Uncharted Waters (20 page)

Drew listened with only half an ear as he set the tomatoes aside and turned to stir the spaghetti sauce on the stove. The other half of his mind was focused on the sound of water running in the shower down the hall and Alison.

He couldn't believe some lowlife son of a bitch had hurt her. The thought of anyone laying a hand on her made his blood boil. She was a gentle person with a kind heart and didn't deserve to be knocked around.

“Something smells great.”

He glanced over his shoulder to see her enter the kitchen, and his heart stumbled in his chest. The loose-fitting shorts and a scoop-neck T-shirt shouldn't have been sexy, but they were. She could be wearing a burlap bag and still look sexy as hell. His eyes ran the length of her, and a sharp tug of attraction hit him low in the gut. Then he spotted the abrasions and shuddered inside. Both knees looked as if someone had taken a grater to them. He remembered how soft her skin was
and felt a surge of rage at the thought of someone brutalizing her.

“Drew and me are fixing spaghetti!” Kevin said with his usual exuberance. “I got to make the salad, Mommy. Do you want some?”

She came up behind Kevin, put her arms around him and gave him a noisy kiss on the cheek. “That's ‘Drew and I,' honey. And, yes, I would very much like some salad.”

“Good, 'cause we fixed a lot, Mommy. Drew said you had a hard day and were going to be extra hungry.” The little boy glanced down at her knees and his smile fell. “Mommy, that musta really hurt when you fell down.”

Trying to make light of Kevin's suddenly serious tone, Alison leaned forward and touched her nose to his. “It looks worse than what it is, honey.”

Drew stepped away from the stove and his gaze met Alison's. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She smiled tentatively, and he thought he'd never seen a woman look quite so beautiful. “Can I do something to help?”

“I think we can handle dinner.” He nudged Kevin with his elbow. “Think we can handle dinner, sprout?”

“Yeah! I'm almost finished with the salad.”

Turning away from them, Drew opened a package of spaghetti and dumped it into boiling water. “Kev, how about if you set out the napkins, then go wash your face and hands?”

“Do I gotta wash?”

Drew shot him a stern look, and Kevin didn't push it.

For several minutes, the three of them worked as a team. Alison took out a bottle of merlot and proceeded
to remove the cork. Kevin folded paper napkins and carefully arranged the silverware on top. Drew dumped steaming pasta into a colander. To an outsider, the scene might have looked like a family preparing their dinner. To Drew, the undercurrent of tension was palpable.

“Okay, kiddo, into the bathroom to wash your face and hands,” Alison said.

“Aw, Mommy...”

“Now,” Drew said firmly.

Huffing his displeasure, Kevin rushed to the bathroom.

“Would you like a glass of merlot?” Alison asked.

“Sure,” he said, “and then I want you to have a seat so I can see to those knees.”

“They're only minor scrapes, Drew. I think I'll live.”

“Hey, I'm an EMT, remember? I'm bound by an oath to render aid.” He tilted his head and caught her gaze. “Where's your first-aid kit?”

She frowned good-naturedly. “In the small bathroom off the hall.”

“Don't go away. I'll be right back.” Drew walked into the guest bathroom and found the small kit in the cabinet above the commode. Back in the kitchen, he set it down on the table and motioned toward a chair. “Have a seat.”

Taking her glass of wine with her, Alison gingerly lowered herself into the chair.

“Sore?”

“A little.” She looked down at her knees and frowned. “They look worse than they really are.”

Kneeling before her, he opened the kit and studied
the abrasions. “It looks like there's some gravel imbedded in the skin.”

He tried hard to keep his mind on the business at hand as he reached for the peroxide and gauze and set both on the floor next to him. But when it came time to touch her, his concentration faltered. As an EMT, Drew had administered first aid to hundreds of people over the years. He'd always considered himself a professional, never allowing his emotions or something as banal as his libido to interfere with his work. But one look at the satin flesh of her thighs and suddenly he didn't feel very professional at all. He felt more like an insecure teenager about to face the most popular girl in school.

Annoyed with himself, he gently wrapped his hand around the back of her calf and set her foot on his thigh. Without looking at her, he saturated a cotton ball with peroxide and dabbed it against the abrasion.

“It's going to sting a little when I scrub,” he said.

“Scrub away. I can take it.”

Being as gentle as he could, he scrubbed gently to loosen several tiny flecks of gravel. Alison didn't make a sound, but he could tell from the way she stiffened that he was hurting her. “Sorry. But I don't want it getting infected.”

“It's okay.”

He removed a tube of antibiotic ointment and rubbed a small amount over the wound. “This will do best without a bandage. Next knee, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Alison put her other foot on his thigh.

Drew looked down at the abrasions on her knee and felt a hot flash of temper that someone had subjected her to violence. Then a quick stab of fear at the thought
of how much worse things could have turned out. “Did you get a look at the guy?”

“Just a vague impression mostly. It happened so fast.” She sipped the wine. “He had dark hair. Tall. He was kind of scruffy looking. I thought he was a dockworker.”

“Uniform? Jacket. Anything with a logo?”

She shook her head.

“What about a vehicle?”

“It was raining pretty hard. Visibility was bad. I was pretty shaken up.” She lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “The police asked all the same questions. I wish I'd been able to answer, but I just didn't have the presence of mind to notice details.”

“I want the son of a bitch caught.”

“So do I,” she said and shivered.

* * *

Alison tucked Kevin into bed at just before nine o'clock after a big spaghetti dinner, a few fish stories and two games of Candy Land. He'd argued with the fervor of a wrongly accused angel when she announced it was his bedtime. But after trying several creative maneuvers to escape the dreaded march to his bedroom, he climbed into bed. She had barely finished reading him his usual bedtime story when he fell asleep.

For several minutes she sat on the bed, watching him sleep and trying very hard not to think about the man who'd assaulted her and all the terrible scenarios that could have played out.

“Good night, sweetheart,” she whispered and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. Leaving his Spider-Man night-light on, she made her way to the living room and found Drew on the sofa looking a little
uncomfortable and a lot out of place. He glanced up when she entered, and her heart did an odd little jig behind her breastbone.

“Is he asleep?” he asked.

“Went out like a light,” she said, trying to ignore her suddenly damp palms.

“I took the liberty of pouring wine.” He motioned toward the two glasses on the coffee table in front of him. “I hope that's okay.”

She thought about the man who'd struck her and grimaced. “I have a feeling I'm going to need it.”

“Probably.” His gaze skimmed down the front of her, pausing on her skinned knees. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Headachy and still half scared out of her wits would have been closer to the truth, but considering his protective attitude, she figured it would be best if she didn't elaborate. Noticing that the glasses were situated at opposite sides of the coffee table, she took her place on the love seat across from him. “Okay,” she said. “I've been waiting for an explanation all evening. So spill it.”

He picked up his glass and swirled the wine. “What happened to you today probably wasn't a random act of violence.”

The hairs at her nape prickled. “How do you know that?”

“I don't. I mean, not definitively, anyway.” Sighing heavily, he leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and gave her a direct look. “But Seth and I have our suspicions.”

Alison stared back, mentally bracing, knowing she wasn't going to like what he said next.

“Evans Yachts has been contracted to design and build a top-secret submarine for the Navy,” he said.

She felt her eyes widen. “A submarine? What's that got to do with—”

“It's not just any sub, Alison. It's a prototype of a radical new Stingray submarine. And the U.S. Navy isn't the only agency that wants the plans.”

“You think the man who took my briefcase was after the plans?” She laughed, but heard the fear in her voice. “That's crazy. I was just taking home some filing. Nothing important. Why would anyone think I had access to anything even remotely important?”

“The only thing I can think of is that you used to work for the Defense Department.”

She thought about it for a moment. “I didn't hold a high position. I didn't even have a high security clearance.”

“Maybe the people who want those plans don't know that. Maybe they don't know what kind of position you held. Maybe their intel is limited. Maybe they're desperate.”

“My God.” She tried to digest everything he was telling her, but the story was so inconceivable, she couldn't get past the submarine part.

“Look, I know it sounds incredible, Alison, but these people are dangerous. They mean business.”

Not for the first time that evening, the image of the man lunging at her flashed in her mind's eye. The stark terror of the moment had paralyzed her. The shock of pain. The realization of how vulnerable she'd been lying there, incapacitated.

She reached for her wine, hoping Drew didn't notice that her hand was shaking. “Who's after the plans? Who's responsible for what happened to me?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, hesitated. “We're not sure.”

“You have a pretty good idea or you wouldn't be sitting there looking like you'd rather chop off your own finger than answer my question.”

“You've heard of Bruno DeBruzkya?”

“DeBruzkya? The dictator in Rebelia?”

He nodded.

“Of course, I'm familiar with the name. I've heard it on the news dozens of times in recent months. He's a warmonger. He's brutal and unpredictable—”

“He wants the plans for that sub. We think this is the second time the bastard has tried to get to them.”

She considered it for a moment. “The first time was the explosion?”

“Seth was the target. Someone had planted a bomb on board one of his boats, a catamaran called
Strictly Business.
He and his wife, Emma, were nearly killed.”

“I remember hearing about it. The media called it an accident.”

“We don't have any proof DeBruzkya or his henchmen are responsible.”

“So the police never made an arrest.”

He nodded. “DeBruzkya doesn't care who gets hurt, Alison. He's crazy and dangerous and wants the plans for the sub at any cost. He's building up his navy now that Holzberg is under his control. He's no longer landlocked and wants this sub in his fleet.”

“My God.”

Drew shook his head. “Seth never should have offered you the job.”

“This isn't Seth's fault. All he did was mention the job in passing, and I jumped on it. I pressured him.”
When he didn't look convinced, she added, “Come on, you know I can be persistent.”

“He had no right to involve you.”

Ignoring him, she continued to make her case. “Seth told me things had settled down. He said he couldn't go into specifics as far as why, but he'd hired extra security.”

“All that extra security sure had a huge impact on the thug who just about took off your head, didn't it?”

Alison leaned back on the sofa, her mind reeling with everything he'd told her. She thought about how this would affect her life, how it would affect Kevin's life, and the fear she'd felt earlier began to transform into anger. She'd worked hard to give her son the security he deserved. To have someone threaten that security infuriated her.

“I can't go back to Evans Yachts,” she said after a moment. “I have Kevin to think of. I won't risk his emotional security.”

“Or his safety.”

The thought of her precious son being in danger made her feel nauseated. “Maybe we should just go to San Diego right away.”

His gaze burned into hers. “I don't want you out of my sight.”

“Drew...”

“I mean it, Alison. At least until things quiet down.”

She stared at him, unsettled and angry and suddenly very frightened. “Look, if this DeBruzkya nut is only after the plans to the sub, and I no longer work for Evans Yachts, I don't see how that could put me in danger.”

“Maybe it doesn't, but I'm not willing to risk his
going after you when you're almost three thousand miles away and I can't keep you safe.”

“Surely you don't expect me to put my life on hold until—”

“That's exactly what I expect you to do.”

“The decision isn't yours, Drew.”

“I know that,” he growled. “But you know I'm right.”

Needing to move, needing a few moments to think things through so she could figure out how to handle this, she rose abruptly and walked to the kitchen where she checked the bolt lock on the back door. She heard Drew behind her, but she didn't look at him and she didn't stop. She could feel a firestorm of anger building inside her. Damn it, she didn't need this. She and Kevin had enough to deal with just going about their daily lives. She didn't have time to worry about maniacs trying to hurt her.