Uncharted Waters Part 17

He sighed, clearly frustrated. She started to turn away, but he stopped her by snagging her arm. "I'm not leaving until we talk about this."

The words chilled her, and for the first time she knew there was more going on than she had been told. "What are you talking about?"

"Mommy!" came Kevin's voice from his bedroom. "I can't find my one-armed Spider-Man!"

"He's on your night table, sweetie."

Drew looked past her toward the hall. "We'll talk about this later, okay?"

Alison didn't want to wait, but even more she didn't want to frighten her son. She'd worked hard to give him a secure home, and she didn't want this or anything else to jeopardize that. "All right."

He contemplated her for a moment, his gaze flicking to the b.u.mp at her temple, then down to her wet clothes. "You're shivering. Why don't you get into some dry clothes and let Kevin and I take care of dinner?"

She wasn't accustomed to anyone taking care of her, but the thought appealed. She was chilled to the bone and wanted nothing more than a hot shower, a couple of aspirin and some dry clothes.

"Do you have any pasta?"

She blinked at him, surprised by the sudden change of topics. "Uh, spaghetti."

"Sauce?"

"Mushroom. In the pantry."

"Perfect." He started toward the kitchen, then paused to look at her over his shoulder. "Take a shower, Alison. I'll keep an eye on Kevin. Everything's going to be all right."

Alison wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe what had happened to her at Evans Yachts was a random act of violence. But as she made her way down the hall toward the linen closet, she couldn't shake the niggling suspicion that there was a h.e.l.l of a lot more going on than anyone had bothered to tell her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Drew cut tomatoes while Kevin tore lettuce and chatted about his day at the Happy Hippo Day-care Center.

"...and then Timmy Burns threw up all over his desk and Mrs. Duffy had to call his mom. I made two new friends and one of them's a girl called Toni, but she looks kinda like a boy so I thought it would be okay to play with her."

Drew listened with only half an ear as he set the tomatoes aside and turned to stir the spaghetti sauce on the stove. The other half of his mind was focused on the sound of water running in the shower down the hall and Alison.

He couldn't believe some lowlife son of a b.i.t.c.h had hurt her. The thought of anyone laying a hand on her made his blood boil. She was a gentle person with a kind heart and didn't deserve to be knocked around.

"Something smells great."

He glanced over his shoulder to see her enter the kitchen, and his heart stumbled in his chest. The loose-fitting shorts and a scoop-neck T-shirt shouldn't have been s.e.xy, but they were. She could be wearing a burlap bag and still look s.e.xy as h.e.l.l. His eyes ran the length of her, and a sharp tug of attraction hit him low in the gut. Then he spotted the abrasions and shuddered inside. Both knees looked as if someone had taken a grater to them. He remembered how soft her skin was and felt a surge of rage at the thought of someone brutalizing her.

"Drew and me are fixing spaghetti!" Kevin said with his usual exuberance. "I got to make the salad, Mommy. Do you want some?"

She came up behind Kevin, put her arms around him and gave him a noisy kiss on the cheek. "That's 'Drew and I,' honey. And, yes, I would very much like some salad."

"Good, 'cause we fixed a lot, Mommy. Drew said you had a hard day and were going to be extra hungry." The little boy glanced down at her knees and his smile fell. "Mommy, that musta really hurt when you fell down."

Trying to make light of Kevin's suddenly serious tone, Alison leaned forward and touched her nose to his. "It looks worse than what it is, honey."

Drew stepped away from the stove and his gaze met Alison's. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." She smiled tentatively, and he thought he'd never seen a woman look quite so beautiful. "Can I do something to help?"

"I think we can handle dinner." He nudged Kevin with his elbow. "Think we can handle dinner, sprout?"

"Yeah! I'm almost finished with the salad."

Turning away from them, Drew opened a package of spaghetti and dumped it into boiling water. "Kev, how about if you set out the napkins, then go wash your face and hands?"

"Do I gotta wash?"

Drew shot him a stern look, and Kevin didn't push it.

For several minutes, the three of them worked as a team. Alison took out a bottle of merlot and proceeded to remove the cork. Kevin folded paper napkins and carefully arranged the silverware on top. Drew dumped steaming pasta into a colander. To an outsider, the scene might have looked like a family preparing their dinner. To Drew, the undercurrent of tension was palpable.

"Okay, kiddo, into the bathroom to wash your face and hands," Alison said.

"Aw, Mommy..."

"Now," Drew said firmly.

Huffing his displeasure, Kevin rushed to the bathroom.

"Would you like a gla.s.s of merlot?" Alison asked.

"Sure," he said, "and then I want you to have a seat so I can see to those knees."

"They're only minor sc.r.a.pes, Drew. I think I'll live."

"Hey, I'm an EMT, remember? I'm bound by an oath to render aid." He tilted his head and caught her gaze. "Where's your first-aid kit?"

She frowned good-naturedly. "In the small bathroom off the hall."

"Don't go away. I'll be right back." Drew walked into the guest bathroom and found the small kit in the cabinet above the commode. Back in the kitchen, he set it down on the table and motioned toward a chair. "Have a seat."

Taking her gla.s.s of wine with her, Alison gingerly lowered herself into the chair.

"Sore?"

"A little." She looked down at her knees and frowned. "They look worse than they really are."

Kneeling before her, he opened the kit and studied the abrasions. "It looks like there's some gravel imbedded in the skin."

He tried hard to keep his mind on the business at hand as he reached for the peroxide and gauze and set both on the floor next to him. But when it came time to touch her, his concentration faltered. As an EMT, Drew had administered first aid to hundreds of people over the years. He'd always considered himself a professional, never allowing his emotions or something as ba.n.a.l as his libido to interfere with his work. But one look at the satin flesh of her thighs and suddenly he didn't feel very professional at all. He felt more like an insecure teenager about to face the most popular girl in school.

Annoyed with himself, he gently wrapped his hand around the back of her calf and set her foot on his thigh. Without looking at her, he saturated a cotton ball with peroxide and dabbed it against the abrasion.

"It's going to sting a little when I scrub," he said.

"Scrub away. I can take it."

Being as gentle as he could, he scrubbed gently to loosen several tiny flecks of gravel. Alison didn't make a sound, but he could tell from the way she stiffened that he was hurting her. "Sorry. But I don't want it getting infected."

"It's okay."

He removed a tube of antibiotic ointment and rubbed a small amount over the wound. "This will do best without a bandage. Next knee, please."

"Yes, sir." Alison put her other foot on his thigh.

Drew looked down at the abrasions on her knee and felt a hot flash of temper that someone had subjected her to violence. Then a quick stab of fear at the thought of how much worse things could have turned out. "Did you get a look at the guy?"

"Just a vague impression mostly. It happened so fast." She sipped the wine. "He had dark hair. Tall. He was kind of scruffy looking. I thought he was a dockworker."

"Uniform? Jacket. Anything with a logo?"

She shook her head.

"What about a vehicle?"

"It was raining pretty hard. Visibility was bad. I was pretty shaken up." She lifted her shoulders, let them fall. "The police asked all the same questions. I wish I'd been able to answer, but I just didn't have the presence of mind to notice details."

"I want the son of a b.i.t.c.h caught."

"So do I," she said and shivered.

Alison tucked Kevin into bed at just before nine o'clock after a big spaghetti dinner, a few fish stories and two games of Candy Land. He'd argued with the fervor of a wrongly accused angel when she announced it was his bedtime. But after trying several creative maneuvers to escape the dreaded march to his bedroom, he climbed into bed. She had barely finished reading him his usual bedtime story when he fell asleep.

For several minutes she sat on the bed, watching him sleep and trying very hard not to think about the man who'd a.s.saulted her and all the terrible scenarios that could have played out.

"Good night, sweetheart," she whispered and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. Leaving his Spider-Man night-light on, she made her way to the living room and found Drew on the sofa looking a little uncomfortable and a lot out of place. He glanced up when she entered, and her heart did an odd little jig behind her breastbone.

"Is he asleep?" he asked.

"Went out like a light," she said, trying to ignore her suddenly damp palms.

"I took the liberty of pouring wine." He motioned toward the two gla.s.ses on the coffee table in front of him. "I hope that's okay."

She thought about the man who'd struck her and grimaced. "I have a feeling I'm going to need it."

"Probably." His gaze skimmed down the front of her, pausing on her skinned knees. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Headachy and still half scared out of her wits would have been closer to the truth, but considering his protective att.i.tude, she figured it would be best if she didn't elaborate. Noticing that the gla.s.ses were situated at opposite sides of the coffee table, she took her place on the love seat across from him. "Okay," she said. "I've been waiting for an explanation all evening. So spill it."

He picked up his gla.s.s and swirled the wine. "What happened to you today probably wasn't a random act of violence."

The hairs at her nape p.r.i.c.kled. "How do you know that?"

"I don't. I mean, not definitively, anyway." Sighing heavily, he leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and gave her a direct look. "But Seth and I have our suspicions."

Alison stared back, mentally bracing, knowing she wasn't going to like what he said next.

"Evans Yachts has been contracted to design and build a top-secret submarine for the Navy," he said.

She felt her eyes widen. "A submarine? What's that got to do with-"

"It's not just any sub, Alison. It's a prototype of a radical new Stingray submarine. And the U.S. Navy isn't the only agency that wants the plans."

"You think the man who took my briefcase was after the plans?" She laughed, but heard the fear in her voice. "That's crazy. I was just taking home some filing. Nothing important. Why would anyone think I had access to anything even remotely important?"

"The only thing I can think of is that you used to work for the Defense Department."

She thought about it for a moment. "I didn't hold a high position. I didn't even have a high security clearance."

"Maybe the people who want those plans don't know that. Maybe they don't know what kind of position you held. Maybe their intel is limited. Maybe they're desperate."

"My G.o.d." She tried to digest everything he was telling her, but the story was so inconceivable, she couldn't get past the submarine part.

"Look, I know it sounds incredible, Alison, but these people are dangerous. They mean business."

Not for the first time that evening, the image of the man lunging at her flashed in her mind's eye. The stark terror of the moment had paralyzed her. The shock of pain. The realization of how vulnerable she'd been lying there, incapacitated.

She reached for her wine, hoping Drew didn't notice that her hand was shaking. "Who's after the plans? Who's responsible for what happened to me?"

He scrubbed a hand over his face, hesitated. "We're not sure."

"You have a pretty good idea or you wouldn't be sitting there looking like you'd rather chop off your own finger than answer my question."

"You've heard of Bruno DeBruzkya?"

"DeBruzkya? The dictator in Rebelia?"

He nodded.

"Of course, I'm familiar with the name. I've heard it on the news dozens of times in recent months. He's a warmonger. He's brutal and unpredictable-"

"He wants the plans for that sub. We think this is the second time the b.a.s.t.a.r.d has tried to get to them."

She considered it for a moment. "The first time was the explosion?"