Identity: Undercover. Lois Richer
she looked like she was at the end of her rope. That wouldn’t affect her job, of course. She still projected the same confidence she’d always had in her work. The cause of her frailty must lie elsewhere. It had stolen the joy from her eyes.
Daniel’s warning that Callie had changed rang true. The more Max studied her, the more he realized that she was forcing herself to sit here, to talk to him. She seemed unusually nervous about it and he couldn’t help wondering if maybe seeing him again had helped twig old memories for her, too. Maybe she was rethinking the divorce.
Maybe he still had a chance.
Until now he’d thought only of his own hurt, anger, disappointment. He’d seen himself as the wronged party. But it was clear Callie wasn’t at peace despite her decision to cut herself off from him.
“Can you tell me anything about this mission?” Maybe the reason God had brought them together was for him to help her somehow. “What’s supposed to happen when you get to Ketchikan?”
In the past Max had helped out Finders Inc. several times and as a result Daniel had granted him a certain security clearance. Surely Callie remembered that and wouldn’t try to block his questions, because if she did he’d phone Daniel and get the truth. And while Max had the CEO on the phone, he’d ask him a few hard questions about her latest physical.
“I have to find a man, get him to sign some papers. Piece of cake.”
“Can I know the name of the man?”
She looked at him, raised one eyebrow. “Why?”
“Just curious.”
She lay back on the lounger, kicked off her deck shoes and stretched her toes in the sun. “Josiah Harpnell. Ring any bells for you?”
Max nodded. “As a matter of fact it does. He published some research on the grazing paths of caribou and elk herds when they migrate north in the summer. Once the environmentalists got hold of it in Washington, there were fireworks. I think that was about two years ago.”
“You were considering entering politics then.”
She said it with a certain resignation that made Max remember how much she’d hated his constant political glad-handing, the unending meetings, phone calls, game playing. It was one reason she gave for continuing her killer schedule at Finders Inc. One of many reasons. It was also the argument she’d used against starting the family he thought they’d both wanted.
“I was on a committee to investigate some of Harpnell’s claims,” he mused, dredging up the information. “There was concern that the old migration routes would be disturbed by plans to dig for oil in a protected area.” To ease the throbbing at the back of his neck, Max attempted to massage away the pain. “I’m glad I realized that political life wasn’t for me.”
“To give you more time to focus on your business interests, you said.”
That had been the reason he’d given her, but even back then, Max had known something was wrong between them, that Callie was using his political leanings as an excuse to stay busy and away from him. He’d assumed that cutting back on his schedule would fix whatever wasn’t working with them. He’d been wrong.
“This spring I resigned from a lot of the committees I’m on,” he explained. “Chamber of Commerce, City Council, all of it. Except for the church. I’m still a member there.”
“Ah, yes. The church.” Her voice brimmed with scathing and he recalled how uncomfortable she’d always seemed in the church he’d attended since he was a child.
“My church is important to me.”
“I know.” She watched him through narrowed eyes.
Max leaned back, tried not to wince at the increased pounding. Now of all times he didn’t want to look weak—but Callie already knew about his killer headaches. Her narrowed scrutiny wouldn’t miss a thing. He closed his eyes, feigned sleep.
“Look at me, Max.” She grasped his chin, forced him to look at her. “Is it a migraine? Because you don’t have to go with me you know. I can manage on my own. I always do.”
As if she hadn’t told him that a thousand times before. “It’s just a headache.”
“You’re sure?” Callie’s fingers dropped from his face, wrapped around his wrist.
She was taking his pulse, he realized suddenly. The feel of her skin brought back a thousand memories…He yanked his hand away.
“I don’t need your first aid, Callie. I know Finders equips you to handle anything, but I’m fine. I’ll rest for a bit and it will go away.”
“That’s what you always said—right before it turned into a whopper.” She leaned closer to check his pupils.
Max caught the lemony scent of her favorite shampoo and shifted away from temptation. Callie glared at him.
“Why didn’t you mention you had a headache? You can hardly expect it to go away while you’re squinting into the sun.” Her voice lowered, sounded almost friendly. “I’ve got some medication. Do you want a tablet?”
“Sure.” Anything to ease the band of pain that was making his eyes blur and weakening his ability to remain angry at her.
A few moments later he swallowed the medication she offered then forced himself to lie prone on the lounger as the gentle lap of the waves lulled him into a dreamy floating state. It reminded him of the second honeymoon he’d thought about surprising her with many times in the past. Somehow he’d never gotten around to planning it. What had he been doing that was so important?
“I could man the helm for a while if you want,” Callie offered after a long silence.
“Thanks anyway, but I’d like to keep this boat in its present condition.”
Max bit his tongue, opened one eye to see how she’d taken his rude and unnecessary rebuff.
“Yeah, sure. I guess sailing was like a lot of other things in our marriage. I never did get the hang of it,” she mumbled, her face bright red.
He ignored the last part, tried to make a joke of her ineptness at steering a craft.
“Your problem with direction while sailing is rather strange when you consider the job you do, isn’t it?” Whatever she’d given him was working fast. Max felt the bolts of pain that gripped his brain loosening. His whole body was relaxing inch by inch. “Daniel said you’re one of the best locators Finders has.”
“Daniel’s a very nice man.”
“Daniel doesn’t exaggerate.” He stared at her and wished Callie would open up and just talk, let the words flow without checking every sentence, without censoring every word. Once he’d thought it was shyness, thought she’d get over it. He knew better than that now. Callie kept a tight rein on herself all the time, but now the rein was choking her. “How can you locate a thing or a person if you don’t know your directions?”
“I don’t get my directions confused on land, Maxwell. Just when I’m on the water, when I don’t have any reference points. On good old terra firma I know exactly where I’m going. It’s a land sense, I guess. Something I was born with. As opposed to sea sense.”
Better. At least she was talking.
“What were you doing in Australia?”
“Locating a creep.” She made a face. “Worst assignment I ever had.”
“Why?” Immediately his radar went up.
“Nothing horrible. It was just busywork once I located him, tailing him to make sure he didn’t disappear.” She gave him a sideways look while considering her answer. “The guy was a total sleazebag. He made his second home in the bars, nightclubs, strip joints—all the garbage Sydney and every other city has to offer.”
Callie had never