yes, but can I? Or is this my share of the profits you're spending?"

John's smile deepened into laughter. It was good, to see the teasing laughter back in her eyes. Not only did she look stunning, but for the first time in months, she was radiantly happy too. The feelings of protectiveness that he'd felt for so long turned into something far deeper and sensuous. He could barely stop himself from staring, and every time his gaze met hers, he felt a rush of something far more intense than just friendship.

Skye sipped her wine, and agreed that John's choice of restaurant was a good one. The food was superb and cooked to perfection, the wine heady and the company amusing. And, lingering over desert, she admitted she felt a sense of contentment.

John guided her out of the restaurant towards his car.

"Once round the universe or home?"

"Home, please. Whilst I have no doubt that this car is more than capable of gravity defying speeds, I would prefer you to keep all four wheels on the road, if you don't mind."

John merely nodded. Although his fingers held the wheel lightly, inside he was anything but calm. He manoeuvered the Ferrari out of the parking bay and opened the throttle. The evening had gone well, but it wasn't over yet.

A short time later, he took Skye's key out of the lock and handed it to her, his large hand lingering in hers slightly longer than necessary. He leaned forward and gently kissed her cheek.

"Thank you for a lovely evening," said Skye. "Would you like to come in for a coffee?"

John allowed Skye's question to hang on the air for a moment before answering.

"I'd like that, but only if you're sure it's not too late."

"I don't think I'll turn into Cinderella just yet. Go through and take a seat in the study and help yourself to a brandy. I'll bring the tray through in a moment."

John wandered around the room, before standing next to the fireplace. He always felt comfortable in Skye's home. The study opened out onto her garden and on warm summer evenings she would throw back the patio doors and allow the heady scents to fill the room. Of the two reception rooms, this was his favorite. Small, comfortable and filled with books, it had a cozy intimate feeling, which he preferred over the more formal lounge with its elegant fixtures and furniture that she used for entertaining.

"Put a match to the fire if you're feeling a little chilly." Skye placed the tray on the table in front of the sofa.

"I'm not cold. How about you?"

"I'm fine. But I will have a brandy if you're pouring."

John crossed to the cabinet where Skye kept the decanter. He carried it back to the table, and poured two generous measures into the snifters she had placed on the tray. He sat next to her on the sofa. Relaxing back into the cushions, he crossed his long legs and took a sip from his glass. The amber liquid slid down his throat, warming the pit of his stomach. He placed his own glass on the table and reached over and took Skye's from her hand, a strange eager look flashed into his eyes.

"There’s something I want to ask to you."

"What is it?"

Uncertain of what her reaction would be, John hesitated and gathered his thoughts. He'd been rehearsing what to say for days, and now the moment had arrived, his mind was filled with a crazy mixture of hope and fear. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat.

"We've known each other what, thirteen years?"

"Fifteen, but who's counting?"

"And during that time, we've come to know each other really well. We know each other's mood swings, strengths and weaknesses, likes and dislikes. We rarely argue. In fact we make a darned good team."

"I suppose we do, but where are you going with this? Do you want to break up the partnership? Is that what you’re saying?"

"That's the very last thing on my mind."

"Then I don't understand. Is there a problem?"

He took Skye's left hand in his, and watched her face for any sign of objection.

"What I am trying to say is this; Skye, will you marry me?" His intense brown eyes met her blue ones as he took the small jeweller’s box from his pocket with his free hand.

"John, I… it's…" Skye's lower lip trembled. As she tried to comprehend what she was hearing, John's stammering voice became a buzz in her ears.

"Don't answer me yet. Hear me out. I've loved you from the first day I saw you, but both of us were young and I had nothing to offer you back then. But it's different now. I'm financially secure."

Skye stared at him in disbelief. "John, I… You've taken me so completely by surprise that I… I don't know what to say. We've been friends for so long and I never—" The words wedged in her throat. "But marry you?" Skye stared at the diamond sparkling in the jeweller’s box. She needed time to think and with raw hurt evident in John’s eyes, she couldn't do that. She went and stood by the window, her body trembling with shock.

John remained motionless for a moment, and then propelled by some unseen force, he crossed the room in two quick strides and took her into his arms. Skye kept her hands by her side, and tilted her head back so that she could see his face.

"All these years, I've loved you as a brother. I've never thought of you in any other way. You've always been such a rock for me, always there when I needed you. I know you've asked me in the past, but I always assumed you were teasing me."

"Teasing you?"

Skye knew she'd said the wrong thing. Choosing her words carefully, she tried hard to explain. "Yes, teasing. I've lost count of the number of times you've asked me to marry you. The first was on my twenty-first birthday, and you've done so every year since. But I always assumed…always treated it as our private joke."

"At first, it was. But I've come to realize just how much I love you."

"If I gave you the impression that we were anything more than friends, I'm sorry." The disappointment and anguish she saw in his eyes was almost her undoing. "I don't want to lose your friendship. Don't make me be the one to hurt you."

A half smile crossed his face, his arms tightened around her waist and he inclined his head to hers.

"Sleep on it. Don't give me your answer tonight. Think things over—take as long as you need. We've got plenty of time. I understand you may not feel the same way about me now, but given time—" His words hung heavily on the air.

Skye leaned lightly into him, feeling the warmth of his body. She opened her mouth to say something, but John silenced her with a fingertip.

"I've more than enough love for both of us and I know, given the chance, I could make you happy. A lot of couples start out as friends and make a marriage work. And I think we could too. I'm sure when you've had chance to think things through, you'll agree. In the meantime, I'd be honoured if you would wear this." He touched her left hand to his lips, and kissed the ring he placed on her finger.

A lump formed in Skye's throat, the words wouldn't form, all she could do was rest her head on his shoulder and allow him to hold her. His hands stroked her back. When she relaxed against his chest, he brought his hand up to caress her cheek then gently tipped her mouth to his.

Skye poured herself another glass of brandy from the decanter and struggled to put the events of the evening into perspective. She lifted the glass to her lips, and took a sip. Life was certainly full of surprises and none more so than that evening. And what an emotionally charged time it had turned out to be. A proposal from John was the last thing she'd expected and his refusal to accept her assertion that they could only be friends, had left her feeling embarrassed and at a loss at what to say.

She kicked off her shoes, and drew her legs up on the sofa. John was certainly attractive—a loveable rogue someone had once described him. There was an inherent strength in his face that was echoed in his character. He wasn't classically handsome, but he had an inner quality which women found attractive. In fact, some she knew even declared him to be downright sexy, although she never saw it herself. But to her, he was John. Her best friend and business partner, the brother she'd never had. But her husband?

Skye rotated her neck trying to ease the tension in her shoulders, but it didn't help. The more she thought about John's offer, the more her head ached and the more confused she became. This wasn't a decision to be made lightly. Marriage? That was what she wanted, wasn't it? To be married, to have a family, children of her own. But marriage implied love and not just on one side.

She had no doubt that marriage to John would be safe, for he would never let her down. He was dependable and financially secure, but was he the one for her? She wasn’t sure. And, she was crazy even to be considering, let alone thinking of accepting him. She couldn't love him, not in that way and never would. And she couldn't commit herself to marriage with someone she'd didn't love not when she'd have to live with her decision for the rest of her life.

Confused, she wandered restlessly round the room, the chimes of the hall clock startling her as it struck one. John had left two hours ago. She'd sat here all that time bewildered, and emotionally drained. No matter how heavily John's proposal laid on her mind, she just had to get some sleep. She swallowed the last of the brandy, turned out the lights and made her way upstairs.

With a heavy heart, she climbed into bed. But sleep wouldn't come. Somewhere in the distance she heard a rumble of thunder and the approaching storm brought back bittersweet memories of another place. A place where she had learned what it was to love and be loved. A love so all consuming and glorious that she doubted she would ever find it again.

Walker! Did she think of him? Yes, often. Did she dream of him? All the time. Did she miss him? Yes, dreadfully. Did her body ache for his touch? Yes, every minute of every day and every night. Did she love him? Yes, with all her heart. If only he'd trusted her enough to believe in her.

The storm raged and then passed on before she finally fell into a restless sleep, but the confusion in her mind remained.

The following morning Skye went to the office as usual. Despite the lack of sleep, she was no nearer to coming to a decision than she had been the night before and dreaded John asking her again. But to her surprise, when he put his head round her door to say ‘good morning,’ he was his usual cheerful self and never mentioned his proposal.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Seattle, the same time.

"How long before I can go back to work, doctor?" Walker asked as the medic shone a light into his eyes.

"After a serious head injury we suggest patients take it easy. How are the headaches?"

"No way near as bad as they were. I get a couple of humdingers once or twice a month but the medication you gave me usually takes care of them."

The doctor consulted his notes. "You're a very lucky man, Mr. Walker. Not many people go through what you did and survive. I understand you have your own business which necessitates a great deal of travel and that you fly your own plane."

"That's correct."

"As to whether you meet the criteria for your pilots' license, that's something you’ll have to take up with the Board of Aviation. You're making an excellent recovery. How about I see you again in a month and we’ll make a final decision then?"

Walker couldn't hide his disappointment. "I guess you know best. Can I go home to Friday Harbor? I could do with a change of scene."

"I don't see why not. But take it easy, you still need to build your stamina."

Walker slipped off the examination couch and dressed quickly. He took his cane off the back of the chair, and let himself out of the small cubicle. He collected his prescription for painkillers and went out to the waiting car.

"How'd you get on?" McCabe asked.

"The good news is that I can drive again. I can also return to the lodge, so long as I take the ferry. But the doc says I can't return to work for another month, and I can't fly."

"That's great news! You'll be back at work before you know it." McCabe glanced at his friend. Walker’s tight-lipped expression that said it was anything but. "I know you're feeling down, but be thankful you're still here to have this conversation. I can't tell you how much hair I lost worrying about you lying in that hospital bed." McCabe rubbed his bald head to emphasize his point.

Walker laughed. "Give me a break, you dick— you've been bald for years."

"Yeah, I know. But it made you smile, which is better than looking at you when you're scowling. That's enough to make a whale turn tail and head south."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yep, and your temper… Jeez, most of us have been on the receiving end of that over the last few months."

"I'm a miserable patient; you're supposed to humor me."

"You can say that again. But we're all happy to have you in the land of the living, so we let it go when you started jumping all over everyone."

"I guess I owe people a few apologies, including you." And Skye, if I can find her and she'll listen to me, Walker added silently.

"Nah, we forgave you a long time ago. When are you planning on heading over to Friday Harbor?"

"As soon as I've packed my bag. I'm aiming to catch the next available ferry. No offence but I'm tired of this town, and the endless round of doctors' appointments. Do you know I've seen more doctors in the last five months than I have in thirty-seven years? I know how a lab-rat feels. I want some peace and quiet, and a chance to get some gentle exercise without being jostled by pedestrians every time I walk out the door."

"Sure you don't need some company?" McCabe pulled out to overtake a taxi. "What I'm trying to say is you're not fully recovered yet. Is it wise for you to be at the lodge on your own?"

"If you're referring to the seizures, I haven't had one in three months and it's likely I won't have another. But I know the signs, so quit worrying."

"You know where I am if there's anything you want to talk about."

"Such as?"

McCabe hesitated; he knew he was about to tread on dangerous ground. "There's the court case for one thing. It's been on hold until now and all the evidence needs to be prepared in readiness for the hearing. Then there's that lady computer geek—the one who gave you so much grief at the cabin. I just wondered if you'd been in touch with her."

Walker almost growled at the mention of Skye's name. "Are you asking from a professional or personal point of view?"

"Either. I kinda got the impression you two had got things together."

"That's none of your damned business," Walker replied and stared out of the window at the passing stores, a brooding expression settling on his features.

McCabe said nothing and concentrated on his driving. The silence between them grew tight with tension.

"I'm sorry I bit your head off," Walker said finally. "It's been a long day, with all the tests and, yeah, I'm a little disappointed that they won't let me go back to work."

"Apology accepted. I should have known better. Has the District Attorney’s office been in touch with you yet?"

"I gave my initial deposition yesterday and handed over all my files. He's going to contact me when the case comes to trial. I don't see any need for Dr. Dunbar to appear as a witness unless there's something I haven't been told."

"As far as I'm aware, you're up to speed on the case." The only thing you don't know is that you called out her name every night when you were in a coma, McCabe added silently. He turned into a vacant parking space outside of one Seattle's more exclusive apartment buildings.

Walker eased his bad leg out of the car, and stood with the aid of his cane. Closing the door he turned, rested a hand on the roof of the vehicle and leaned in through the open window.

"Thanks for driving me today."

"No problem. You take care out at the lodge. I don't want to hear of you falling over any tree roots. You've only got two legs so don't go damaging the other one. And remember, your friends are here if you need them for anything, day or night."

"Yeah, I know. And, McCabe—"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for saving my life." Walker turned, and walked towards his building, his movements stiff and awkward.

Six days later, hot, sweating and more than a little breathless from the exertion, Walker came out of the woods and limped along the beach towards the cabin. On reaching the dock, he stopped and leaned heavily on the handrail long enough for his breathing to return to normal and for him to rub the ache in his right thigh muscle. It was barely a mile from the lodge to the cabin, yet he felt as if he had climbed Mt. Rainer. Until that moment he hadn't appreciated just how unfit he'd become in the months following his ordeal.

Without warning, memories of Skye came tumbling back, for it was here, that he'd first seen her—a slim figure in a bright red oversized sweater. It was one of those early spring days, when the air was cool, and the sun strong, the first hint that winter was finally over. He remembered how the sun had glinted on her hair, highlighting the red and gold strands. He was so surprised to see her, that he'd bitten her head off, but she had stood up to him, her auburn hair swinging about her proud shoulders, anger flashing in her eyes.

Walker rubbed the pulsing knot in his temple in a futile attempt to stave off the threatening headache.

"Damn it Skye, why did you walk out on me?" Overwhelmed by feelings of nostalgia, he let out a long exhausted sigh, and shook his head to wipe out the memory. His mind refused to co-operate. He limped up the beach towards the cabin, his right leg muscles screaming from the stain of walking over the uneven ground.

He knew from the realtor that the cabin was empty. He inserted the key into the double lock, and pushed the door open. Inside felt cold, damp and empty, just like him. He crossed to the window, and drew back the drapes, allowing the sunlight in.

The room was just as it had been on the night he, Skye, and Ridge had left for Seattle. A layer of dust covered every surface. Under a lamp, on the table next to the sofa, he found Skye’s book, the corner of a page turned down to mark her place. By the music centre a selection of her CDs was piled haphazardly. In the kitchen sink, a cup waited to be washed, a faint hint of lipstick on the rim.

In the bedroom they'd briefly shared, Walker felt an overwhelming sense of loss. Here, for three brief days, he had loved her, but hadn't told her so. Her clothes still hung in the wardrobe. He took the jade dress off the hanger, and buried his face in its soft folds.

Her clothes. That was why he was here. In her eagerness to get away from him she had left them behind, instructing the realtor to pack and ship them back to London. But following the investigation, not knowing whether he would survive or not, the lodge and the cabin had been locked up. Unable to gain access, the realtor had inundated Walker's answering machine with demands to forward ‘Dr. Dunbar's belongings to London’ as soon as possible.’ Now back on the island for the first time in months, he had little option but to comply with the request.

Walker slumped down on the bed; his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched forward, a man on the edge of despair. He felt ashamed at the way he had treated her during those last few days. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it, choking back his groans of anguish.

During his recovery, his misery was such that for weeks he wished he had died that night. But he hadn't and somehow he had come to terms with the fact that no matter how much he loved Skye, he'd lost her. The knowledge that she hadn't contacted him, twisted inside like a knife. If she had known what it had cost him to bring the perpetrators to justice, would it have made any difference to her? Would she have jumped on the next plane and sat by his bedside until he came out of the coma?

Throughout the long days lying in the hospital bed, wondering if he would regain the use of his right leg again, he’d thought of her. And when the pain of the headaches was unrelenting he called out her name.

But she never came.

As he sat wallowing in his wretchedness, a plan slowly began to form in his mind. He stood without the aid of his cane, and hobbled crossed the room. In the corner under the dresser was her suitcase. He pulled it out, and placed it on the bed. Carefully, he removed her clothes from the hangers, folded them, and placed them inside with her other belongings.

In the following days and weeks Walker pushed himself hard, harder than he'd ever done before. He walked, worked out and swam, and did everything he could to improve his fitness until finally the day dawned when he threw away the damned cane.

Exactly five weeks later he sat in the doctor's office and waited for the verdict.

"You're fit enough to return to work. It's on the understanding that you seek medical advice if you develop any headaches that last more than twenty-four hours, or if you start having seizures again. You've a metal plate in your head and I don't want you taking any risks. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly."

Walker walked out of the surgery and stabbed the air with his fist, basking in the knowledge that he could finally put his plan into action.

Chapter Thirty

Exactly seven months after his accident, Walker stepped off the plane into the early morning sunshine of a London autumn. The air was chilly, but no colder than it had been when he had left Seattle the evening before. A frustrating delay with immigration and then he was walking though the terminal towards his rental car. He eased the sleek Jaguar out of the parking lot, filtered into the rush hour traffic, and headed towards London.

He checked into his hotel. The bellhop opened the door of the suite and handed Walker the key. Tipping him Walker carried his case over to the bed, took out his shaving gear, and headed for the shower. Ten minutes later, feeling refreshed, he sat down on the bed and ordered breakfast—none of that continental rubbish that the airlines were so fond of serving. While he waited for room service he took the newspaper cutting from his wallet and read it again, even though he knew the words by heart.

‘A new charitable foundation is to be launched tomorrow evening with a gala dinner and ball. Set up by Dr. Skye Dunbar, it aims to help young people, who due to unforeseen circumstances are unable to complete their university degree course.’

Although he'd dozed on the plane, jet lag hit him hard. His neck and shoulder muscles were tense and he could feel the beginning of a headache throbbing at his temple. Walker stifled a yawn, as he skimmed the pages of the phone directory until he found listing for Dunbar and Ridge Computer Consultants. He picked up the phone and punched in the number. An unfamiliar female voice answered. A few seconds later, he put the phone down and looked at the address he had scribbled on the note pad. A phone call to the front desk, secured him a street map and directions. Suddenly, he didn't feel quite so tired.

Two hours later, he entered the offices of Dunbar and Ridge. He smiled at the young woman on the reception desk.

"I'm here to see Dr. Skye Dunbar."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I don't. But it is rather important that I see her."

"I'm sorry, sir, but Dr. Dunbar has left for the day. She's not back in the office until Tuesday."

"I've come a long way. Perhaps you could call her on her cell phone and ask if she would agree to see me?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't do that. However, I can ask Dr. Ridge if he would see you. Or I can make you an appointment to see Dr. Dunbar for next week."

"I haven't come to see Dr. Ridge. And I don't want to wait until next week. Could you give me her home address?"

"We don't give out personal information."

"Look, you don't understand—"

"Is there a problem, Maureen?" A male voiced shouted through an open office door.

"It's this gentleman, Dr. Ridge. He wants to see Dr. Dunbar, but she's left for the day."

John put down the paper he was reading and walked to the door of his office, almost yanking it off its hinges.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I'd have thought that was obvious, even to you. I've come to see Skye. As she's not here, I'd like her address."

"Would you, now? You'd better come into my office. Maureen? You can go for the day and lock up on your way out."

John took a seat behind his desk and eyed Walker suspiciously. "I've one question," he said, getting straight to the point. "Why? Why now after all this time have you come to see her?"

"That's none of your business."

"You're wrong, it is my business. You're a bit late if you came to find out if she's pregnant."

Pregnant? God! In seven months Walker hadn't even considered the possibility. "And is she?"

"No, she's not."

"It's not an issue then, is it? Besides, my reasons for seeing Skye are none of your concern. If you'll give me her address, I won't trouble you any further."

"Do you think I'm that stupid? I think you've got a bloody nerve coming here. After what you did to her, I should have you arrested."

Walker grabbed Ridge's hand as it reached for the phone. "That's a real dumb idea. Skye might get a little upset if she has to bail you out for false arrest. I'm not interested in what you think of me. I came for Skye. Are you going to behave like the gentleman you're obviously not, and give me her address?"

"There's something you should know."

Walker's head jerked up.

"You're not the first American to break her heart."

"Really?"

"There was someone else before you. He was a sailor in the navy and a bastard like you."

Walker let that one pass, and hung on to his temper with grim determination.

"He said he loved her, but in the end treated her like dirt. Even blackmailed her and gave her a few bruises. I see from your expression that has a familiar ring."

Walker made no response. An icy chill ran through his veins as he listened intently as Ridge proceeded to tell him about Michael. No wonder Skye had looked like a scared rabbit the first time he saw her. And then, he had to go and do something really dumb like not trusting her and keeping her at the cabin. She must have been terrified.

"So you see there is no way I'm letting you anywhere near Skye," John continued. "I helped her pick up the pieces after Michael and I helped her pick them up again seven months ago. I'm not going to stand by and let you, or any other man, destroy her again. Is that clear?"

The cold knot in Walker's gut tightened another notch. "I'm sorry she's had some bad experiences, but that's life. It's never an easy ride. If I'd known about Michael, I would have handled things differently. But I didn't. All I want is the chance to talk to her. If she wants me to leave, I'll go, but only after I've heard the words from her."

"What makes you think Skye will want to see you? You haven't made any effort to keep in touch. Why, is it so important now?"

"I've had my reasons for not contacting her, reasons which I'll explain only to her."

"You should know that things have changed. I've asked Skye to marry me."

Walker’s worst nightmare had come true. "I see. And has she accepted?"

John smiled confidently. "She will."

What had started as a small seed of inner torment grew and grew, until overwhelmed by jealously and anger Walker leaned forward grabbed Ridge by the shirt, almost pulling him over the desk.

"We'll see about that! I'll find Skye with or without your help. And until I've spoken to her, I wouldn't book the church just yet, if I were you."

"If and when you catch up with her, make sure you ask her about Laura," Ridge shouted as a final shot. He slumped back in his chair, straightened his tie with a shaking hand, as the door to his office slammed shut.

For a moment he thought Walker would hit him. Thank God Skye hadn't been here. He didn't want her upsetting, not when she was so close to accepting his proposal. But, he knew he couldn't afford to drop his guard, especially now that Walker was in London. Thankfully, her phone number was unlisted and it was four days before she was due back in the office. After the dinner tomorrow night, she'd be safely out of town for the weekend.

Chapter Thirty-One

In the months following her return, Skye had planned for this day. The long phone calls to her solicitor, meetings with the Charities Commission, and now the whole country knew about her Foundation. Tonight there would be an inaugural dinner in the glittering ballroom of the Dorchester Hotel, were she hoped to relieve the aristocracy of some money to boost the funds she had already set aside from her share of the profits from the new software.

When she told John about her idea, he whole-heartedly supported her. Tonight he would stand by her side as her escort, even though she knew he still hoped she would change her mind and accept his proposal.

The chauffeur opened the door of the limousine and Skye stepped out on to the red carpet. Photographer's bulbs flashed.

"I hadn't expected this."

"Relax, Sweet Pea." John patted her arm. "I imagine they are more interested in getting a photograph of the Royal who's attending. Although, I have to admit seeing you in that dress, she'll look positively dull by comparison. Having an HRH on the board of directors was a good idea. After tonight, you can sit back and let her take all the media hype."

"I couldn't cope with this every day of the week." Skye lifted the hem of her evening dress a fraction, and climbed the stairs to the ballroom.

It was barely twenty-four hours since Walker had confronted Ridge and despite his best efforts he still hadn't contacted Skye. He stared at his reflection in the mirrored hallway of the Dorchester Hotel, made a final adjustment to his bow tie, and flicked any imaginary speck of dust off the shoulder of his jacket. He looked far more confident than he felt, as he climbed up the grand staircase towards the ballroom.

He waited until the after dinner speeches were over before gatecrashing the party. He merged with a group of people returning from the restrooms, and entered the ballroom. Once inside, he took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and wandered around smiling at couples that passed him.

He knew from past experience that as hosts Skye and her escort would be seated along with other distinguished guests, and security surrounding them would be tight. His chances of reaching the table were non-existent, so he chose a position close to the dance floor, were he could watch and wait. Sooner or later, Skye would have to leave the table and that would be his opportunity to confront her.

For ten, long agonizing minutes, he scanned the room. At last, he saw her. Her black silk dress was simple and understated. The fabric followed her every curve until it reached her ankles, were it swirled around like a cloud. Her rich auburn hair was pulled back into a neat chignon at her nape, highlighting the delicacy of her features. Her smooth creamy skin glowed with rose undertones. She wore little jewelry, just a pair of diamond studs in her ears. Walker could only stand and stare.

John, Skye noted, was escorting the leggy blonde who sat next to him onto the dance floor, no doubt in the hope it would make her jealous. She really would have to talk to him, but not tonight. Tonight was her night and nothing was going to spoil it. She looked over the shoulder of her dance partner, a portly gentleman whose size was only matched by that of his wallet, and caught a glimpse of a tall figure striding purposely towards her. Her nerves tensed and she briefly closed her eyes in disbelief. When she opened them again, he’d gone. She let out a long slow breath. Her fear had been premature. She was mistaken. It wasn't Walker, just someone with his colouring. As the final chords of the waltz died away, she thanked her partner and walked back to her seat. A hand descended on her right shoulder and spun her round.

"I think the next dance is mine, don’t you?" Walker said.

Skye gazed up at his tall figure and studied his lean dark face. He was so handsome in his black evening suit that her breath caught in her throat. She found herself being guided back into the throng of couples. She nearly tripped on the hem of her gown, and would have done so, if the arms holding her had not tightened around her waist.

The orchestra struck up once more and her body took on a will of its own picking up the tempo of the beat. Her feet found the correct steps, as Walker whirled her around the dance floor. Her emotions swirled, like the fabric of her gown. In a split second, she felt shock and excitement, the heat of desire where his hand rested against the bare flesh of her back, and then anger and pain.

"Just who do you think you are barging your way into this function? It's strictly invitation only and I don't recall placing your name on the guest list. How did you get in here?"

"Whatever happened to ‘hello, Walker, nice to see you’?"

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, nor does it impress me. I'll ask you one more time. How did you get in here, and why have you come?"

"I'll answer your question—money is a great door opener, even here in England. I just waved my chequebook at the guys on the door and they were more than happy to accept my donation and offer me a glass of champagne. As to why I'm here, you know why I'm here. God damn it, Skye, you walked out on me and I think I have a right to know why!"

"I walked out on you? That's rich coming from the man who kept me locked up for three days."

Deliberately, Skye brought the heel of her shoe down on his foot. He didn't even blink.

"Nice try, but I'm not letting go of you, until you and I have talked. Are you going to play nice and ask me about my donation? It was very generous."

"What was it, Walker, a need to salve to your conscience?" Skye shot back and feeling him tense under her hand, she knew her barb had found a home. "The Foundation doesn't need your money. And I certainly don’t wish to talk to you."

"You always did have a temper, and a sharp tongue. It's about time someone tamed it." He lowered his lips to hers, his intent plain for her to see.

In that instant, Skye wanted to lash out and hurt him as much as he'd hurt her and she didn't care who heard her. But discretion got the better of her.

"Don't-even-think-about-it!" she warned.

"Perhaps you're right. This isn't the place—I prefer a more intimate setting when making love to a woman, but then you know that."

Skye's head snapped back. She glared at him, stunned by his bluntness.

"I will talk to you Skye, and you will listen," he said. "We can either have our conversation here, where we stand a good chance of being overheard or on the terrace, it's up to you." When she didn't respond, he abruptly caught her by the elbow, and firmly escorted her from the ballroom.

Skye hurried to keep up with his long strides. "Bullying tactics again, Walker? Do you get your kicks giving women bruises?"

He stopped dead and jerked her round to face him. "Be careful, Skye. Push me any further and I'll forget we're in polite company and give you the argument you're looking for. All I want is a few minutes of your time and whether you like it or not, you're going to give them to me."

Twin stains of scarlet appeared on her cheeks. Already heads were turning to watch them. Her embarrassment turned to raw fury. Damn the man if he wasn't right. She couldn't afford a scene, at least not here.

"Five minutes. After that, I return to my guests and you walk out of here and out of my life."

"Still issuing stipulations? Sorry, Skye, but I'm not buying into them. I'll leave when I'm good and ready and not before."

"Damn it, Walker! I made my terms perfectly clear back in Seattle. You settled my invoice. There is nothing further to discuss. I suggest that you let go of my arm and go back to the States or wherever you came from."

"Yeah, you did. I even recall agreeing to some of them, but not all. If my memory serves me right, you didn't even hang around long enough to see if we found the guy responsible. In fact, you high tailed it out of Seattle so damned fast you didn't even bother to pack. Were you that desperate to get away from me that you couldn't wait a day? And, aren't you the least bit curious as to why I've waited seven months to come after you?"

"No."

"I don't believe you. Just as I don't believe that things are over between us." He crushed her to his chest, something intense flaring in his eyes. Slowly he stroked her back and felt her pulse quicken beneath his fingers. "Don't deny it, Skye. You want me as much as I want you." His gaze travelled across her bare shoulders to the curve of her breasts.

Skye's fists bunched at her sides, she had no intention of falling under his spell once more. But despite all her determination, her body relaxed against his as it responded to his slow caress. Confused by her unexpected reaction to his touch, she tried to deny the pulsing knot forming in her stomach, and the trembling in her limbs, but couldn't.

"Please, just say what you have to and then go."

"As you've already pointed out, this isn't the place or the time to have our chat. I'm staying at the Savoy. I'll expect you for lunch. Dr. Ridge, I wondered when you'd make an appearance."

John's face was like thunder as he acknowledged Walker with barely a nod of his head. "Are you okay?"

"You remember Mr. Walker, John. He's very kindly made a donation to the Foundation." Skye gave John's hand a warning squeeze in the hope that he would follow her lead. The last thing she wanted was for the evening to turn into a bar room brawl.

Ridge's eyes narrowed. "Is that so? I'd say that's the least he can do. Although, I wouldn't have thought it was necessary for him to bring it in person. Never heard of bank transfers, Walker?"

"Yeah, I've heard of them, but some things are best done in person. Besides, Skye and I have a lot of catching up to do and telephones are so impersonal, don't you agree?"

"I've already told you—any business you had with Skye is finished. Now unless you want me to call security, I suggest you leave."

"What is it with you, Ridge? You always want to call for help. What were you, the playground wimp?"

Ridge's mouth tightened.

Skye stepped between them. "That's enough! People are beginning to stare. You will not ruin this evening, is that clear? I said is that clear?"

Walker thrust his hands into his pockets. He would have liked nothing better than to punch Ridge on the nose, but Skye was right. There was too much at stake, and stooping to Ridge's level wouldn't earn him any brownie points.

"John?"

"Perfectly."

Skye let out a long sigh of relief. "Good. I see that people are starting to leave. I think you should go back inside, I'll follow you in a moment."

"Only if you'll let me show him the door first." And this time, I'll make sure he gets the message that he's not welcome around here, John added silently.

"I can handle this. Now please, go back inside and see to my guests."

Ridge glared at Walker and then pointedly raised Skye's left hand to his lips and kissed it. He turned on his heels and walked back towards the ballroom.

Walker raised his eyebrow questioningly, catching her hand before she had chance to lower it to her side.

"Very touching. That's quite a rock you're wearing. I assume there's something significant behind it?"

Skye colored, all the hurt and anger she had suffered at Walker's hands came flooding back. She held her head up high, her blue eyes boldly meeting his.

"John's asked me to marry him, and I've agreed. Aren't you going to congratulate me?"

"I'll be damned if I will. You know you don't love him, not in that way." Walker bent his head, his mouth seeking hers.

No longer worried what people might think, Skye twisted in his arms, and tried to push him away. The more she struggled, the more demanding his lips became. His arms held hers tight by her side as his tongue traced the soft fullness of her lips, sending shivers of desire racing through her. Suddenly, she stopped struggling, her lips parted of their own volition and she returned his kiss.

Abruptly Walker let her go. "Don't forget Skye. Lunch. Tomorrow. Twelve-thirty at the Savoy. Don't be late, I don't want to have to come looking for you again."

Shaking and with her mouth burning with fire, Skye watched as he turned and walked away from her.

She hardly paid attention to John on the drive home, until he asked the one question that had been on her lips ever since Walker had tapped her on the shoulder.

"—how he got by security is a mystery. Without an invitation, he should have been stopped at the door. In fact, when I get into the office on Monday I shall make a formal complaint to the security company. The man's a menace! And I can't imagine why he's come here, can you? I hope you didn't give him any encouragement to stay."

"Oh, Walker. I have no idea why he's over here either." She'd done nothing but consider the reasons and implications of Walker's unexpected return. She rested her head on the cold glass of the window and tried to concentrate on what John was saying, but the combination of a little too much champagne and Walker's demanding kiss had left her mind and emotions reeling.

"Skye? Are you even listening to me? I asked if you'd given him any encouragement."

"What do you mean encouragement? If you think I rang him up and said ‘Hi! I'm throwing a party, come on over’, think again."

"Then I don't understand why he's chosen now and tonight of all nights to turn up, do you?"

"Do we have to talk about this right now? It's been a long evening and I'm tried, my feet hurt and I just want to go home."

"Skye, I'm sorry I've been a fool. I should have realized that he was the last person you wanted to discuss. So how did you get rid of him in the end?"

With a long and exhausted sigh, that she hoped would be recognized for what it was Skye turned, and faced John in the semi-darkness of the limousine.

"You know, you're right. I don't want to talk about Walker. In fact I don't want to discuss this evening at all. So quit with the questions." Whatever her feelings for Walker were, she wanted to keep them to herself.

John rambled on incessantly until the limousine came to a halt in her driveway.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather you didn't come in. It's late and we're both tired."

"Are you sure?"

Skye merely nodded.

"At least give me a goodnight kiss."

Skye hesitated, and then leaned across with the intention of kissing him on the cheek, but at the last moment John turned his head, so that her lips brushed his. She quickly moved out of his grasp before he could deepen the kiss. Suddenly the thought of John touching her was repugnant. She stepped out of the car and hurried towards her front door.

Leaned against the door for a moment, she tried to gather her strength. It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was only when her limbs stopped trembling and she felt sufficiently calm that she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She undressed in the moonlight, climbed into bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin.

Sleep was slow in coming and try as she might, she couldn't banish Walker from her thoughts. His face haunted her. Smiling, serious or thoughtful, it filled her dreams. Her last coherent thought as she drifted off was that in the space of a few hours, her life had gone from order to chaos and the man who responsible for that change, was once more back in her life.

***

Walker stood by the window of his hotel room and looked out at the lights of the City, nursing a glass of bandy in his right hand. Memories of another night in another city came flooding back—the night Skye and Ridge had located the hacker. Walker knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that what he and Skye had shared back at the cabin was real. It was something that only came around once in a lifetime. Only he'd been too stupid to see it at the time.

Seeing Ridge at the dinner hadn't surprised him at all. It was obvious that Ridge hadn't told Skye about their encounter the previous afternoon. Was Ridge that unsure of himself? And if he was, why had he boasted about their engagement? And who the hell was Laura and why was she so important?

At least he'd managed to feign surprise when Skye revealed that she had accepted Ridge's proposal. But something in her eyes when she told him, had convinced him she was saying it for effect. Yet she wore Ridge's ring. It was almost as if she wanted to hit out by telling him, and was challenging him to contradict her.

Ridge might be in love with Skye, but Walker wasn't in the least bit persuaded it was reciprocated. That's why they hadn't gone public on their engagement. Could she have been hoping that even, after all this time, he would come looking for her? Was she sleeping with Ridge? Her engagement suggested she was doing just that.

When Skye looked at Ridge, she looked at him as if he were a friend not a lover. She wasn't the type of woman to play with a doubled sided coin. She was strictly a one-man woman and whether she realized it or not, she was his.

He tossed back the last of his Scotch, undressed and got into bed.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The following morning Skye drove into town. She was unwilling to face Walker, yet was unable to stop herself from doing so. Deep down their relationship had to be resolved one way or another. But what exactly was their relationship? She had agonized over that question for the last nine hours and was still no nearer to finding an answer or at least one that she liked.

Walker had been out of her life for seven months and yet, try as she might, a day never passed without him entering her thoughts or dreams. Why couldn't he have just said what he had to last night and got it over with? And why was she driving into town to meet him, when she could have called and told him to go to hell? If he had any feelings for her, he wouldn't have waited this long to get in touch.

Skye left her car on the forecourt of the Savoy Hotel and handed the keys to the parking attendant, then entered the hotel. She spotted Walker lounging in one of chairs in the lobby. She studied his lean face. He looked relaxed despite his closed expression, and yet his presence was as compelling as it had been the first day they had met. Even now, she could feel the tangible bond between them, and couldn't tear her gaze away from him.

Walker saw Skye hovering on the edge of the lobby, obviously uncertain whether to approach him or not. He stood, and strode across the room to her. He caught her hand in his, leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

"I'm glad you came."

Shocked by the impact of his gentle grip and the brush of his lips on her cheek, Skye smiled. "If I recall, you didn't leave me much choice."

"I didn't, did I? But I am glad you’re here all the same. I hope you've no objection, but I've taken the liberty of ordering lunch in my suite." He guided her towards the bank of elevators.

Skye hung back; the thought of being alone with him was both disturbing and exciting. "Is that a good idea? Wouldn't it be more appropriate for us to eat in the main dining room?"

"Relax. All I want to do is talk to you without the risk of interruption. You have my word that I won't try anything inappropriate."

Skye hesitated, her head swirling with doubts. She’d come this far, she couldn't back out now, not without making an utter fool of herself. She stepped into the crowded elevator. Although the ride took only minutes, she was overtly conscious of the heat of Walker's body as he stood behind her in the confined space. When he casually rested his hand on her shoulder, her flesh tingled in response to his touch. It took all her will power to resist the temptation to lay her cheek against his hand.

His suite was on the top floor with fine views of the river. Two sumptuous leather sofas stood either side of the fireplace with a coffee table in between. A small dining table had been placed in front of the large windows and was laid for lunch.

Walker took a seat on the sofa facing the window, and watched as Skye wandered around the room. Gone were her fancy evening clothes of the night before. Today she'd dressed in dark trousers, a roll neck sweater and tweed jacket. Her rich auburn hair hung loose in waves framing her face. She looked pale and tired, but then he guessed that she hadn't had much sleep.

Skye took her time admiring the view. "Was it purely coincidental that you turned up last night? Or are you here for a specific reason?"

"It was no coincidence, Skye. You know full well why I'm here. The way we left things back in Seattle... you didn't give me a chance to explain. There are things that need to be said."

"I said all I had to back at the cabin."

"You don't really believe that. If you did, you wouldn't be here today. But you are, and that tells me a great deal. Don't you want to know why it's taken me so long to come after you?"

"Not really. My life doesn't revolve around you."

"No it doesn't, at least not at the moment. But it does concern me."

The implication of his words sent her pulses racing, but she couldn't allow him into her heart again.

"It shouldn't."

"There's the matter of an impending court case, for one thing. You are an expert witness, or had you forgotten?"

Skye raised her chin stubbornly. "I've already given my statement."

"I know. But, that's not sufficient."

"Says who?"

"I do. I want to ensure those responsible are put behind bars for years and the only way I can do that is if you give evidence in person."

"No way!"

"That's one of the reasons I'm here. To take you back to the States with me. I knew if the DA wrote to you, you'd find some excuse not to come or just plain ignore the letter."

"Go to hell. I am not going anywhere with you." She picked up her bag and walked towards the door. In two strides Walker had caught her and spun her round.

"Wrong again, Sweetheart. You have no choice in the matter. You either come willingly or the DA issues a subpoena. Either way you will attend or go to jail—it's your choice."

"Bullying tactics again? It's becoming a habit with you."

"Yeah, but they work, don't they?" He led her to the sofa. "The court case isn't the only reason I came. Let's stop fencing. We said some pretty harsh things to each other back in the cabin. I'm here because I wanted to see you and apologize. If you want the truth, the court case was just an excuse."

"I've told you—"

"For once, Skye, will you just listen to what I have to say?"

Skye clamped her mouth shut and waited. The tense silence between them lengthened.

Walker cleared his throat and began to tell her what happened after they had located the hacker. Skye listened first in astonishment, and then horror to his words. The colour drained from her face and she began to shake as the fearful images built in her mind

"I woke up in a hospital bed three weeks later, bandages everywhere, drips in both arms—I won't bore you with all the details. I didn't know that I'd been out of things for so long. Of course, by then you'd already left and I was in no fit state to contact you, let alone follow you. When the doctors finally gave me the all clear to travel, I booked myself on the first available flight to London. I went to your office, but your fiancé refused to let me see you. I'd read an article about the Foundation, and well, you know the rest."

"No one told me. I never knew." Tears blinded her eyes and choked her voice.

"How could you? McCabe contacted the hotel, but was told you had checked out. He had his suspicions about us, but he didn't know for sure and figured that as you were already on your way home, you wouldn't be interested in knowing."

Skye felt utterly miserable. Just thinking of Walker lying in the hospital bed for weeks on end tore at her heart. A sob rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard. She looked into his eyes, but her gaze clouded with tears.

"It was touch and go for a time, or so I'm told. But every day I lay in that hospital bed I made myself a promise. That if I ever got out of there, I would come after you."

"You're okay now, though? I mean—"

"Physically, yes."

"I'm glad."

"Are you?"

"What sort of a question is that? Of course I am." The thought of him lying alone in some hospital at deaths door, tore her in two. If only she known. She have…what would she have done? Rushed to his side? Stayed with him until he was well? "John never told me you came to the office looking for me."

"Yeah, well that doesn't surprise me. The guy's a regular Rottweiler where you're concerned. But if he had told you, would you have agreed to see me?"

"Yes. I mean no…I'm not…Oh, I don't know."

"And your engagement? It's a bit sudden, not to mention surprising. I knew the guy had the hots for you. But I got the impression that you viewed him as nothing more than a friend. What made you change your mind?"

"I have my reasons."

"Do you love him?"

"Yes, I love him." But not in the way I love you, she added silently.

"I don't believe you, Skye. I've held you in my arms. I've felt you tremble when I kiss you. I've seen the passion in your eyes when I caress you. Tell me, do Ridge's kisses and caresses make you tremble? When he makes love to you, do you ache for him as you ache for me?"

The touch of his hand on her arm was suddenly almost unbearable in its tenderness. Her cheeks flushed scarlet as her embarrassment turned to raw fury.

"Stop it! My relationship with John has nothing to do with you." But as she said the words a terrifying realization washed over her. The harder she tried to ignore the truth, the more it persisted. He knew. He knew she loved him and always would.

"You don't love Ridge and if you marry him, you'll be making the biggest mistake of your life! I guarantee you'll be bored stupid within a year. Do you want that? After all, it's a high price to pay for security. It won't be any easy life, marrying someone you don't love. I daresay you'll convince yourself it's the right thing, but as the years pass, you'll regret it. Then what will you do?"

Alarm and anger rippled along her spine. She freed herself from his gasp, her blue eyes blazing. "Stop it! Stop it! I don't want to hear anymore. You have no right to talk to me like this."

"I think I do."

"You used me. You couldn't even trust me, for God's sake!"

His voice was quiet, yet held an undertone of authority. "I'll admit for a time I didn't trust you, but as soon as I found out that I was wrong, I apologized. But I never used you. You gave yourself to me. You wanted me as much as I wanted—want you."

She knew he was telling the truth, he hadn't forced her into doing anything she didn't want, but she would die rather than admit it.

"You're just like every other man."

His eyes narrowed and hardened at her accusation. "I assume you're referring to Michael?"

Skye stared incredulous, her heart pounding. "Who told you about Michael?"

"Ridge. He seemed to think it was his duty. I guess he told me because he hoped in some perverse way, that I would be too ashamed to face you and leave. But his ploy didn't work."

All her anger drained away. The mention of Michael's name brought a twisted smile to her face.

"I should have learned my lesson the first time round, but no, I had to give myself to another bastard."

Walker flinched at her words. "I never meant for you to get hurt."

"No? At least I know John loves me, trusts me and will never hurt me, which is more than can be said of you."

"How do you know, Skye? You didn't give me a chance to put things right between us. You wouldn't even let me talk to you. Instead you left town at the first opportunity. I know I should have been honest with you from the start, but there was so much at stake that I couldn't take the risk. However, it never altered my feelings for you."

She walked to the window, and looked out at the cloudy sky. Would things have been different if she'd stayed and waited for him to return? She had accused him of not trusting her, but she hadn't trusted him either. She'd assumed he was just like Michael, another of life's takers.

Turning, she faced him. "What do you want, Walker?"

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but you've got to want it too. No half measures—it's all or nothing, I won't accept anything less."

Walker went and stood by her side. He wrapped his arms around her waist, when she didn't try to push him away his lips brushed hers.

"Come back to the States with me. Give me a chance to prove to you that what we shared at the cabin, we can have again."

Skye saw the heart rendering tenderness in his gaze and quickly turned away, wearied by indecision. It was too much to take in. She needed time to think.

When she didn’t reply Walker released her and stepped back. He chose his words carefully. "I guess my being here has come as a shock to you, what with the accident and everything. Think things through. My flight leaves Heathrow tomorrow afternoon at two. I'll see you at the airport. If not, then I hope you and Ridge have a happy life together." He kissed her cheek once more, turned away from her and walked into one of the bedrooms.

Skye picked up her purse, let herself out of the suite, and left the hotel. Too distraught to drive, she walked along the street and until she came to a coffee shop. She sat motionless at one of the small tables, completely lost in her own thoughts and impervious to the glances of staff and customers alike.

She lost track of time. Somehow she found her way back to the hotel and collected her car. It was dark when she turned into the drive of smart town house. She walked briskly up the path, and knocked sharply on the door. The music coming from within paused, and moments later the door opened. John stood in the doorway, his hair a mass of unruly curls, the faint shadow of a beard on his chin.

"I was expecting you hours ago. Do you have any idea of the time?"

"Why didn't you tell me Walker came to see you?" Skye she pushed past him into the hallway.

"You were busy with the preparations for the Foundation Dinner; it must have slipped my mind."

Skye raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, I deliberately didn't tell you. Walker had the effrontery to come to the office looking for you. But I told him to go sling his hook—that he wasn't wanted here."

"You had no right to do that. Just as you had no right to tell him we are going to be married."

"What do you mean I had no right? I'm your fiancé."

Skye stiffened and glared at him. "You're not my keeper, John, and you certainly don't get to decide who I see—now or in the future. And, as for marrying you, I don't recall accepting your proposal. I think my response at the time was I would think about it. Well, I've thought about it and I've decided that I can't marry you."

"What do you mean you can't marry me? I know you were upset by his unexpected appearance at the dinner, but there's no need to take this stance."

"I'm sorry John, but I don't love you. Not in that way. You're my friend and always will be. I told you that the night you proposed, but you wouldn't accept it. Besides, you've always been happy with your life, playing the field, not tied to one woman."

"But, Skye, I've watched and waited for you for years. I've witnessed you go through too much pain and heartache to stand by now and watch you marry someone else. Who picked up all the pieces? Whose shoulder did you cry on? Mine! I never stopped loving you, even though I knew you'd been with someone else."

"I'm grateful for all you've done for me. But this isn't about sex. It's about love. I'm sorry, but it wouldn't work. I can't love you the way you want me to. You'll end up hating me and I couldn't bear that."

"It's him isn't it? You're still in love with him. Forget him, he's no good. He'll only hurt you again. He's just like that other yank, Michael. Haven't you learned that America is a throw-away society and that includes people too?"

Skye flinched, and pressed a hand to her throat. "You've said quite enough. I won't change my mind." She opened the door and ran down the path towards her car. Visibly shaking, she fumbled to get the keys in the ignition, but mercifully the engine fired before John could lay more than a fingertip on the door handle. She gunned the engine. Her last sight of him was as he stood on the curb watching her drive away, a glazed look of defeat and utter despair spreading over his face.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Walker took his time packing, hoping against hope that Skye would somehow change her mind and come to him, but she didn't. He took the airline ticket he’d purchased for her from his wallet, screwed it into a ball and tossed it into the waste paper basket. He wouldn't need it now.

The emptiness he'd felt during the last few months was nothing compared to what he now felt. He'd made his pitch, but it hadn't been good enough. Skye had made her choice and it wasn't him. Twice he'd let her walk away, but this time he knew it was for good.

He called the lobby and had the rental car brought round to the front of the hotel. If he didn't leave soon he'd miss his flight. He paid the bill and checked out.

The events of the last twenty-four hours had left him in a foul mood and the heavy London traffic did nothing to improve it. For reasons he failed to comprehend, returning the key of his rental car became a major undertaking, requiring more paperwork than it did to buy the damned thing.

The queue at first class check-in was minimal and having completed the formalities, he checked his luggage. He walked through the terminal to the nearest bar and he ordered a large scotch on the rocks. It tasted like gall, and he pushed the glass away in disgust.

He hated commercial flights. The three-hour check-in always seemed a ridiculous waste of time, and the hours dragged more slowly than usual. Rather than going through to the departure lounge, he wandered the terminal aimlessly.

He looked at his watch for the hundredth time, until he couldn’t delay any longer. With a heavy heart, he started walking towards passport control and security screening.

***

"Hey, miss, you can't leave your car here!" The parking attendant shouted at the auburn haired woman as she abandoned her car outside the main terminal building. She didn't care whether they towed it away or not. She glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist and started running toward the glass doors.

Breathless, she pushed her way through the crowds of travellers. She scanned the listings on the departure board. There was only one flight to Seattle showing, but it had already been called. Gate thirty-seven; right at the other end of the terminal building. Even if she could bluff her way through security she would never make it in time. She started running and pushing her way through the throng of people once more.

Her lungs burned with effort as she ran the final yards towards Passport Control. The queue was longer than she’d anticipated. She stopped in dismay, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her sense of loss was beyond tears, the only things left to her were the raw sores of an aching heart. She scanned the faces, tears welling in her eyes. Hastily, she brushed them away and hurried towards the desk. There! There in front of her, head and shoulders above his fellow passengers stood a dark haired man. She wasn't sure it was him, but gathering what little breath she had left, she shouted with all her might.

Walker waited impatiently in line with his fellow passengers. There were half a dozen or so people in front of him, but he knew that time had run out. Soon he would have no alternative but to take that final step and pass through Passport Control or miss his flight.

Above the noise of the crowds, he thought he'd heard someone call his name. He turned to look, but there was no one he recognized, just the usual melee of travellers in a rush to get to their destinations. His damned imagination was playing tricks. Disappointed beyond belief, he handed his passport, along with his boarding pass, to the immigrant official and waited for clearance.

"Walker! Wait!"

There it was again, someone calling his name. He stepped out of the queue, turned and heard footsteps thundering down the hall. Looking back towards check-in, he saw her, a slim figure in an over sized red sweater running towards him.

"Skye? Skye. Oh, my God, you came."

"I couldn't let you leave. Not without telling you—" She paused to catch her breath.

He held her at arm’s length. "What is it you want to tell me?"

Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she stepped back and lifted her eyes to his. "You’re right. I don't love John. Not in that way. I lied when I told you I'd accepted his proposal."

"We can't talk here." He let her go.

"But, what about your flight?"

"There's another tomorrow and the day after that. Come on, let's go. Where’s your car?"

"It's probably been towed away by now for being illegally parked."

"Well, let's go and find out, shall we?" With her small hand held protectively in his, Walker led her through the concourse towards the exit.

An embarrassing twenty minutes later, having paid a hefty fine and received a stern talking-to, Skye drove away from the terminal building towards the airport hotel, with Walker sitting by her side.

They found a table in a quiet corner of the lounge and ordered coffee.

"Better?" Walker asked, as Skye replaced her cup on the saucer.

"Yes, thank you. I didn't intend for you to miss your plane. It was the traffic—"

"Don't worry about that now. There's something I want to ask you?"

She stirred uneasily in her chair. "Yes?"

"Who is Laura? Is she Michael's child?"

Skye's head shot up. "She has absolutely nothing to do with Michael! She's my daughter." There seemed no point in hiding the truth. "It was a long time ago—during my second year at university. I stupidly believed that her father loved me, but he obviously didn't, for he walked out of my life the day I told him about the pregnancy. I agonized over what to do, and eventually decided to have a termination only I couldn't go through with it. I started skipping lectures because of the morning sickness, and John found out. He was a post-graduate at the time, and my mentor. Without his support, I would have dropped out of university and would probably be working in the local department store now instead of running my own business."

"I see. Where is she now?"

Her faint smile held a touch of sadness. "She was adopted. I felt I had no other choice, and I have regretted it every day of my life. She will be sixteen this year."

"Which explains your closeness to Ridge and why you set up the Foundation?"

"Why should a woman be denied an education, a degree, and a career for one stupid mistake? When it became evident the tracking software was a success, I used my share of the profits from sales to set it up. It seemed only right."

"And Michael?"

"He's the one thing in my life I regret. I wish I'd never met him. He found the one and only photograph I had of Laura, and put two and two together. He accused me of lying. He kept me locked up in a hotel room for a week, and used the information to blackmail me."

Walker flinched, her admission cutting him to the core. "Which is why you ran from me, when I stupidly kept you at the cabin?"

"Yes."

Suddenly it all made sense to him. She had gone to the cabin to re-build her life after Michael. And when she'd opened her heart and soul to him, he'd thrown it in her face, sending her back to the one man she felt she could rely on—Ridge. And now she had come running after him.

"Why? Why did you come today?"

Skye took a deep breath. "I never accepted John's proposal. I said that to hurt you. I shouldn't have done. It was childish and stupid of me to lash out in that way. I wanted you to know."

Walker reached for her hand. "And that the only reason you came?"

She shook her head. "Yesterday, you told me that if I married John I would be committing myself to a loveless marriage."

"Yes, I did."

"You also said you wanted me. But wanting someone isn't the same as loving someone. And a relationship implies both."

Walker smiled. "I guess it does."

Skye was crestfallen. She snatched her hands out of his. "Then I can't come with you."

"Why ever not?"

"Because wanting me in your bed isn't enough."

He sat back, momentarily rebuffed. "Damn it, Skye. I thought…I hoped that by coming here, you'd decided you wanted to be with me."

"I do. But I guess we have different goals in life."

"I hoped that if you came back with me and we spent some time together you'd see that what we share only comes around once in a lifetime. When you were comfortable with me again, I was going to take you away for a long weekend up in the mountains, stunning scenery, log fires, romantic dinners for two, I'm sure you get the picture. I was going to ask you to stay, to spend the rest of your life with me. I had it all planned."

Skye bit her lower lip to stop it trembling.

Walker leaned forward in his chair, rested his arms on his thighs and stared at his hands. After a while he raised his head, and studied her.

"I love you, Skye. Every day I saw you, my feelings for you intensified, only I didn't realize it at first being so wrapped up in the investigation. I've loved you since that first day I saw you sat on the dock at the cabin. Once I'd held you in my arms, I couldn't bear to be away from you. I lay in the hospital, and all I could think about was you. You see, I rather thought you loved me too."

Her heart did a back flip. "You love me? I thought you just wanted me as your lover."

Walker stood and gathered her into his arms. His kiss was slow and thoughtful. Lifting his mouth from hers, he gazed into her eyes.

"I want you as my wife. As the mother of my—our children. Skye, will you marry me?"

Skye smiled. "How soon can you book another ticket?"

The smile in Walker’s eyes burned with a sensuous flame.

"Shall we go and find out?"

THE END