Bring Him Home (8 page)

“Come to think of it, there are other stories I should tell first, but daylight hours are for pulling my weight as a trustee.” He looked at his watch. “It’s 11:00 a.m. After I’ve checked her over, how about taking me to see that engine you’ve got your eye on?”

“Eleven? I must call Adam back.” She fumbled in her jacket pocket. “Damn, I left my cell at the bach with his number. I’ll meet you there.… But you tell me that story as soon as we have a free hour, Nate, you hear me?”

“Remember to phone Jules, get her to draw something up.”

At the door, she paused. “Did you really bribe my buyers?”

“I prefer the term
incentivize.
” He repeated the words she’d said to him in L.A. “I’m not here to make your life harder.”

Claire looked at him for a long time and he tried not to flinch.

Sometimes he wondered if, like a superhero, this woman could see through walls. “Maybe we can keep Jules out of it,” she said.

Nate shook his head. “Don’t give me wiggle room. If I find something I don’t approve of, neither of us want my conscience free to kick in again.”

She smiled. “That’s the first joke I’ve heard you try to make since L.A.”

“It wasn’t a joke.” He tried not to return her smile and failed.

But it faded pretty quickly after she left and Nate took his first good look at
Heaven Sent.
Hull scoured, covered in fine dust, with a narrow canopy that only emphasized her wide bottom, she was nothing like the sleek cruisers he’d grown accustomed to in L.A.

Her charm had always lain in her price. Claire had found her on eBay under classic crafts, where all the derelicts were listed. She’d been looking at boats ever since Nate met her, and had been trying to talk Steve into buying
Heaven Sent
when they’d met one night for dinner.

Nate didn’t know much about boats other than how to board them covertly in antiterrorist drills, but Claire had made a good case for “the bargain of a lifetime.” After hearing Steve inform his wife for the twentieth time that, bargain or not, they couldn’t afford the outlay with their mortgage, he heard himself saying to Claire, “I’ll go halves with you.”

Everyone at the table stopped eating and looked at him. He shrugged. “I fancy a project, and I’ve got the money.” He lived in the SAS single men’s quarters at Rennie Lines. On leave, he helped Ross build his house and joined Dan as an extra hand on his parents’ farm when they weren’t all at Stingray Bay. He was an active relaxer and sitting around wasn’t his style.

Now Nate climbed the ladder to the deck and walked into the small wheelhouse, taking in the antiquated black switchboard and control panel, all dials and spewing wires with an on/off lever more commonly used to animate Frankenstein. Had Claire included rewiring in the upgrade? He couldn’t remember.

The small cabin belowdecks proved to be in the best shape. When they’d bought it they’d concentrated their initial efforts here so Nate could be self-sufficient on longer stays at Stingray Bay. His gaze swept beyond the tiny galley and two divans either side of a fixed table to the bespoke double bed curved into the prow.

All the soft furnishings had been swathed in plastic and every surface was thickly covered in dust. He’d fitted the galley’s countertop last time he was here. The small sink still sat on the floor waiting to be fitted next.

Nothing had changed; everything had changed.

It was a strange feeling, going through the boat, bittersweet. Like revisiting a lover, abandoned midaffair, he felt guilt, some remorse and a flutter of the old excitement. Two years since he’d last walked her deck, run his palm over the kauri railing and told her she’d soon be beautiful. He found the antifoul paint he’d bought on special stacked in a cupboard, cans of it. A bright kingfisher blue.

He was almost glad Claire had turned down his offer of his half share, except he wasn’t comfortable taking money from her, either. He wasn’t sure that they’d work that out, but currently he had more pressing concerns than
Heaven Sent
’s ownership. He reached in his jeans pocket for his cell.

The most important concern was telling his egocentric employer that his personal bodyguard wasn’t coming home tomorrow.

Zander wasn’t happy. “I have as much sympathy as the next guy, Nate, but get your priorities straight. I pay your salary and with the tour coming up, I don’t need any additional stress. Set up an electronic signature, it’s how I work with Devin.” Devin was Zander’s New Zealand–based brother and former band member.

“It’s not as simple as that. I have to suss out if the business is a starter and I can’t do that remotely. And if I skip town, I kill any chance of talking Claire out of it.”

“Hang on… That wax is too hot, you want to give me third-degree burns? Jeez, my chest looks like a friggin’ barber’s pole.… Listen, Nate, do you think you’re irreplaceable?” Zander’s ill humor with his beautician spilled into his tone.

“This is important,” Nate said patiently. “I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

“I’ve already given you three days.” Petulance crept into the famous voice. “I’m not happy, Nate. If I let you start laying down terms, then I’m setting a precedent for everyone else.”

“Tell them I haven’t taken a break in a year,” Nate suggested.

“I never thought you’d let me down over a piece of tail.”

“You’re breaking up…I’ll try…better reception.” Pissed, Nate rang off before he told the rocker to stick his head up his own tail. Everything came down to sex for Zander and explaining otherwise would be as effective as telling Hefner that some bunnies came without boobs. He wished to hell the guy would grow up, but he’d been pandered to for twenty years and wouldn’t transform into a Boy Scout anytime soon.

His employer might cool down, he might not. Shit. This was getting harder and harder. But right now his bigger concern was helping Claire. Job security was the least of Nate’s worries.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Y
OU
’
RE
RIGHT
, it’s a hulluva good price,” Nate said, reading the specs poster taped to the new diesel engine in one of Whangarei’s premier marine showrooms. Waving aside a salesman, he bent to look underneath. “Installation costs will add another thirty or forty percent to your bill, though.”

Claire’s smugness evaporated. “As much as that, why?”

“
Heaven Sent
’s existing engine beds would need to be modified.”

She stared at him in dismay. “And here I was thinking I’d covered all bases with exhaustive questions on parts availability, nautical miles per gallon and warranty.”

“All important,” he said. “But you have to look at how a new engine will work with existing components. On an old boat like ours, there’s no room to fit a larger propeller, and a lighter engine won’t generate the high torque needed to drive
Heaven Sent.
”

She dragged up her knowledge on torque. The force needed to make the propeller rotate. “I know the theory, but I’m still a novice on practical maintenance, which is why I figured buying new would be the best way to go.” Too late she realized she was giving him ammunition.

“Is that why you discounted reconditioning the Leyland 680?”

Cautiously, Claire nodded. “I need reliability, not an engine that requires coaxing.”

“The work I did on the Leyland after we purchased was Band-Aid stuff.” There was no superiority in his tone. “A professional overhaul will yield much better results. I think it’s worth getting a quote from a reconditioning specialist.”

Claire waved away another salesman. “I thought I’d nailed this.”

Nate dropped a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up, I know this stuff backward.” He and Steve had been in Mobility Troop, patrolling a thousand square kilometers of southern Afghanistan’s rugged plains and foothills. Engine maintenance was an essential part of their skill set, she recalled. It made her feel better.

She was conscious of the warmth of his palm on her shoulder, conscious of a thaw between them. “I guess you’ve saved me from making an expensive mistake.” She added grudgingly, “It almost makes up for you being such a pain in the ass about this trustee business.”

Nate removed his hand. “Hey, make me suffer, I deserve it.” There was that note in his voice again, bitter as medicine.

Why does Steve haunt you, Nate?
He wasn’t a man who confided easily, but she had a week to pry it out of him. “I won’t, but Jules may,” she cautioned as they left the store. They were meeting her in a café to sign the minicontract Jules had hastily put together after Claire’s phone call. “Lawyers dislike being given the runaround, too.”

* * *

J
ULES
WAS
ALREADY
SITTING
at a table at the busy inner-city café when they arrived. It was covered with papers, and the debris of an early lunch. Giving her a wave, Claire pushed Nate in her direction. “Go make your peace while I order. Espresso, right?”

He approached the table slowly, unsure how to greet her. With a handshake? With a hug? Lee had been one of his closest friends, but his mate’s whirlwind courtship meant Nate had met Jules only once before his death.

At the time she’d simply represented yet another in a long line of Lee’s girlfriends and her cool reserve, combined with a noisy bar, hadn’t fostered a rapport. Later, when he’d quizzed Lee about “Miss Congeniality,” he’d said, “Watch it, Wyatt. You’re talking about my future wife.”

Nate had cracked up. “You making a commitment is as delusional as Lady Gaga trying to give up makeup for Lent.”

“Much you know. I’m proposing after this deployment.”

None of the guys had taken him seriously and his unresponsiveness to their ribbing through the tour—like I’m giving you jackasses more ammo on my love life—only confirmed their view that their resident Romeo had got cold feet.

Dan found the engagement ring, packing up Lee’s personal effects, and brought it to the hospital where Nate sat with Ross in critical care. The three of them had stared at it for a long time.

“If we give it to her, it’ll only make things worse,” Ross croaked from the bed. “I say, we sell it and find a way to give the money to his family.”

“She
is
his family…or was meant to be,” Dan said. “Shit, I can’t believe we didn’t believe him. We’re idiots.” For a moment, they’d fallen silent, remembering their buddy. “I think it will be a comfort, a confirmation of how important she was to him. I say we give it to her.”

“I disagree,” Ross said. “It’s salt in the wound.” He turned his head on the pillow. “Nate, you’ve got the deciding vote.”

He’d already begun his withdrawal and shrugged. “It’s not like she can suffer any more, is it? And if it strikes her as too morbid she can always sell it.”

They gave her the ring. She’d blanched white, and then stared at them with stricken eyes. Even in his numbness, Nate was moved. There was no doubting her love for Lee. From that moment she’d been adopted by Lee’s circle. A natural loner, she’d resisted being taken into the fold, but she wasn’t given a choice. Another reason Nate had left the country. It was the only way to escape.

But he was glad she’d found somewhere to belong.

He reached the table, still undecided on a greeting. She made the decision for him by thrusting out her hand. “Hello, Jules.” He shook it, returning her polite smile. They could have been strangers meeting, instead of two people inextricably bound by a common tragedy. But his move to the States immediately after the memorial service meant they were strangers and God knows his indifference since had done nothing to endear him to her.

“Well, we haven’t seen you for a while, but you’re certainly making your presence felt now, aren’t you?” she said pleasantly as they took their seats.

“I’ve been ignoring your lawyer’s letters for what…over a year? Feel free to call me an asshole.”

She gave him an assessing look, then dropped her gaze to the papers in front of her. “As Claire’s lawyer, it’s important to retain an impartial professionalism.”

“Let’s step outside that magic circle a moment.”

Her gaze lifted. “You’re an asshole.”

“The facts point to it,” he agreed.

Jules waved reassurance to Claire, who was watching them anxiously from the line at the counter. “She’s wasted a hell of a lot of money over that period trying to get you to fulfill your role as trustee,” she said through a big smile. “You might want to think about reimbursing. I kept records.”

“I was going to ask about that.”

“Uh-huh.” She looked skeptical. “This better not be another way of messing her around.”

“All I want is a week to assess the risks. Steve was my best friend and it’s time I did right by his wife and son.”

“She said this was your idea?” Her tone less hostile, Jules waved the new contract.

“The final decision on selling the house has to be hers.”

“Okay then,” she said grudgingly, and handed him a pen. He resisted the urge to touch the rock on her finger, like some kind of talisman.

“How are you, Jules?” he said awkwardly. Last time he’d seen her, she’d been a frozen figure at the memorial service. She’d let him hug her then.

“Fine,” she said shortly. There was a brief silence. “You?”

“Fine,” he replied in kind.

Both of them looked instinctively toward Claire for rescue, noticed and pretended not to. God, this was uncomfortable. Nate thought he’d learned to talk to anybody working for Zander, but somehow small talk failed him.

Jules cleared her throat. “So,” she said. “Zander Freedman.”

It was so unexpected Nate laughed. “You’re kidding.”

She smiled sheepishly. “The crushes you have when you’re thirteen tend to stay with you.”

It also explained her attraction to Lee. She liked the wild ones. “If I’ve still got a job, I’ll get him to autograph a picture.”

“Has staying longer put your job under threat?”

“Keep your voice down.” Nate glanced at Claire; she was at the cashier. “He’s still learning to share his toys…he’ll come round.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll pimp my services somewhere else.”

“Who’s pimping what?” Claire said behind him.

Jules didn’t miss a beat. “Nate is my pimp for Zander Freedman’s autograph,” she said. “Tell him to make the inscription tasteful,” she told Nate. “Something like, ‘Juliet Browne, you were the best I ever had.’” She proffered her pen. “Maybe you should write that down.”

“I think I can commit that one to memory.” For the first time Nate understood Lee’s attraction to this woman. He’d never know where he was with her.

Claire put down the tray. “Don’t tell her Zander hugged me,” she advised Nate. “She’ll never get over it.”

“Wait, you met him and haven’t told me? My God, our friendship is hanging by a thread! Unless that éclair’s for me.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Claire handed it over, along with another coffee. “Now I’m stuck with your oatmeal slice. Nate, I got you a sausage roll for Kiwi nostalgia.”

Instinctively his eyes met Jules’s. Lee had been a sausage-roll connoisseur, but maybe she hadn’t had time to discover that. Judging by the way she was biting her lip, she had. He spoke to mitigate the grief. “Did you know Lee’s sister used to post sausage rolls to Afghanistan?”

“No,” she rallied. “That’s impossible.”

“They’d arrive all vacuum packed. He could have sold them a dozen times over, but he never did—even his buddies only got one. The rest he inhaled. It was probably the oddest thing that got posted.”

Jules hesitated, and then reached in her handbag. “Speaking of posting…” She pulled out a colored envelope and slid it across the table. “I was too annoyed to send it,” she confessed. “But even though I’m not a superstitious person I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out. Happy belated birthday.”

He accepted it because he didn’t want to hurt her, and then realized this was an opportunity. “Do you know how this birthday card tradition started?” he said.

“No, tell me.”

“I don’t have family,” he explained. “Our first tour everyone was getting mail except me. It didn’t bother me, I was used to it. But on my birthday I got a card from Claire and baby Lewis, from Ross’s brother, Dan’s sisters and parents, from Lee’s family. Most of these people I hadn’t even met.”

“Steve mentioned it in a phone call,” Claire said. “It wasn’t hard to coordinate.”

He looked at her, startled. “It was you? I always thought Steve had organized it.” He added softly, “Hey, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I still get cards,” he told Jules.

“Because you wrote back,” Claire said. “We were all surprised by that.”

“The guys told me I had to,” he admitted. “I didn’t know any different.” They all laughed.

He hadn’t replied last year and still got cards from everyone this one. Forcing himself to open Jules’s card, Nate read the standard message carefully, then smiled at his dead mate’s fiancée. “Thanks,” he said. And meant it.

* * *

“O
KAY
,
ENOUGH
HEDGING
,” Claire said. “Tell me something I don’t know about my husband.”

Reluctantly, Nate put down the report he’d said he wanted to finish.

It was late evening and he’d been reviewing all the quotes Claire had collected on the boat upgrade while she sat opposite on her laptop, tweaking the website for the new business.

“Nice design.” He bought time by glancing at the screen. Marketing wasn’t his area of expertise, but he appreciated how she’d integrated the theme colors—teal and navy—into the site. “It’s not active, though, is it?”

“It will be as soon as I’m sure of making the proposed launch date.”

He frowned. “You’re not even pretending to keep an open mind.”

“Or maybe I’m supremely confident you’ll come to support this project the way I do,” she countered. “Because of your open mind.”

Such a smart woman.

He looked down at the report. She’d negotiated some great deals, no question.

“If you’ve had second thoughts,” she said, “about talking about Steve…”

“Steve once committed credit-card fraud,” he said, feeling the first lash of memory and ignoring it. He’d decided he could manage this by being selective about the stories he recounted.

She blinked at him over her laptop, the screen light giving her face an angel’s glow. “I don’t believe it.”

“Shut that thing down and I’ll tell you.” He’d already suggested she get an early night—she’d been yawning ever since dinner—but although she kept saying, “Great idea,” she hadn’t moved.

“Blackmail,” she complained, but closed the lid and stretched in her chair, looking at him expectantly. It would take a while to go through the reports and assess Claire’s state of mind, so he’d said the incident in which Steve nearly got the unit killed needed to come chronologically. That was bullshit.

He couldn’t tell that story. If the ambush was a fire, that story involved sitting close enough to have your eyebrows singed. On the other hand, Claire wasn’t going to be a soft sell. Nate needed to work out how to present his mate in the best light, with the least collateral damage.

Why hadn’t Steve told the guys about his deal with Claire?

“First I knew of it was when I received a letter from some kid in Indonesia thanking me for becoming his Child Fund sponsor,” he began. “Steve admitted he’d stolen my credit-card details and signed me up.”

Another lash, through flesh to bone. Revisiting the good times only accentuated what he’d lost.

Claire’s eyes brightened with amusement. “Why would he do such a thing?”

“We’d been talking about him being married so young. I was pretty feral then—a hard-ass who mocked what he couldn’t understand. I’d said something on the lines of, ‘Who needs a dependent? I’d hate someone leaning on me, tying me down and cramping my style.’”

She was still smiling, but the expression was fixed.

Closing the report, Nate sat back. If he focused on orchestrating Claire’s reactions, his own became bearable. “When I asked him what the hell he was doing forging my signature on a World Vision application, Steve said I needed to lose the chip on my shoulder and understand that mine wasn’t the only sad story in the world. That he and the other guys relied on me for their lives and I needed to start caring about someone other than myself. I lost my temper, told him to keep his preachiness for the little wife who I was sure obeyed his every command.”