The Dangerous Protector Read online

Karen slid Willow’s laptop over to the center of the desk and turned it on. She pushed back her chair and reached under the desk, unplugged the network cable from the desktop computer, plugged it into the laptop, then started punching keys on the small keyboard.

  “There,” Karen said, “good old DEP is diligent about backing up their files. Both of the missing ones are there.” She swiveled her chair to face Willow. “They’re downloading now.”

  “My God, I’m going to get you three personal days off,” Willow told her. “Thanks, Karen. You’re the best co-conspirator a lawyer could hope to do business with.”

  Karen stood up with a snort. “I don’t like the sound of that. The secretary is always the one to go to jail, while the boss usually gets off scot-free.” She stepped around the desk and headed back to her own office, but stopped in the doorway and pointed at Willow. “I’m going to sing like a canary, and you’re going to be in the cell right next to me.”

  “On what charge?” Willow asked, lifting one brow.

  “Interoffice espionage.”

  Willow waved that away with a laugh and sat down at her desk. “I’m sure we can find a good lawyer around here somewhere who can get us off with only parole and a few hours of community service.”

  “My luck, my service will be picking up trash on the State House lawn,” Karen muttered as she disappeared around the wall to her own desk.

  Willow moved her laptop out of the way and found her well-test papers again. She glanced at them, then at her watch, and sighed. It was ten o’clock on Thursday morning. She had a little over twenty-four hours before she was out of here, and she had about two days’ worth of work to finish before her impromptu vacation started.

  Or should she say her forced vacation?

  Well, it was a blessing, really, and would give her all of next week to snoop around Thunder Island. Karen would be here in the office, slaving away, and Willow could call if she needed any more information. Yeah, it was a good plan, actually.

  And a great chance to start an affair.

  The storm Duncan had said was coming hit just before midnight on Thursday, pelting Willow’s apartment windows with wind-driven rain, making for an emotionally turbulent night’s sleep. Visions of spies crawling like spiders around her living room danced through her dreams, and by 5:00 A.M. Friday, Willow finally quit tossing and turning and got up. By six thirty she was sitting at her office desk, and by nine o’clock she was beginning to realize she might actually be able to leave for Orono by noon.

  Willow glanced down at her rain-splattered briefcase. Her laptop was the only safe place to hide her expanding accumulation of research. She and Karen had copied various articles on pesticide poisoning in marine life they’d found on the Internet, the two missing files were safely in there as well, and late yesterday afternoon a fax from Jane Huntley on her preliminary findings had been sent directly to the laptop instead of the office fax machine.

  Even though Karen had given all the research files weird names that had nothing to do with anything, she had still been worried the laptop might become their mysterious spy’s next target. Karen had repeated her concern again last evening when she’d left the office for the day, but Willow had assured her that a moving target was hard to hit. As long as she kept the laptop with her, their secret was safe.

  Karen finally walked into work at nine thirty, looking like a drowned rat. “What happened to you?” Willow asked, watching as her scowling secretary ran her fingers through her short, wet blond hair.

  “The wind tore my umbrella out of my hands,” Karen muttered, plopping down in one of the chairs across from Willow’s desk. “And the buses are running late, so I had to stand in the rain with a newspaper over my head.”

  “So that’s ink on your face and not mascara?” Willow asked, pointing at Karen’s cheek.

  Karen rubbed her face with the back of her hand. “I tried getting into the bathroom, but the carpenters are still there.” She looked around the office, then brought her gaze back to Willow. “Any visitors last night?”

  Willow shook her head. “My computer started up just fine, and the strand of my hair I left in my office door was still there this morning.”

  Karen’s eyes widened. “You put a strand of hair in your door?” she asked, breaking into a broad smile. “How inventive.”

  “It’s a trick I learned in my junior year of college,” Willow told her. “We had a guy in our dorm who kept sneaking into women’s rooms and stealing panties, and I wanted to make sure he hadn’t pawed through mine.”

  “Wow. Did they catch him?”

  “Eventually,” Willow said with a nod. “Red-handed. Or should I say red-faced?”

  Karen stood up, reached into her trouser pocket, and pulled out a small key chain that didn’t have any keys on it. “Here,” she said, handing it to Willow. “This is a jump drive that plugs directly into the USB port on your laptop. I backed up all the files we downloaded yesterday onto it, including Jane Huntley’s fax.”

  “When did you do this?” Willow asked, taking the key chain and turning it over in her hand. She wiggled the cap off, saw where it plugged into a USB port, and put the cap back on.

  “I did it yesterday before I left. But then I took it home, went on the Internet again, and found more articles to download. It seems one of the board members of Kingston Corporation made the news six or seven years back, before Kingston was even formed, and the New York Times ran an article on him. It’s all in there,” she said, nodding at Willow’s hand. “Put it in your purse or someplace inconspicuous. Just don’t keep it with your laptop. That way if your computer gets stolen, you’ll still have your research.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Willow said, turning it over in her hand again. She looked up at Karen. “This tiny thing has all those files in it?”

  “And it’s not even a quarter full,” Karen assured her, turning to walk out of the office. She stopped in the doorway. “It’s password protected. I used the month I was born in.” She smiled. “You remember when my birthday is, don’t you, boss?”

  Willow narrowed her eyes at her. “I have twelve chances to get it right.”

  Karen laughed and disappeared around the wall to her desk. Willow stared at the device in her hand that was no bigger than a pack of chewing gum. A jump drive, Karen had called it. “Sweet,” Willow said, leaning over and dropping the drive into her purse. “I’ll hide you someplace safe later,” she told it.

  With that taken care of, Willow returned to reading the complaint on behalf of several citizens in a small northern town she needed to file with the courts before she left. Some wells had been contaminated by road salt that had been stored not in a salt shed, as it should have been, but in a huge outdoor pile that had allowed the salt to leach into the ground. All the affected people were asking for was to have the town provide them with safe drinking water. Willow checked the document to make sure she’d dotted every i and crossed every t, so Karen could run it over to the courthouse this afternoon.

  She’d have to remember to leave Karen her umbrella.

  It was half past noon when Willow finally stepped out of her office and stopped by Karen’s desk. “I’m off,” she told Karen, handing her the court document. “Get this in by three and then you might as well head home from the courthouse, so you’ll have plenty of time to get ready for your big date tonight.” She gave her secretary a crooked smile as Karen took the large envelope from her. “And don’t do anything tonight that I wouldn’t do.”

  Karen snorted. “You mean, like, don’t scare him off on the first date?” she asked as she reached into the top drawer of her desk. “Here,” she said, handing Willow a coiled cord. “This will hook your laptop up to your cell phone so I can send you files while you’re out on your boat.”

  “Schooner,” Willow corrected, taking the cord and stuffing it in a pocket on her briefcase. “If you call it a boat, Ahab will throw you overboard.”

  “Ahab?” Karen choked, her eyes wi
dening.

  “He’s the captain of the Seven-to-Two Odds. His real name is Jonathan French, but Mikaela renamed him Ahab after somebody read her Moby Dick.”

  “Speaking of Mikaela, how are the hellions, anyway?” Karen asked, smiling warmly. “Nicholas must be walking by now.”

  Rachel and the two hellions had visited Willow at the office more than once in the last couple of years, and Karen, whose own two kids were away at college, had doted on Mikaela and Nicholas as if they were God’s gift to the world. “He’s not only walking, he’s running everywhere,” Willow told her. “And Mickey is the only one who can keep up with him.”

  Karen shook her head. “I’d like to meet that wolf someday. Mikaela talks about him as if he’s human.”

  “To her he is,” Willow said. “Well, I’m off. If anything comes up, call my cell phone.”

  “Not unless it’s about what you’re working on now,” she said, nodding toward Willow’s briefcase. “Everything else can keep until you get back. You’re on vacation, remember? Oh,” she said when Willow turned to leave. “This was just delivered.” She handed Willow the package on her desk, label side up. “From Victoria Secret. It feels rather…skimpy,” she added in a sultry voice that was ruined by her cheeky grin. “Please, do something next week that I wouldn’t do,” she pleaded, twisting Willow’s earlier words. “And bring back pictures.”

  Willow tucked the package under her arm and lifted a brow. “Of Duncan?” she asked.

  Karen blinked. “I was thinking of your sailing vacation, but you can include pictures of him if you want. And maybe of his brother, if he’s around.”

  With a laugh and final wave, Willow finally headed down the hall to the side door of the building. She opened it, only to step back as a gust of wind pelted her trench coat with rain. She steeled herself and finally rushed into the storm—propelled forward by the thought of Duncan waiting for her in Puffin Harbor.

  Chapter Nine

  Willow automatically turned left at the light in Ellsworth, following Route 1 farther down east toward Puffin Harbor. While staying focused on driving through the still raging storm, she replayed the more interesting parts of her conversation with Jane Huntley. When she had called Jane this morning, they had agreed to meet at Pat’s Pizza in Orono rather than at the lab. And while eating pizza and sharing a few beers, Jane had given Willow instructions on how to take the water samples and use the remote underwater camera she was lending her.

  They had also caught up on their friendship, and time had flown by faster than Willow realized. Between the two beers she’d had during the four-hour visit, and the droning, rhythmic swipes of the wiper blades trying to keep her windshield clear, Willow felt the fatigue of her work-packed week finally catching up with her. Her dashboard clock read seven thirty, and with the storm firmly entrenched overhead, it was already starting to get dark. But she should be home in half an hour, just as she’d told Rachel when she had phoned from Orono to say she was on her way.

  Again, it appeared her affair with Duncan would have to wait. Even Mother Nature seemed determined to conspire against them, making it impossible for them to sail out tonight. The radio weatherman said the nor’easter was stalled in the Gulf of Maine, apparently in no hurry to head out to sea past Nova Scotia.

  Great, Willow thought, turning off Route 1 and onto the narrow road that hugged the coastline to Puffin Harbor. They’d likely be stuck in port until Sunday now.

  Which gave her two nights of being able to read bedtime stories to Mikaela and Nick in person, she realized. That was a plus. So was being able to spend some time with her sister. What with Rachel having two children, a husband, and a rather booming architectural career, and with Willow’s own demanding work schedule, they hadn’t had much of a chance to simply sit around and do nothing together.

  Maybe Kee would babysit tonight, and Rachel and Willow could have a girls’ night out at The Rosach. But she was drinking soda, Willow decided, not only in deference to Rachel’s pregnancy, but because another beer would likely put her to sleep.

  Her cell phone rang, and Willow pulled it out of her purse. “I’m almost home,” she said in way of answering.

  “That sounds promising,” Duncan returned.

  “Duncan. I thought you were Rachel.”

  “Aye, I gathered as much. So ya’re nearly into town?”

  “Just passing Walker Point. It doesn’t look like we’ll be sailing tonight, does it?”

  “Aye. Nor tomorrow, unless the sea settles down by the afternoon. Rachel said ya have all of next week off.”

  “Thanks to you, Dunky. John Pike made me go on vacation.”

  Duncan’s chuckle came over the phone. “Then my trip to Augusta was not in vain. Are ya coming to The Rosach tonight? Ya can meet Molly.”

  “She’s still here?”

  “Aye. And I’m praying I get out to sea before my mother shows up to drag her home. I’d rather not be present for that scene.”

  Willow smiled at the windshield. “Coward.”

  “It’s not cowardly to avoid a hen fight. It’s wise.”

  “What happened with the shepherd? Have you heard from him?”

  “Not yet. I called and left a message on his machine, asking him to call me, but that was three days ago. Molly’s claiming I used my big-brother voice and scared him off.”

  “Let me guess. You told Molly that if just your voice can scare him off, then it can’t be true love.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Ya know me so well, lass,” he finally said, his voice low with implied meaning. “Willow, I called ta ask if—”

  Willow threw the cell phone down with a curse, and slammed on the brakes when the pickup passing her cut back in too quickly and clipped her front fender. The pickup also slammed on its brakes, its blinding taillights glaring through the rain-washed windshield as Willow’s truck crashed into it. The steering wheel jerk in her hands, the momentum sending her SUV careening off the side of the road.

  Her truck hit something solid, and Willow’s world tilted with dizzying speed as it became airborne while twisting upside down. Her briefcase and purse on the seat beside her flew wildly about, the box of jars and suitcase housing the camera banging in back.

  With a scream of surprise, Willow braced her hands on the steering wheel and instinctively shoved both feet against the brake as the SUV landed on its roof. Every window shattered on impact and the side-impact air bags exploded. She tumbled again and again, the noise of metal crumpling with each hit, and the engine hissing to a sputtering death. The rolling suddenly stopped when her bumper slammed into something solid, causing the front air bags to explode, tearing another scream of surprise from her throat.

  Wind-driven rain blew in through the shattered windows just as the sensation of pain crept into Willow’s still spinning consciousness. She was hanging suspended by her seat belt, the SUV sitting on its passenger side.

  It suddenly slid forward. Willow slapped at the slowly deflating air bags, suddenly aware of the sound of the pounding surf very close by. The truck tilted in slow motion, dropping onto its tires with a shuddering bang that started it sliding downward again. The screech of metal dragging over rock was deafening, until it suddenly stopped when the SUV fetched up again, shoving Willow into her seat belt so violently that the air rushed from her lungs.

  A large wave broke over the hood, spraying seawater in with the rain. Willow clawed at her seat belt, frantic to escape before the truck continued to slip into the angry surf.

  The dark silhouette of a man appeared beside her, his features vague in the stingy glow of what was left of her truck’s lights. “Help me,” she shouted, groping for the door handle and pushing against the crumpled metal. “Before I slide into the sea.”

  A hand reached in through the broken window, grabbed her hair, and tilted her head back just as something hard was shoved against her mouth.

  “What the—” The taste of liquor burned her lips. Willow jerked away, yelping when he tug
ged on her hair and tilted the bottle to pour more of the choking liquid down her throat. She slapped at his hands, utterly enraged and reeling in confusion, digging her fingernails into his wrist and trying to twist her head free.

  The cuts on the inside of her mouth stung as he continued to force the liquid fire down her throat. She choked and gagged, frantically trying to break free.

  He threw the bottle against the truck dash, the sound of shattering glass competing with the howl of the wind and storm-driven surf against the hood. She was suddenly released and the man disappeared into the darkness.

  Willow wiped her stinging mouth with the back of her hand, using her other hand to shakily grope for the buckle on her seat belt, all the time fighting the urge to throw up. She finally got her belt released just as the passenger side door suddenly tore open. The dark figure of the man leaned inside, his own hands searching through the black interior.

  With a whimper of alarm, Willow tried scrambling out her driver-side window only to gasp as pain shot through her left leg. The shadowed man pulled away, and Willow could just make out something thick and heavy in his hand.

  Dammit, he had her briefcase!

  Another angry wave slammed over the hood of the truck, splashing into the interior with enough force to throw Willow against her seat. The truck slid downward with the backwash, the metal undercarriage dragging over the granite with an ominous groan of warning.

  Willow tugged on her leg, trying to free her left ankle from the twisted brake pedal. Driving rain blinded her, and she swiped at her face with a curse of frustration and tugged harder while trying to wiggle her foot loose.

  The sound of an engine revving came from up on the road behind her, and she heard tires spinning on the wet pavement as it sped away.

  Willow stopped struggling long enough to catch her breath and take stock of her situation, closing her eyes against the rain mingling with the icy waves that sent her body into convulsions of shivers. Okay, she thought as she hugged herself. She was trapped in her truck and clinging to the edge of the shoreline by an angel’s wing and a prayer.