Three Weeks Last Spring

The following morning dawned cold and grey, the cloud level so l-ow, that the majestic mountains were completely hidden from view. There were only a few cars waiting for the ferry, and most of those appeared to be locals and business people. The tourists would come later, making it essential to book passage and spoiling the tranquillity of the journey.
Skye locked the car and climbed the stairs up to the main deck. The aroma of coffee drew her towards the small cafe. She purchased a beaker of Seattle's Finest, and carrying her cup, wandered out to the observation deck.
As the ferry slowly steamed towards the islands, the cloud base gradually lifted, allowing the sun to filter through here and there. The panorama unfolding before her eyes was amazing, and she wondered why anyone would want to lie on a sun-drenched beach all day, when they could have this.
Friday Harbor soon came into view. It was much smaller than Skye had imagined, and she wasn't prepared for the numerous sailboats with their impossibly tall masts, which filled every berth in the marina. The San Juan Islands were a Mecca for tourists, whether they arrived off the ferries from Anacortes or Canada, or sailed their own yachts into the tiny and picturesque harbours that dotted the islands. San Juan Island was the second largest in the archipelago.
Skye found the realtor's office in a small side street, just up the road from the ferry terminal. The formalities completed, and with the key in her pocket and a detailed map in her hand, she once more set out.
The roads were deserted and the only traffic she passed were trucks, carrying fish from the north of the island to the ferry terminal. Skye found driving in this backwater much easier than in Seattle or on the Interstate. Her exit came into view; she moved across the highway, and signalled her turn into the private track.
The cabin was all she had hoped for and more. Constructed purely of timber, it stood some five hundred yards back from the shoreline and a mile or so off the highway. A path led down from the cabin to a small dock. Eager to explore, Skye unloaded her shopping, and made herself a quick cup of coffee. The rest of the luggage could wait. She wanted nothing more than to breathe the clean fresh air and savour the view, before unpacking and settling into what would be her home for the next month.
She left her jacket over a kitchen chair, and carried her steaming cup to the dock and sat down. She took off her shoes, and was just about to dip her toes into the deep blue water, when a very masculine voice called out.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. The water is pretty darned cold at this time of year."
Startled, Skye’s heart thumped in her chest. She turned and scanned the trees in an attempt to locate the voice, emanated from the very depths of the pinewood. She squinted into the early afternoon sunlight. A figure emerged from the trees. He was tall, well over six feet, with raven black hair and the slight shadow of a beard. She couldn't really see his eyes, but had a feeling they would be icy blue and would have that ‘damn you to hell’ expression.
A chill ran down her spine. The cabin was isolated, and even if there was another house within screaming distance, no one would be at home at this time of day. Skye considered her options as the tall figure walked towards her. If he were to prove difficult she could always push in him the sea, and leg it back to the safety of the cabin.
The stranger halted a mere foot from her, forcing her to look up.
He grinned. "Sorry to startle you, ma’am, but I wasn't sure if you were planning on taking anything else off besides your shoes."
Skye's mouth opened but she couldn't utter a word.
"Because if you were, you'd only last about thirty minutes before hypothermia set in, and being the gentleman that I am, I would feel duty bound to come right in after you. That would be a shame, because I'd planned on going home and cooking this fish for lunch."
Coughing and spluttering, Skye choked on her coffee. So a fish was more important than saving someone from freezing to death. She inclined her head to examine him more closely saw that she’d been right about his eyes. Here was a man who didn't suffer fools gladly. Well, Mr Damn Your Eyes could just go back where he came from and take his fishy friend with him!
"You’ll be relieved to know, that I had no intention of taking anything other than my shoes off. The thought of going for a swim hadn't entered my head. But now you've mentioned it, it's not a bad idea. As for you coming in after me, I'll take a rain check, if you don't mind! Not, I might add, that what I do is any business of yours. I was assured that this was private land. May I ask just what you think you are doing prowling around scaring the hell out of people?"
"My, my, we're mighty touchy. What happened, someone wake you up too early?" The icy blue eyes flashed. There was a trace of laughter in his voice that was totally lost on Skye, who felt more than a little intimidated by the stranger's height. She stood up in one fluid movement. Not one inch of her five foot five frame gave her any more confidence. She barely came up to the man's chest—a chest that any woman would feel comfortable snuggled up against. Now where in the world did that thought come from?
Still feeling at a disadvantage, Skye took a long look. Close up he didn't appear quite so intimidating—‘impressive’ was a better adjective. In fact, she could think of a number of suitable adjectives to describe Mr Damn Your Eyes, including handsome, rugged, not to mention offensive and arrogant. This guy would stop traffic in London, but there he would be completely out of place. Here in the rugged mountains of the Pacific Northwest he was totally at ease.
Skye revised her estimate of his height. He was at least six feet four, possibly more. His eyes were deep set and she’d been right about the colour. He had a scar over one eyebrow and smaller one on his chin. She wondered how he'd acquired them, but had no intention of asking. He was dressed in black jeans, which fit him like a glove and a navy blue check work shirt which he wore open at the neck, revealing a tangle of dark hair on his chest. He held a fishing rod in one hand, and a fish in the other, and looked for the entire world, as if he had stepped right out of the pages of her guidebook.
Skye stiffened. "Look, Mr…? Sorry, but I didn't quite catch your name, and at this particular moment, I don't even care to know what it is. I've had a long journey and I'm tired. As far as I'm concerned you're trespassing. I'd very much appreciate it, if you would leave by whatever means you arrived and allow me to finish my coffee before it goes cold."
"My, my. The lady obviously has a temper to match the colour of her hair. Now why don't you take a deep breath, calm down and enjoy the day? You're obviously not from around here otherwise you wouldn't jump down a perfectly innocent person's throat, especially one who's trying to give you some friendly advice. I won't disturb you any longer. I'll be on my way, and for future reference, the name is Walker. Jedediah Walker, but everyone just calls me Walker." Abruptly he turned and strode quickly along the dock. He continued along the pebble beach, in the opposite direction from which he'd come.
Skye smothered a giggle. "Well I can see why!" And what did he mean, "Future reference…?" Hell could freeze over before she would choose to cross his path again.
Her first thought was to call the realtor and complain. They had, after all, promised her complete privacy. She'd been most insistent on that when booking the cabin. She hadn't wanted noisy neighbours to destroy the peace and tranquillity of this wonderful place. No campers, boaters and especially no screaming children, just her own space in which to do as she pleased for the next month.
But logic kicked in.
The San Juan Islands were well known for attracting fishermen and women. The guy had probably moored his boat somewhere along the coast, and walked along the shoreline to find a suitable place from which to fish. No big deal. However, now that the cabin was occupied, Skye sincerely hoped that he'd respect her privacy. Other than the mailman, with the occasional letter from Debbie or John, she didn't wish to see anyone during her stay.
Skye picked up her cup, and shuddered in disgust as the cold liquid hit the back of her throat. She made her way up the dock to her car, retrieved her suitcase from the trunk, and carried it into the cabin.
The cabin was very well equipped with cable TV, VCR, and an impressive stereo system. Skye could live without a television, but music was a different matter and she was glad she had brought a selection of her favourite CDs with her.
The centrepiece of the main room was a stone fireplace which stretched across a one wall. The floors were polished and scattered with native Indian rugs. A large leather sofa sat invitingly in front of the fireplace. Full-length windows opened on to the deck, where the owner had left wicker chairs in which visitors could sit and admire the wonderful scenery.
Skye dragged her suitcase into the bedroom and started to unpack. Not only was there a king size bed, and an open fireplace, but the room also had full-length windows which opened out on to the deck. A hand stitched quilt with matching comforters covered the bed. Skye ran her fingertips over it and marvelled at the hours of work involved to complete it.
She decided call Debbie later to let her know she had survived the journey. By that time, it would be getting close to midnight in London—a perfect time to call John—at least he wouldn't be able to trace her call. That was the disadvantage of working at the cutting edge of technology and having a business partner who was her self-appointed ‘big brother.’ Without wasting any more time, she set off to explore the cove and surrounding woods.
***
After terminating his conversation with the woman, Walker had made his way through the trees back to the lodge. He hadn't expected the cabin to be occupied so soon, and had been taken completely by surprise when he saw the small, solitary figure walk to the end of the dock. He vaguely remembered receiving a letter from the realtor advising him that it had been let for a month. For some reason he had it in mind that the cabin had been let to a man. If he’d known it was a woman, he would have told the realtor not to accept the booking.
The aroma of coffee had alerted him to someone's presence, reminding him just how long it was since he'd had breakfast. He'd watched from the tree line as the figure walked out of the cabin and down to the dock. He guessed she was no more than five foot six, and was dressed in a pair of black slacks with a baggy red sweater. He had the feeling the sweater hid a soft and curvaceous body, the sort of body a man could bury himself in, until he forgot who he was.
The gentle breeze had lifted her thick, shoulder length auburn hair, reminding him of the colour of leaves in fall. He imagined it would be soft and silky to the touch, and appeared just long enough for a man to tangle his fingers in. Unable to tear his gaze away he'd continued to watch as she sat down at the end of the dock and took off her shoes. She appeared so sad, and for one agonising moment he feared that she might do more than just dangle her pretty toes in the ice-cold water.
Damn it, he didn't need this sort of distraction now. He knew someone had been using the nearby coves at night, and now it would be doubly difficult to prove it. He just hoped that he hadn't placed this unwitting stranger in any danger. It was just one more thing on his list to worry about. His first priority was to find out who was poisoning the fish around the island. The second was to find out who was hacking into his computer files. He stood his fishing rod against the wall of the lodge, and unlocked the door.
He went straight to the laboratory he'd set up in the small bedroom and proceeded to expertly dissect the fish. Walker was meticulous in his sampling, and in the preparation of the slides for the microscope. Only when he was satisfied he had everything he needed, did he discard the carcass—it would have to be burnt like the rest. Pity, it was a magnificent salmon, but if he didn't find out what was causing fish to wash up dead along the shoreline, it might not just be the salmon lying on a cold slab.
Four hours later, his suspicions were confirmed. The fish contained a mixture of toxic chemicals and, had it been eaten, would have put someone in hospital. He strode into his study, picked up the phone, and called his friend at the Department of Fish and Wildlife on his direct number.
"McCabe."
"It's Walker."
"I can tell from your voice, that I'm not going to like this—"
"Five gets you ten on this one. The latest batch of samples show that the fish are contaminated with lead, mercury, cyanide and some other substances I've been unable to identify. I'll have to send the samples into the main lab in Seattle to get a more detailed analysis. The results should be back in three or four days, and it wouldn't surprise me if they showed large quantities of PCBs."
The voice at the other end of the line let out a stream of expletives. "For once, can't you give me some good news?"
"Joe, it gets worse. Fish have started washing up along the cove in front of the lodge. This has gotten personal. I want to nail whoever's dumping this stuff. Sooner or later someone is going to get sick, real sick. What's new your end? Have the police come up with any leads yet? Someone somewhere must know where this stuff is coming from."
"Realistically, it could be any of five plants in the State. But, and this is unconfirmed, it may be coming from the plant belonging to the waste management consortium that applied to build a new facility at Anacortes a while back."
Walker frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. "But they were refused consent. I know—I sat in on the committee. In fact, I made the recommendation that their application be refused."
"I realise that. But from what we've heard, the present facility is unable to cope with demand. The police approached some of the employees, but no one would talk. I'm just as concerned and frustrated as you are. But we need concrete evidence before we can move on this, and so far no one has found any."
"So what do we do? Wait until someone ends up in hospital or worse, on the cold slab in the morgue? Is that what you're telling me?"
"I'm as annoyed about this as you, Walker. But I have to do things by the book, you know that."
"I guess so, but it doesn’t make it any easier." Walker slammed the phone down.
After graduating from university as a marine biologist and biochemist, Walker had worked for the State Government Department. His main area of expertise was the environment, and the effects mankind was having on the diminishing fish stocks. After years dividing his time sitting behind a desk and collecting the water samples, he finally decided it was time to go it alone. He set up his own company, Walker Environmental Research. Now after ten years of hard work, his company was well respected throughout the world. There was hardly a government he hadn't given advice to, or major ecological disaster he hadn't helped investigate.
Several months earlier, his old university friend, Joe McCabe, had called him. Joe worked for the Washington State Department of Fish and Wildlife. He was concerned about the increasing reports of dead salmon being washed up around the coast of Puget Sound, and in particular the San Juan Islands, and had called in Walker's company to investigate.
At first, they thought the problem had been caused by the many large oil tankers plying their way between Alaska, Canada and the rest of the USA. Many of the ships’ Captains were not above flushing their tanks before heading out into open waters. But a detailed analysis of the dead fish had shown they were contaminated with a lethal cocktail of chemicals, and not crude oil. But, there was no consistency. Fish would wash up one week on the north coast of one island, and the next they'd wash up on the west coast of another. The changing tides couldn't account for such discrepancies, which meant only one thing—someone was deliberately dumping toxic waste. Two weeks ago fish had started washing up on Walker's land, and last week his computer files had been hacked into for the first time. Suddenly the fight had become personal.
He’d purchased the lodge and twenty-five acres of prime waterfront land just over five years ago. It was a place where he could return to re-charge his batteries after investigating some of man's worst atrocities against nature. The lodge was far too big for him, and normally he stayed at the cabin. But this year he'd decided to undertake some renovations. Over the years he had come to love this place and now someone was trying to ruin it, but not if he could stop them first.
***
Skye spent two hours wandering along the trails. The woods were alive with birdsong. The early spring sun was starting to dip towards the horizon as Skye returned to the cabin. No wonder her stomach had begun to rumble. Apart from breakfast and the odd cup of coffee she'd eaten nothing all day. She carried her supper plate and glass of wine on to the deck to watch the sunset.
She wondered where the tall dark stranger had disappeared to for she had not seen any other houses on her walk, as she dialled Debbie’s number.
"Hi, remember me, that crazy Englishwoman staying in the San Juans?"
"You sure timed that right. I've just walked through the door. Obviously you got to Seattle in one piece. Did you manage the drive okay?"
"I took time to reacquaint myself with the Market and the Needle while in Seattle. And despite having to drive on the wrong side of the road, the journey to Anacortes was fine."
Debbie laughed. "Okay, so you're a better driver than me, but then that's because I don't drive very often—"
"Just often enough to remember how!" they said in unison.
"No one in San Francisco with any sense owns a car."
"Admit it," said Skye, "I am just more co-ordinated than you when it comes to things mechanical."
Debbie laughed again. "How’s the cabin? Let me guess, you've paid nearly $2,000 for a wood shack, with no hot or cold running water, just an open fire to cook on and the bathroom's a hut at the end of the garden."
Skye smiled. Debbie could always make her laugh. "Actually, it’s beautiful, all mod cons. It stands in two acres of woodland, and has a view to die for."
"Met any of the locals yet?"
"Only one and he was damned rude too! ‘Mr Damn Your Eyes’ appeared out of nowhere and then promptly gave me a lecture on how cold the water was at this time of year."
"My, he certainly got your hackles up. What did he look like?"
Skye closed her eyes and described the stranger. "He’s about six feet four, dark hair, unshaven, and wearing a real nasty expression."
"He sounds interesting. Planning on seeing him again?"
"Not if I can avoid the bastard. Besides, he's got a fishy friend to keep him company on long lonely nights, while I have—"
"While you have a computer and your music, I know. I'm not sure that either is a substitute for a real man and from the description of...what did you call him? Oh yeah, ‘Mr Damn Your Eyes,’ he could be just that. Perhaps I should try and get up for a long weekend and look him over for you."
"Debbie, the last thing I want is a holiday romance. You of all people know that."
"Just teasing. So apart from your encounter with the natives, have you settled in?"
"Yes. I'll call you again in a few days, okay?"
"Sure, speak to you soon. Oh, and Skye—"
"Yes?"
"Behave yourself with the tall hairy guy," Debbie said. She broke the connection before Skye could utter a suitable response.
Trust Debbie, to have the last word. Ever since Skye had managed to comply with Debbie's quest to have her photograph taken with a ‘real Highlander’ resplendent in full Highland dress, with kilt, skean dhu, and sporran, they'd played this game. When Skye had visited Debbie, she'd responded by getting Skye's photograph taken with every policeman they'd encountered. Now, regardless of which city in the world they met, they played the game, each trying to get the other photographed with the biggest and ugliest of the locals.
It was a little after midnight in London, and her call to John ran into his voice-mail. She assured him she'd arrived safely and all was well, and cut the connection. From now on, if she needed to call him, she'd use the pay phone in Friday Harbor. She knew John would be too eager to use his new software to its full potential in an attempt to find out exactly where she was staying.

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