Last Call Read Free Page B

have sworn she laughed; his heart,
indifferent to the possible snub, sang as she snuggled
closer.
    The third boat from the end offered the
solution he sought on the docks. The deck was in such poor shape
there was no way anyone made regular use of it; rather, the boat
seemed to have become a dumping ground for rusted engine parts.
Further indicating abandonment was a pile of sticks and debris
formed what looked to be a nest on the flybridge above the cabin.
With the engine in pieces Nick felt safe in assuming — storm or no
storm — no one would be taking the boat out in the morning. Now he
just had to get Rhys on board.
    "What hurts?" he asked.
    She looked up, her eyes — the deep blue of a
troubled ocean — cutting right through him. Then they drifted to
his mouth, and…
    "Shoulder," she whispered.
    His grip tightened on the shirt he loaned her.
He prayed the move would keep his hands busy — too busy to smooth
errant strands of her hair whipping in the wind. "Anything
else?"
    "I can get on the boat, Nick." Her tone
chastised.
    Even with her voice weak, he knew better than
to argue. Besides, if he had to fish her out of the water he'd
consider his point readily made.
    Almost smiling, he dropped one foot over the
railing and dragged the vessel as close to the dock as the moorings
allowed. He stood straddling the inky water until he'd helped Rhys
step over the side. Once she made it on board, he dropped from his
perch and bumped against her when a gust of wind threw him off
balance.
    Rhys grabbed his arm, dragging him into full
body contact. In the split second it took to steady her touch had
him on fire. He froze, drinking in the startling shade of blue
behind her appraising stare. Emotions he'd spent a lot of months
trying to bury rallied, setting him back a few years in the whole
getting-over-Rhys department.
    Falling headfirst into the frigid water would
have been less excruciating.
    A blast of icy wind brought him back to his
senses. "Let me see if I can get us inside," he said. His hand
shook when he settled her against the cabin, out of the wind and
away from prying eyes.
    She watched as he worked the lock. Her
attention flustered him, but in spite of the distraction he made
quick work of the job with his pocket knife. He pushed open the
door, then took a step inside and waited for his eyes to adjust.
The small cabin wasn't in great repair, but it was empty and dry.
Given they had little choice, he'd take it.
    Nick turned to help Rhys inside and, unaware
she'd followed him, ran right into her. This time it was he who
steadied her, guiding her to a seat at the small dinette. He closed
the door on the shrill wind, then sat across from her.
    Talk about hellfire awkward.
    Sorry about that whole shooting
thing.
    I shouldn't have left without
saying goodbye.
    I haven't stopped thinking about
you since the day we met.
    Not surprisingly, none of those options felt
right. But months of wanting to be with her had landed in an
ungainly pile at his feet; even with all his rehearsing, he
remained unprepared for Rhys — as beautiful as she'd ever been,
sporting yet another bullet wound and glaring at him over a crooked
dinette in a storm-tossed fishing boat.
    God, he wanted to put his arms around her.
Nothing and everything had changed in the past eight months. He'd
thought he could walk away before. Now… he didn't see how he would
ever walk away from her again. But he'd have no choice.
    For all his uncertainty, she didn't seem to
share his stroll down memory lane. Her pinched, pale expression
spoke of wariness and pain, and he'd caused her enough of
that.
    Nick cleared his throat. "I won't
mince words. The late news reported your… death . A few hours later, I get a
call on an unlisted number to a throwaway phone. The caller said he
knew something about my girlfriend—" To that, she lifted an
eyebrow. "—and asked me to meet him down here. And that's where I
found you. Can we work on filling in a few blanks here? Are you