Page 8 of Alaskan Blackout
A sigh whooshed out of him, his shoulders slackening a fraction as he slid into his jacket.
“Right. Clay’s,” he muttered to himself with the shake of his head before he dropped the Stetson into place. “Care to tell me where I can find him?”
They stood illuminated under a buzzing recessed lamp near the entrance while McKenna’s fingers hovered by the light switch. Her forehead came to his chin. The scents of damp leather and salty air that permeated the walls drifted around them. Her heart hammered too loudly.
The way it rattled her chest offered a welcome reminder that she had no business softening toward him.
“I most certainly do not,” she retorted before flicking off the switch with one hand and reaching for the front door with the other. The darkness, inside and out, enveloped them. “Good night, Cowboy.”
Three
Shortly before sunset the next day, Quinton arrived at the port in Dutch Harbor. He parked the rental SUV he’d obtained now that he was committed to being in town indefinitely. His mood was as gray as the forbidding Alaska sky as he stalked toward the rows and rows of fishing boats. Choppy waves splashed against the seawall and rocked the vessels in port while gulls and other seabirds squawked overhead. He was on a mission to locate McKenna after she’d failed to show up at the Cyclone Shack that afternoon. Upon quizzing the other customers, he figured out what all the rest of them already knew—that McKenna would be out on her boat on her day off.
Not that she’d made any mention of it to him the day before when they’d said good-night. The oversight—certainly deliberate since she knew that he would be at the bar every day—rankled him now as he walked past stacks of the commercial-grade crab pots that outnumbered people around the town. Would it have killed her to give him a heads-up that she moonlighted at another job on her days off from the bar?
Apparently she took groups out on the water to fish, sightsee or bird-watch according to whatever tours would pay her for the escort. But that too he’d gleaned from the other patrons at the Cyclone Shack, after which he’d even found her tour services on Trip Advisor. He’d toyed with the idea of booking one for himself so she had no choice but to spend time with him. Of course, he had no guarantee she’d answer his questions then either.
Now, he searched for the numbers on the boat slips as he ventured down one of the weathered gray docks. Quinton followed the directions someone in the harbormaster’s office had given him over the phone earlier. He was on the hunt for a space that held a thirty-two-foot fishing craft.
Clayton’s Hewescraft vessel, to be precise. TheUn-Reel.
Reaching the empty spot a moment later, Quinton paused on the damp dock to breathe in the salt-and fish-scented air. A wet breeze blew in his face as he scanned the harbor for a glimpse of theUn-Reel, a functional offshore watercraft with an Alaskan hull and room for six anglers. Or so he’d read in the description of the vessel from a purchase receipt in the file compiled by the Kingsley family’s private investigator.
Even as he thought about the stalled search for Clayton, Quinton remembered he owed his brother Levi a call. Levi had left two messages for him earlier that week, asking for an update on his search for Clay in Dutch Harbor, but Quint had yet to contact him. Withdrawing his phone now as he waited for a glimpse of theUn-Reelin the harbor, he figured speaking to his brother would help him pass the time until the tour boat returned home for the evening.
Maybe talking to Levi would lessen the urge to confront McKenna about her need to thwart him at every turn. Why couldn’t she understand that he only wanted to give his brother a hand? Hell, he wanted to give him a small fortune. It’s not like Quint was in town to borrow the guy’s car or ask if they could be besties. He simply wanted to sign over the portion of the Kingsley estate Clay deserved.
When Levi’s voice sounded in Quinton’s ear a moment later, he didn’t mince words.
“About damned time you called,” Levi began, not bothering with a greeting. “Have you found him?”
“No. I found his stepsister living in his former house, running his old bar and keeping all his secrets though. It might have been nice if the PI we hired gave me a heads-up about her.” He recalled the impact of her words that first night when she informed him,I’m his sister.
The guilt he felt over his immediate attraction to her still dogged him. Would he have been able to ignore it better if he’d been prepared to see her when he entered the Cyclone Shack that night?
“McKenna, right?” Levi asked, the noise of ranch life clear in the background. Cattle mooed and bellowed, snorted and grunted. Whoever thought farm life was quiet hadn’t spent much time with a thriving herd. “The PI’s report mentioned her. He discounted her as a source for information since she refused to speak to him on multiple occasions.”
Hearing the cows in the background made Quinton glad he was in Alaska rather than at Kingsland Ranch. After the dark memories he associated with the place and the day his mother died, he looked forward to unloading his share of the estate.
“Sounds about right for McKenna.” He suspected the notes about her must have been buried in the sections of the report he’d skimmed. “But since she may be the only person who knows Clay’s whereabouts, I’m sticking close to her.”
“What’s she like?” Levi asked right before he gave a shrill whistle. “Sorry about that,” he panted, as if he were running. Or, more likely, on horseback. “I’m out on the north pasture trying to get the herd into the next grazing field and it’s just me and Gunner out here.”
Quinton had worked with Levi and his border collie plenty of times moving the cattle from field to field, so he could envision the process. Knew it was tougher to manage singlehandedly.
Empathy for Levi didn’t make him any more inclined to regret not being in Montana. Quinton had lost his love of the Kingsland Ranch the day his mother died in a trampling accident that should have been avoided. Twenty-six years had passed since then, but that wasn’t nearly enough time to reconcile his past with the ranch.
“McKenna is as tough as they come,” Quinton admitted with equal parts regret and admiration. “She refuses to talk, but I’m hoping once she sees I only have Clay’s best interests at heart, she’ll change her mind.”
“Meaning you’re staying up there?” Levi asked, curiosity evident in his voice while his dog barked in the background.
“I’ll be here until I locate Clay.” Quinton glared out over the waves as the sun sank lower over the water. He wouldn’t return to his hotel today until he’d seen McKenna.
Asked the question he planned to ask her every single day until she gave him the answer he needed.
“You don’t need to do that. We can try a different PI,” Levi suggested. “See if someone else has better luck with her.”
The idea of anyone else hassling her made Quinton’s hackles rise.