He gave her a wounded look.
Her hand slid up his bare legs and under the edge of his trunks. “I can’t let you get too intoxicated. I have plans for you when we get back to that shower. And I know you can’t hold your liquor for sh—”
“Excuse me,” a voice said behind them.
Kowalski hadn’t even heard the slim man in a Blue Lagoon polo approach behind them. He hated being caught off guard, especially now.
“What is it, bub?” he barked a tad harshly.
The man lowered a tray with a cell phone resting atop it. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but the caller said it was an emergency.”
Kowalski met Maria’s eyes over the tray.
The caller could only be one person.
Maria slid her hand off his thigh. “The director seems determined to keep interrupting us.”
More like cock-blocking.
Kowalski took the phone and held it to his ear. “What’s wrong now?”
12:40 P.M.
Back in the private changing room, Maria buffed her hair dry with a towel. She avoided the dryer on the dressing table, fearing the loud blower would keep them from hearing the ring of the satellite phone.
A few minutes ago, Director Crowe had used the resort’s house line to tell them there was trouble in Greenland and to expect a fuller briefing on Joe’s encrypted phone once they got somewhere private.
But she had already heard enough.
Trouble in Greenland . . .
Fearing the worst, her breath had grown tight in her chest. She had been the one to suggest Elena check out the shipwreck.
If anything’s happened to her . . .
In the mirror, she watched Joe as he climbed back into his black jeans. Crossing to the rest of his clothes, he scratched at the damp mat of hair on his chest that did little to hide the mass of his pectorals and the well-defined ridges of his abdomen. With a grunt, he hauled on a gray hoodie and slapped a Yankees ball cap over the stubble of his shaved head.
As he turned back to her, she tried to read the hard planes of his face, the firmness of his lips under the slight crook of his nose. But all she sensed was an impatience that equaled her own. He stepped to the dressing table, his six-foot-plus frame looming next to her. She elbowed him back a step, both to reach her own blouse and to give herself more room to breathe. Joe filled whatever room he entered. Sometimes it was too much.
“You okay?” he asked.
She hid the warmth rising to her cheeks as she buttoned her shirt. “Just worried. I hate this waiting.”
“She’ll be okay.”
“You don’t know that,” she snapped back.
She shoved her feet into a pair of worn hiking boots, her anxiety burning toward anger. She knew Joe was just trying to reassure her, to protect her feelings, but it was a trait that was beginning to grate on her.
When they’d first met two years ago, she had found the guy exciting—dangerous even—certainly unlike the men she had dated before. Then again, her pool of candidates in the academic world had been limited to a more intellectual set—until this huge beast burst into her world. Loud, brash, addicted to the foulest cigars. She had never imagined herself attracted to such a man. But he made her laugh—often and deeply. And sure, the physicality of the guy was intoxicating. The sex was mind-blowing.
But was that all there was?
During that tumultuous first meeting, she had caught hints of a hidden depth to the man, especially in his interactions with the young gorilla Baako. There was a tenderness that showed through small cracks of his tough demeanor, especially when he communicated in sign language to the gorilla. The two had become like father and son. But over the past months, those tender cracks had seemed to seal up. It was one of the reasons she had suggested Joe accompany her on this trip to Africa. She had hoped a reunion with Baako might break through whatever callus had formed, to let what was buried and hidden shine forth again.
But that had not happened.
It made her wonder if there was any future here?
And more important—do I even want that?
She had grown up with an identical twin sister, Lena. Though Maria loved the intimacy of a relationship that could only come from two who shared the same womb, the same DNA, she also fought against that genetic codependency. She craved independence, to be her own person, to be free of anyone’s shadow.
Then Joe came into her life. A man who naturally cast a huge shadow—and not just physically. Of late, he had become more and more overprotective, bordering on possessive.
To make matters worse, he had seemed more closed off these past weeks, barely speaking to her beyond grunts. Maybe the novelty of their relationship had subsided, and he’d become bored with her.
Or am I bored with him?
Before she could give this more thought, the satellite phone rang loudly.
Joe snatched up the device and moved next to her. He bent low so she could eavesdrop. “You’ve got us both,” Joe said. “What the hell’s happening out there?”
“I don’t mean to alarm you, but ten minutes ago, we received a report of gunfire, maybe an explosion at the glacier where Dr. Cargill was investigating the archaeological site.”
Maria tensed. Oh, god . . .
“But the entire coast is socked in with a thick fog, so we’ve got no visuals. It could just be hunters or someone scaring off a polar bear. Still, I’m not taking any chances. The closest village—Tasiilaq—has a small police force, but they’re involved with a search-and-rescue mission far inland. Still, the one officer left in town was dispatched to investigate.”
“What do you want us to do?”
“I want your boots on the ground out there ASAP. I contacted the navy. Although the U.S. had decommissioned its base in Iceland, we were recently granted permission to station a few P-8 Poseidon maritime patrol planes to monitor Russian submarine activity up in the Arctic.”
“Let me guess,” Joe said. “We’re hitching a ride.”
“A Poseidon is fueling on the tarmac at the international airport. The jet can get you to the Kulusk airport—which is fifteen miles from Tasiilaq—in forty-five minutes. There a helicopter will be waiting to take you over to the glacier, weather permitting.”
Maria heard the director’s stress on those last two words. “What about the weather?”
“Patterns are rapidly shifting out there. An unseasonal piteraq is building inland and could strike the coast in the next two to three hours.”
“What’s a piteraq?” she asked.
“A fierce windstorm. They can blow a hundred miles per hour with gusts twice that. If it strikes, it’ll ground all aircraft along the entire coast.”
Joe snorted. “And you want us to duck under that hurricane before it shuts down the place.”
“You’re the only ones who can get there in time,” Painter admitted. “In the meantime, I’m mobilizing everyone here in D.C. in case things go sideways. I’m hoping that won’t be the case.”
“But you’re not taking any chances,” Maria added.
“And you know why.”
She did. Dr. Elena Cargill was not just a good friend; she was also a senator’s daughter. Maria shifted to catch Joe’s eye, to let him see her fear, her guilt.
And I put her in harm’s way.