Lois Richer - Identity - Undercover

“A ferry hit some boats.” She moved her arm so his hand fell away. “I can’t talk to you now, Max. I’m on assignment. I’ve got to get up north.” She turned away, checked with operations at Finders, learned that flights into Ketchikan were sold out. Now what?

“Wherever you’re going, Callie, I’ll take you.”

“I’m sure you’ve got to go to work.”

“Nope.” He shook his head, his smile faintly mocking. “I sold the business, remember?”

“You sold Chambers and Son?” She could hardly believe it. “But it was the family business. It was your dream.”

He shook his head. “It was never mine. For a while I thought it was my job to keep the family business going but eventually Dad convinced me I needed to live my own dream.”

“Doing what?”

“Designing boats.” He grinned at her. “In a way I was already doing that, suggesting alterations and special orders for the clients. Now I plan it all into the original design. My design. Somebody else builds them.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” This was a side of him she’d never seen. He looked at peace about his decision, relaxed, but in a different way than he’d looked at the publicity launches of his company’s sailboats. “I—I’ve been away.”

“I know. I’ve tried to reach you a hundred times to talk to you.” His face tightened. “I didn’t expect that when you finally contacted me it would be with divorce papers.”

Trust Max to get to the root of the problem without wasting time.

“We both know it’s over. Why prolong things? I spent a lot of time thinking about us on my last assignment.” She faced him, chin thrust out, shoulders back. “I’m not what you need or want, Max. I never liked posing for the cameras, being your photo-op partner. I ruin things, spoil your image. You yourself said I was bad for business.”

He winced at the reminder.

“I was mad. That hull cost—no!” He bit his lip, shook his head. “No. I’m not doing this again, Callie. I promised myself that when I finally got to talk to you it would not be about the past. Whatever was, was. We can’t change it. I’m more interested in the future.”

“We don’t have a future. That’s why I had those papers sent.” She glanced at her watch, grimaced. “This isn’t the place nor the time. I’ve got to find some way to get out of here.”

“I told you, I’ll take you.” He pushed his hands into the pockets of his perfectly pressed khaki pants. His white shirt lay open at the throat, displaying his tanned neck. Max was always tanned. He wore his navy jacket half-zipped in that usual carelessly elegant way that suited him so well. The hesitancy she’d thought she’d glimpsed at first was gone now. Everything about him screamed self-assured confidence.

Beside him Callie felt as she always had—underdressed, out of place, a mess. “You don’t know where I’m going,” she blurted out.

“Somewhere north,” he guessed. “I always sail north in the fall. You know that. I’ll drop you wherever you need to be.”

She said nothing, silently calculating her options—which took about two seconds.

“I’ll have to okay it with Daniel,” she told him.

Maybe she could ask for a replacement while she was at it, because she did not, under any circumstances, want to be stuck for hours on end, on a sailboat with Max Chambers—even one as deluxe as his Freedom. It was too dangerous.

“Finders doesn’t like exceptions to the rules. Daniel may not go for it.”

“I think he’ll approve of this.”

Implying that Max was the exception to Daniel’s rules. Hadn’t he always been?

“Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

Callie dialed, explained the situation, then cut short Daniel’s expressions of delight that she and Max would have time to talk on the voyage north.

“I’m just accepting passage,” she told him in a whisper. “There’s nothing more to it.” She clicked the phone closed.

If Max heard her, he gave no sign, simply stood waiting, watching.

“I supposed Freedom’s berthed in the usual place?” she asked, wishing they didn’t have to waste time driving to his marina.

“Freedom’s in dry dock. Repairs,” he said, answering her question before she could ask it. He pointed to a slip several hundred feet in the opposite direction. “That’s Hope. She’s fully loaded and ready for passage, if you are. I moor her here because it’s nearer the condo.”

That condo—it had been at the core of many of their disputes. Callie wanted to ask him what had happened to the house—the beautiful house she’d once called home, but she didn’t dare. The memories were too raw.

“Is there anything you need to do before we leave?” Max asked politely as they walked toward the sparkling white craft.

“No. I’m ready to go.” She followed him to the boat, waited while he boarded, then handed over her backpack before stepping onto the glossy deck.

“Welcome aboard.”

“She’s very beautiful, Max,” she murmured, taking in the highly polished wood, the lazy loungers, a table and chairs at the bow where two could share dinner under the stars. “When did you get her?”

“She was finished a month ago.” He began preparations for casting off. “Entirely my design.”

Callie had sailed with him enough to know the procedures but she’d never been any good at figuring out what he wanted her to do next so she sat at the front and waited for instructions.

None came. He probably figured she’d mess up or worse, ruin his perfect creation. That’s what Max loved most—perfection. It was also what she’d never been able to achieve.

While she sat remembering past days she’d spent sailing with him, the boat slipped from its berth and moved out of the harbor. The motor picked up speed as they began gliding over the water, following the coastline in an in-and-out pattern that Callie didn’t understand. But she had full confidence in Max. He’d grown up exploring these waters and even though the sails on this boat remained tied down, she knew he’d be gauging the wind, the current, the tides, choosing the perfect path to get them on their way.

Suddenly she realized that she hadn’t told him their destination. Callie rose, gingerly made her way up to the captain’s deck where Max stood, the wind dragging the walnut-colored strands of his hair off his face. His joy in the day was apparent.

“We’re heading for Ketchikan,” she told him.

“I know. Daniel told me.”

She couldn’t believe it.

“I forced it out of him when I talked to him yesterday,” Max admitted. “I couldn’t take not knowing anymore.”

“Why should you know?” Anger, icy and hot at the same time, rolled through her. “This is my job. I don’t know everything about your life.”

“You could. I’d gladly tell you anything you want to know if you’d ever ask.” He stared at her, his face sad. “I followed you to Australia, Callie. But you’d already left Sydney by the time I got there and I couldn’t track you after that.”

“You followed me?” Shock held her immobile for several seconds. “Why?” she finally demanded.

“Because there are things I need to know, stuff we have to talk about.” His lips tightened to a thin, angry line at the shake of her head. “What?”

“I don’t want to talk about the past, Max. Not ever again.” She turned away but his words stopped her.

“Well I do. And for as long as I’ve got you on my boat, we’re going to talk about it. I need to know the truth, Callie. And you’re going to tell it to me. When I’m satisfied I know everything, then and only then will I send you off with those divorce papers you’re so anxious to file.”

Despite the blazing September sun and the protection of the cabin, an icy-cold breeze tap-danced over Callie’s nerves.