Spirit Lake (34 page)

“What are you doing! Watch out!” he called, snatching at her.

When he hauled her in against his heaving chest, she fought to get to the window again. “See what it looks like? The lake spreads out from the house, like a fan, just like a lady's...?"

And when she turned to Cole beside her, his grin grew wild and he kissed her. It was an exuberant spank on her lips. “Just like a lady's skirt!"

Snatching up the sextant, he positioned it against the horizon again. “Mike put something in the lake somewhere. Of course. We spent our lives diving for treasure. Why not here!"

Laurel's heart leaped every whichway like a thrashing fish in her excitement. “But where? What do you see?"

He groaned. “Miles and miles of lake and a bunch of tourists. Boats everywhere."

“Where does the needle point?"

“To the shore."

“Which shore?"

“That nub of land down the way that nearly did me in when I was chasing after you and Broderick."

“The land that forms the cove?"

“The cove? Wait a minute,” he said, sizing up the sextant again. “When I was racing after you and Broderick, the sheriff's boat caught its rotor on some twine—"

“Connected to a minnow cage?” Excitement erupted in her stomach. “Your brother had to have been the one who bought the minnow cage in May from my mother."

“The proof must be buried in the water. Come on, Laurel Lee!"

* * * *

AN HOUR LATER, a soaked Laurel followed a drenched Cole in a mad dash into Buzz Vandermeer's newspaper office. They waved their catch—a waterproof cylinder with computer disks inside. Laurel's heart pumped wildly. If this meant putting his boss away forever, would Cole be free to answer the questions in her heart? Did he love her enough to stay? Or at least, to stay on to try and work things out? The unsettled feelings gnawed at her bones.

He hollered at Buzz, “Put this in your Mac, quick."

The shocked editor complied, but he was even more shocked when the first words on the screen were: “
Dearest Brother, glad you found me
."

Laurel watched Cole go weak and slump into an office chair next to Buzz. She, too, shivered from the wording. “Found me,” as if Mike were still alive. Perhaps he was, through Cole. Like Jonathon and the link she'd discovered with his living brother, Tyler. She went weak-kneed, and found herself gripping Cole's shoulders from behind, absorbing the nervous hum rippling through the strong muscles.

“Can't that machine go faster?” he demanded of Buzz's MacIntosh computer.

Her heart ached for him. “Give Buzz time, Cole."

Buzz tapped keys to get further into the menus. “Where'd you find the disks?"

“Spirit Lake,” was all Cole could get out, his fingers tapping on the desk.

“In the cove, where the sand collects,” Laurel finished for him, “in a waterproof canister inside a minnow cage floating in Spirit Lake."

“Like that thing they found the Texas woman's body in?"

“Just get to the next screen,” Cole said, tapping his fingers.

Buzz crowed, “Hot diggity dog, lookee at this."

Laurel and Cole jammed their noses next to Buzz's. The screen flickered. Cole went wide-eyed. “We got him."

Charging off the chair, he hugged Laurel, filling her lungs with the earthy, lakewater smell still clinging to his damp hair. Picking her up, he twirled her about the room, knocking over a waste basket, kissing her fiercely in front of Buzz until her lips went numb. “We did it,” he bellowed, “we did it!"

Elation thrummed through her, but all she could think to say was, “Your leg's going to hurt again.” Worry and tend.

“Who cares!” Cole said, setting her down. “The proof! What a thing to find right before my flight home!"

He twirled her around again and again, crashing into Buzz's messy desk, dumping stacks of papers in his jubilation. Buzz didn't seem to mind. He just kept going through the disk.

But for Laurel, the world shut down. For some reason, her misguided heart thought that once he discovered Mike's treasure, there'd be a reason to stay. He could relax. He would be assured of Rojas staying in prison. Instead, Laurel realized this discovery was propelling Cole even faster toward new considerations. To home, he called it. How foolish she felt. Silly even. Of course he had to go home.

When Sheriff Petski, Wiley Lundeen and attorney David Huber answered Buzz's phone call and rushed over, conversation swirled, with the men slapping Cole on the back, congratulating him.

Far off against the roar of her disappointment, she heard Cole hooting, “This confirms the second set of books. Wait until I shove them under Rojas's nose."

Her vision blurred. She swiped at her face before Cole could notice. This was not the time for selfish emotions.

She could make out David Huber nodding. “Copy these disks, Buzz, and I'll get the information sent off to the U.S. Department of Justice. The Attorney General will be mighty grateful."

She sat down in a stiff chair, resigned to an odd sense of relief. The adventure was finally over. John was saying, “Those FBI boys are going to be impressed finally."

Wiley nodded toward the screen. “There's enough stolen treasure in here to fuel a war."

Cole's coppery skin paled.

Even Laurel blinked. “War?” Such a word made bones weary.

John nodded. “Try terrorism. According to the FBI, they think Marco Rojas might have been using his U.S. license for exclusive diving rights to the wrecks to fuel terrorist acts here in the States. They just didn't have the proof. Until now. The big boys'll need you in D.C. to testify on this one, Cole."

Raking a hand through his hair, Cole settled a blank gaze on Laurel. It was as if he'd wiped himself clean of emotions, like ... a chalkboard ready for duty.

Her stomach coiled to hardness. He'd said this could take years. Why hadn't she believed him? “Congratulations, Cole. I guess this is the big time for you."

Buzz whistled. “You bet big time! With irony. We journalists love irony. Our government looks the other way while Rojas makes money to buy bombs to use against us.” He banged finger pads over the keys. “What's his motive? I need that for graph one."

Cole's brow furrowed over brackish eyes. “Greed. Power. Control. He was the kind of man you never questioned. When I first met him, I thought it was just ego, a man driven to take risks."

Wiley nodded. “Hell, you admired the guy. We all admire guys that have it all."

“But power's a gruesome taskmaster,” Cole said with a flickering glance her way. “It makes you go your merry way."

The look—her words spouted back—unsettled her. Was he feeling guilt? Filled with blame? He said that's why he was leaving. Or had he just realized how much he liked his other world of control, powerful boats and fame, things he could share now without worry with his living son? The room spun. She discreetly sought a bookcase to steady herself and escape his gaze.

“Great headline,” Buzz declared while copying the disks, handing them one by one to David Huber.

But Laurel puzzled over the tableau before her. “Why would Cole's brother bring this information here and hide it? Why go to these lengths? Why drag us all through this? Why involve Dresden?”
Why involve me?
she wanted to ask.

“The lady who always questions everything,” Cole commented. “And they're very good questions."

His bold, public assessment sent heat sizzling up the back of her neck.

Wiley harumphed. “Good thing I'm thinkin’ clearly lately, now I'm off the sauce. You folks don't get it. Mike did. He was smart. Do you believe anything coming out of Washington these days?"

Buzz hopped on that bandwagon. “Nope. And if a little town in rural northern Wisconsin breaks the story, that's going to be big news that will echo around the world. They'll believe us. We're honest. We don't like harboring secrets."

Cole's gaze collided with Laurel's again. A draft whisked through her chest. She felt herself desperately trying to shut the windows of her heart to keep the chill out. And that scared her. That shutting down scared her. She was retreating again, like that china doll to her safe shelf. But she had to. Oh the confusion. She'd told him she loved him days ago. He'd never responded to that, yet he complimented her now on something that had always frustrated him. Her questioning him. Always.

When John escorted Cole out of the newspaper office for the trip to the airport, she offered to go along. Begged actually. Right in front of a curious crowd of tourists shoving in to shake Cole's hand. But the sheriff told her they would be riding back with an FBI agent who would be conducting a confidential debriefing of Cole.

When he kissed her good-bye, his lips struck and left with the swiftness of a hawk who needed to escape a trap.

After climbing into the squad car, the man who always spun her life into new directions was gone.

He'd just challenged her yet again to get on with life. To be even stronger again.

But already, she missed the mysterious hum between them.

Chapter 18

AS THE JULY lushness around Spirit Lake turned to the full bloom of late clover in the meadow, and then gave in to an August dry spell of heat and more tourists, Laurel escaped too much thinking about the past.

With the mansion razed, there were no hoary shadows looking down on her. Though loneliness tugged at her now and then, she focused on embracing her freedom from the past.

It helped that she'd become an unexpected hero overnight. By virtue of being the local person who found the key to bringing down an international terrorist, she received a lot of new attention. It kept her busy giving speeches. And Buzz couldn't quote her enough, right next to the ads about “Lucky Chicken Fryers On Sale.” Not a misspelled word in sight.

“Mom, warn me,” she said in the bait shop one day, “if you hear about anyone wanting to erect a fountain in my name."

Her mother screwed up her face at her daughter. “A fountain? What the bejabbers you talkin’ about?"

Laurel smiled. “Never mind, Mother."

Because this time of year brought a lull in animals injured—fewer rabbits born and weeks before hunting and trapping season—she even found herself with time to start a children's book.

The vision of Cole cradling a tiny brown bunny to his chest lingered, inspiring her to create a character called Radical Rabbit. He was the little guy who left the nest early without his mother's permission to race across the lake on the backs of willing, mischievous ducks, causing all kinds of trouble. Buzz had already put her in contact with an old English teacher friend of his who knew an agent. It looked promising, exciting. Scary.

She liked it.

She was proud of herself.

But it was lonely not having Cole to share it with. Oh, he'd called a few times, and she'd called him, but a phone conversation lacked the detail of a relationship. Where they had shared things, she now did them alone.

She tended to the beautiful churchyard in the country. As autumn crept in, with September painting the trees as pretty as Cole's old box of crayons, she raked leaves about the gravestones, planted yellow fall mums in heavy bloom, and apologized to nobody about not dating on Saturday nights.

Frost was in the air on the night in late September when she hauled a basket of tulip bulbs with her down the path. Pausing, she glimpsed toward the open space where the mansion had once been. Five deer fed there—two doe with three fawns between them. One of the does stepped over to lick lovingly at her progeny's ears. The fawn's spots were fading, and in their place came the grayish tone that would camouflage them among winter tree trunks and branches.

Laurel smiled, with a warmth listing into her belly at the sight. The freedom to breathe and to be strong had allowed her to appreciate the raw, emotional beauty of nature in a way that had never been possible. Before Cole. Because he'd come back, because they'd dared to try loving again, she had been set free to think in new ways. Yes, she missed him. Always would. But missing him was altogether more sublime than blaming him, being angry, and mired in self-pity. Because he'd left again, she'd been tested to move on. And she had.

She continued on down the path in the best moonlight she could remember in a long time. In addition to the tulip bulbs, she carried a small animal cage with Owlsy, whom she planned to set free at the cliff after tending to the graves.

Owlsy had experienced a relapse the minute Cole had left. Laurel had taken it as a warning not to do the same. And so she'd stayed strong and focused on babying the tiny owl back to health. Focus. She'd faulted Cole for focusing only on one thing at a time, but she had learned its value. Owlsy thrived because of it. The sense of determination Cole had impressed upon her would serve her well forever, no doubt.

She was digging about in the loamy, cool earth next to Jonathon's headstone when something felt odd about the air. It stirred, then fell still. No birds settling down for the night. No branches clacking in the crisp air.

She shivered. Grew alert. “Roxy? Roger?” The raccoons often followed her down the path. But she heard nothing.

She punched her trowel deep into the earth.

A thick voice captured her—"He'll like them."

Lightning showers burst heat in her stomach. She dared not look up. Her heart pounded.

She reached into the basket, her fingers fumbling, mindlessly taking a bulb and pushing it into the wedge of earth next to the trowel.

“Tulip bulbs?” the voice asked, gutteral as a wolf's growl.

The blood in her veins pulsated wildly, the grip on the trowel loosening. “They take much less work than annuals in early spring."

“The geraniums were always pretty and hardy. Sort of like you."

The pines murmured with the lowing of her heart. Maybe she'd only imagined his voice.

She said, “I ... It's good to get out of old habits of the past."

“But I bet they're yellow tulips. Yellow, your favorite color I recall."

She couldn't look up. She was frozen. Looking down at the ground. “I'm going to plant several more perennials come spring. I wouldn't have to come out here so often if I planted more perennials.” Her forehead scalded at the sound of that. “I mean, I'll always come out here—"