EDGE (32 page)

“No,” Mel said. “All he wants is his exposé.” That’s all he’d ever wanted. She rubbed at the burning in her chest. Thoughts like that weren’t supposed to hurt that much anymore. Not after spending the last few days purging him from her system.

“I believe the man really cares for you,” Linnet said.

“You don’t lie to people you care about.” Mel shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore. All I want is a good solid plan on how to get Cache off The Edge along with Jed Dawson.”

“Sergei and Cache took a hike around the place and couldn’t find any signs of anyone other than the guests,” Nicole said. “Maybe he’s gone?”

“He’s still here. Keep an eye out. I also want to know the kids’ whereabouts at all times. Be a good idea if you each carried a weapon. Nicole, do you know how to shoot?”

“Uh…no. You think Dawson will go after the kids?” Fear flared in Nicole’s eyes.

“No. He wants me.” But he might use them to get to her. “Keep bear spray on you and outfit the kids.” The time alone had Mel seeing things clearly. Everything had fallen into place. There were three days until the summer solstice. Three days until the Ascension. It was too much of a coincidence.

Jed was here to finish what his father had failed to do.

“Then we need to get you away from here,” Nicole said.

“I’m not leaving. This is my home.” Another thing she had come to grips with. Nobody was going to run her off The Edge. Not Jed. Not Cache. This was her home and she’d protect it with her last breath. “First things first. I want Cache gone. What ideas do you have?”

“Well, I could add something to his food. You know…make him sick?” Nicole’s voice rose as though she didn’t want any part of what she’d just suggested.

“Hey, not a bad idea.” Linnet smiled and glanced at Mel. “This girl is starting to fit right in.”

Never going to happen.

“Any other ideas,” Mel gritted out.

“In my opinion, you have to get him to change his mind. Make him to
want
to leave.”

“How?” Mel asked, intrigued.

“This is Alaska, honey. A land of remarkable beauty with a real bitchy side.” Linnet gave her a wicked smile. “Show him the bitch.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed.

~JAMES 1:6

“Bitch of a day to halibut fish” Sergei said, snapping the top of his rain jacket shut as he joined Mel on the beach.

She braced against the icy wind blowing her braided hair flat against her head and causing her eyes to water. This weather had teeth.

Perfect.

The sea rolled as though it wanted to vomit. Gray upon gray of seething waves, matching her mood.

“Are you sure you vant to go out in this?” Sergei asked for the third time that morning.

“Yep,” she said with a smile.

He shook his head, and she thought she heard something about “crazy American voman” as he headed down the dock to the boat banging against the boards. It was going to be a wild ride.

Everyone had chickened out of the fishing trip, except Cache. She hadn’t been available to him since she’d returned. Had literally ignored his every attempt to talk to her. She’d known he wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to join her fishing today.

She chuckled.

Today would be the day that Cache chose to leave. Abandon ship, so to speak. Damn, if he wouldn’t.

“You out to prove something, Mel?” Cache asked as he joined her, dressed the same as her and Sergei. Full rain gear, from bibs to muck boots, to oil-skinned hooded slicker, and life vest.

“Yes.” Mel looked him square in the eyes that matched the rolling sea. “You man enough?” she taunted with a raised brow.

“I’d rather talk with you in a dry warm cabin, but if this is all I’m going to get, then yes, I’m man enough.”

“We’ll see.”

A flicker of unease clouded his irises. “Mel, you don’t have to do this.”

“All I’m doing is going fishing. You’re free to do what you want.” She caught his sigh of resignation on the wind.

“You couldn’t have picked a better day?” he asked.

“The best fishing days are the nastiest.”

By the looks of that bitch of an ocean, nasty was what she promised.

Perfect.

Cache was either crazy in love or just plain crazy. What other reason explained his presence on the deck of a boat in which the ocean seemed determined to claim? Mother Nature was in one hell of a testy mood.

The boat headed out of the protective cove, fighting every wave slapping against her hull.

“Hope you swallowed seasickness pills.” Sergei grinned, pointing to the monstrous waves cresting the open waters of Kachemak Bay.

These people were certifiable to be out on this weather, Cache decided. What did that make him? He’d willingly walked himself aboard just for the chance to talk with a woman who didn’t want anything to do with him. It was official. He was nuts.

Sergei rolled with the waves, looking natural as though he were swaying to music, while Cache maintained a death grip on the rail in order to stay afoot as the deck pitched under him.

Mel, at the helm, seemed in control as ever. His chance of getting her alone wasn’t working. As it was, his stomach picked up the rhythm of the waves and rolled over itself.

Great, just what he needed, to puke in front of her. He swallowed and centered his gaze on the horizon instead of the churning ocean, hoping it would help clear the sudden nausea.

Purple, black, and gray clouds boiled together in a witch’s brew. Waves toppled one way and then the other as though they couldn’t make up their mind which direction to tumble. The boat crested one wave and then slammed down the trough of another. He had to keep his knees loose to help with the jarring, which had his leg aching in protest. The wind howled and slapped, spitting brine in his face, as it shoved and yanked in an attempt to out-man him.

No contest.

Cache shivered in his raingear. The chill in the air didn’t only come from the weather. The cold shoulder Mel had given him wouldn’t have registered on a thermometer.

The day lengthened and still they fought the ocean. Cache gave up staying on his feet and sat in one of the bolted chairs, wishing there were seatbelts so he could strap himself in. His stomach immediately pitched. He swallowed again. How far were they traveling? It’d already been over an hour, which meant that after fishing, it would be over an hour back. His stomach wasn’t going to last that long. As far as ideas went, this wasn’t one of his best.

He felt the boat power down and thanked God. Once the engines were cut, the only noise was the constant whining of the wind. The boat bounced as if the ocean didn’t care for its weight sitting upon her. Front to back. Side to side.

Why would anyone be out here fishing?

Cache looked around them and didn’t see another boat in sight. It was only the three of them out here on this vast open ocean with endless waves of angry, leaden water.

He remembered with perfect clarity what Garrett had told him.
“When Mel finds out who you really are, she’ll use you as fish bait.”

Had they traveled all the way out here for him to take a swim? No, she wouldn’t do that. Not the woman he’d come to love. Right?

“Doing okay, comrade?” Sergei asked, his brow furrowed as he studied Cache.

“Fine.” Cache choked down the uneasiness he felt. “Just fine.” He got to his unsteady feet in case he had to fight in order to stay on deck.

“Let us bait hooks then.” Sergei opened the cooler he’d carried aboard, taking the tossing of the boat in stride. The stench of dead herring had Cache staggering back as his stomach burped. He felt acid rise in his throat and swallowed once more.

Why had he helped himself to seconds of Nicole’s hash brown surprise?

Because he’d figured the halibut trip would’ve been canceled due to rough water. He should have known better with Mel calling the shots. Especially, if this trip had been planned to “accidentally” rid The Edge of him.

Mel dropped anchor and joined them. She reached for the fishing poles and handed one to Cache.

So far, so good, like they were really going fishing.

Mel’s eyes narrowed and she stared at him when he didn’t take his pole right away. Cache figured his skin pallor—obviously a greenish hue—had her gazing twice at him. He stood straighter as she continued her scrutiny, and held tighter to his stomach contents.

He’d bet she was waiting for him to call it quits. Today was no fishing trip. It wasn’t a “get rid of Cache trip” either and a small part of him felt ashamed for thinking that it might have been. It was a test of wills. Whose were the strongest? At the moment—with Mel standing on deck like a pirate reveling the pitching of the sea—he’d put money down that hers were.

“We bait our own hooks on this boat,” she said.

“I wouldn’t have expected anything else.” Cache took the fishing pole and dragged in a deep breath, holding it as Sergei offered up a nice juicy fish head, its only remaining eye glazed over. Gills hung from its severed body like bloody threads. He palmed it and slime coated his hand.

Sergei twisted the hook into the meat of the fish, and Cache followed his example. Thankfully, the fish stayed stuck. Cache reached over the edge of the boat and washed his hand in the frigid ocean.

Mel observed him as she donned gloves and baited her own hook. “Have you ever done this before?” she asked as though bored.

“I’ve fished for marlin off Cabo, but I have a feeling this will be different.” For one thing, he wasn’t going to get a tan.

“I’ve always vanted to fish Mexico. Did you catch anything?” Sergei asked.

“Nope. A friend of mine did.” Hank—who was probably looking down from Heaven laughing his ass off about now.

“Sergei, would you please instruct
Mr. Calder
about the fine art of halibut fishing?”

“
Dah
.” Sergei moved closer to Cache as Mel went to the stern of the boat.

“Halibut is bottom feeder. So bait needs to be on the bottom of ocean. When halibut come to nibble, you vill feel tug on line. Vhen this happens, jerk line. It vill imbed hook in fish’s mouth. If you do this too hard you vill rip out of mouth. Too slow, and the hook vill not set.” He gestured to Mel and lowered his voice. “Just like voman, pull too hard or too slow, and you vill lose her.”

Wise words, Cache thought, and nodded in understanding. He dropped his line into the seething ocean, the weights rappelled the bait down to the ocean floor. He stood portside with Mel starboard, and Sergei at the stern, giving enough room between them so their lines wouldn’t cross. He at least knew that much about fishing.

They fished in silence, except for the white-capped waves whacking the boat and the whistling wind. The boat continued to heave back and forth and side to side. Cache couldn’t get the rhythm and his stomach lurched. He tried to ignore it, but the feeling persisted.

Sergei gave a holler and began reeling in his line. Mel secured her pole and rushed over, grabbing the gaff hook. She reached over the edge of the boat as Sergei hollered that the fish was coming to the surface. The boat pitched and she stumbled.

“Careful!” Cache cautioned, dropping his pole.

Mel recovered as fast as she stumbled and turned to him. “Grab your pole!” His line went taut. “Don’t worry about me. Take care of yourself.”

Damned independent woman.

He grabbed his pole, instantly feeling the tug on the line. He let the fish nibble and then jerked the line. Nothing.

Now what did he do? He watched Mel and Sergei. The halibut hit the surface and with barely a fight. Mel snared it with the gaff hook, and she and Sergei pulled it into the boat. Sergei whooped a holler. Mel was efficient and quick as she went about the business of stowing the fair size halibut away in the hold.

They did a high five and grinned like silly children at each other.