Identity: Undercover

“Doing what?”

“Designing boats.” He grinned at her. “In a way I was already doing that, suggesting alterations and special orders for the clients. Now I plan it all into the original design. My design. Somebody else builds them.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” This was a side of him she’d never seen. He looked at peace about his decision, relaxed, but in a different way than he’d looked at the publicity launches of his company’s sailboats. “I—I’ve been away.”

“I know. I’ve tried to reach you a hundred times to talk to you.” His face tightened. “I didn’t expect that when you finally contacted me it would be with divorce papers.”

Trust Max to get to the root of the problem without wasting time.

“We both know it’s over. Why prolong things? I spent a lot of time thinking about us on my last assignment.” She faced him, chin thrust out, shoulders back. “I’m not what you need or want, Max. I never liked posing for the cameras, being your photo-op partner. I ruin things, spoil your image. You yourself said I was bad for business.”

He winced at the reminder.

“I was mad. That hull cost—no!” He bit his lip, shook his head. “No. I’m not doing this again, Callie. I promised myself that when I finally got to talk to you it would not be about the past. Whatever was, was. We can’t change it. I’m more interested in the future.”

“We don’t have a future. That’s why I had those papers sent.” She glanced at her watch, grimaced. “This isn’t the place nor the time. I’ve got to find some way to get out of here.”

“I told you, I’ll take you.” He pushed his hands into the pockets of his perfectly pressed khaki pants. His white shirt lay open at the throat, displaying his tanned neck. Max was always tanned. He wore his navy jacket half-zipped in that usual carelessly elegant way that suited him so well. The hesitancy she’d thought she’d glimpsed at first was gone now. Everything about him screamed self-assured confidence.

Beside him Callie felt as she always had—underdressed, out of place, a mess. “You don’t know where I’m going,” she blurted out.

“Somewhere north,” he guessed. “I always sail north in the fall. You know that. I’ll drop you wherever you need to be.”

She said nothing, silently calculating her options—which took about two seconds.

“I’ll have to okay it with Daniel,” she told him.

Maybe she could ask for a replacement while she was at it, because she did not, under any circumstances, want to be stuck for hours on end, on a sailboat with Max Chambers—even one as deluxe as his Freedom. It was too dangerous.

“Finders doesn’t like exceptions to the rules. Daniel may not go for it.”

“I think he’ll approve of this.”

Implying that Max was the exception to Daniel’s rules. Hadn’t he always been?

“Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

Callie dialed, explained the situation, then cut short Daniel’s expressions of delight that she and Max would have time to talk on the voyage north.

“I’m just accepting passage,” she told him in a whisper. “There’s nothing more to it.” She clicked the phone closed.

If Max heard her, he gave no sign, simply stood waiting, watching.

“I supposed Freedom’s berthed in the usual place?” she asked, wishing they didn’t have to waste time driving to his marina.

“Freedom’s in dry dock. Repairs,” he said, answering her question before she could ask it. He pointed to a slip several hundred feet in the opposite direction. “That’s Hope. She’s fully loaded and ready for passage, if you are. I moor her here because it’s nearer the condo.”

That condo—it had been at the core of many of their disputes. Callie wanted to ask him what had happened to the house—the beautiful house she’d once called home, but she didn’t dare. The memories were too raw.

“Is there anything you need to do before we leave?” Max asked politely as they walked toward the sparkling white craft.

“No. I’m ready to go.” She followed him to the boat, waited while he boarded, then handed over her backpack before stepping onto the glossy deck.

“Welcome aboard.”

“She’s very beautiful, Max,” she murmured, taking in the highly polished wood, the lazy loungers, a table and chairs at the bow where two could share dinner under the stars. “When did you get her?”

“She was finished a month ago.” He began preparations for casting off. “Entirely my design.”

Callie had sailed with him enough to know the procedures but she’d never been any good at figuring out what he wanted her to do next so she sat at the front and waited for instructions.

None came. He probably figured she’d mess up or worse, ruin his perfect creation. That’s what Max loved most—perfection. It was also what she’d never been able to achieve.

While she sat remembering past days she’d spent sailing with him, the boat slipped from its berth and moved out of the harbor. The motor picked up speed as they began gliding over the water, following the coastline in an in-and-out pattern that Callie didn’t understand. But she had full confidence in Max. He’d grown up exploring these waters and even though the sails on this boat remained tied down, she knew he’d be gauging the wind, the current, the tides, choosing the perfect path to get them on their way.

Suddenly she realized that she hadn’t told him their destination. Callie rose, gingerly made her way up to the captain’s deck where Max stood, the wind dragging the walnut-colored strands of his hair off his face. His joy in the day was apparent.

“We’re heading for Ketchikan,” she told him.

“I know. Daniel told me.”

She couldn’t believe it.

“I forced it out of him when I talked to him yesterday,” Max admitted. “I couldn’t take not knowing anymore.”

“Why should you know?” Anger, icy and hot at the same time, rolled through her. “This is my job. I don’t know everything about your life.”

“You could. I’d gladly tell you anything you want to know if you’d ever ask.” He stared at her, his face sad. “I followed you to Australia, Callie. But you’d already left Sydney by the time I got there and I couldn’t track you after that.”

“You followed me?” Shock held her immobile for several seconds. “Why?” she finally demanded.

“Because there are things I need to know, stuff we have to talk about.” His lips tightened to a thin, angry line at the shake of her head. “What?”

“I don’t want to talk about the past, Max. Not ever again.” She turned away but his words stopped her.

“Well I do. And for as long as I’ve got you on my boat, we’re going to talk about it. I need to know the truth, Callie. And you’re going to tell it to me. When I’m satisfied I know everything, then and only then will I send you off with those divorce papers you’re so anxious to file.”

Despite the blazing September sun and the protection of the cabin, an icy-cold breeze tap-danced over Callie’s nerves.

Max couldn’t know the truth.

Not ever.

TWO

Max pushed his sunglasses onto the top of his head and stared at the coastline as his forefinger massaged his temple.

“Callie? Can you come here for a minute? Please?”

He wouldn’t blame her if she ignored him completely. He’d been a total jerk to act as he had, to make her feel as if he’d deliberately cornered her onboard to force her to explain.

Though it wasn’t an excuse, the way he’d been served those papers—the fact that he had been served them at all, made him see red. When she refused to talk to him he’d completely lost all perspective.

Callie responded, but not quickly. He watched her carefully store away the papers she’d been studying. She tucked them into her backpack and stowed it under the seat before she moved toward him.

Max realized how badly he’d fooled himself into believing that all Callie needed was time, that eventually she’d come home and they could start over. He’d never imagined, never let himself even consider that what she really wanted was to escape him.

“You bellowed?” Callie stood poised on the top step, curls dancing in the wind, eyes shadowed by the dark glasses she wore.

“Sorry. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve got to take a break. I’ve got a killer headache.” He pointed ahead. “There’s a little cove there that we can pull into. Is that okay with you?”

“I guess.” She pulled her glasses off to study him. Her blue eyes darkened with uncertainty. “Do you want me to take the wheel?”

“No.” A surge of frustration bubbled inside his heart when she glanced at her watch then frowned. The words burst out before he could check them. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold up your mission. I just need a break.”

“Fine. We’ll take a break. Do you want something to drink?”

“Coffee would be nice.” And some tape on my mouth to hold it shut so I won’t say anything else stupid.

“Fine. Coffee it is.” She turned, walked down the steps. A few minutes later he heard the rattle of the coffee pot. Every so often the rich aroma of percolating grounds caught on the breeze and filled his nostrils, hailing reminders of other sailing days when life with Callie had seemed good, right. Forever.

Long ago days.

Max edged his way into the bay, dropped anchor and climbed down from his perch. Callie had an umbrella set up over one of the loungers. Two steaming cups sat on the side table, one of them filled with a rich mocha-colored liquid.

Strong and creamy. At least she remembered that much.

“Thank you,” he murmured, sinking into the chaise. He took a sip of the smooth, creamed coffee, then let his head tip back against the chair as the pounding took over. He pretended he couldn’t feel her watching him.

“I suppose I should be able to take over the helm but I’ll be just as happy if I don’t have to. I guess that doesn’t make me a very good sailing partner.” The words died away.

After a moment she spoke again, her voice brimming with hesitancy and something else—shame?

“But then I never was a very good partner, period.”

He hated her saying that, hated that he’d obviously made her so unhappy.

“Callie?” Max reached out, grasped her wrist before she could move away. Though he could tell she didn’t like his grip, she remained still. “Could we please just let the past lie for a while? You don’t want to talk about what happened between us. Fine. I’ll try to abide by that. But could we at least make an attempt to enjoy this trip?”

“While I’m a prisoner, you mean?” She did slide her hand away then. Her jaw thrust forward in defiance, letting him know she wouldn’t forgive him so easily.

“Come on, Cal,” Max chided, almost smiling at her stubborn tip-tilted chin. “You’re not a prisoner and you know it. Anytime you ask, I’ll drop you off at the nearest town.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“I know.” He took another sip and decided it was long past time for the truth. “Those papers made me mad, Callie and I reacted badly. We don’t see each other for ages, I can’t get hold of you, don’t know whether you’re alive or dead, and suddenly some man I’ve never even seen before serves me with divorce papers in front of a crowd of people I’m trying to persuade to buy one of my designs.”

“So I embarrassed you with my bad timing. Again.” She winced. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t the timing, Callie.”

“Whatever it was, then. I’m still sorry. I’m always sorry. But it doesn’t seem to help much.” She flopped down opposite him, sipped her own coffee.

Max shook his head, sought for the right words.

“After the ba—when you left, you said you were taking another job because you had to get away, to think things over. Then you wrote you needed more time to get past…”

He swallowed hard, tiptoed around that subject.

“I agreed because I figured some space might be good for both of us. But I’ve hardly heard from you, I never know where you are. You certainly never once said anything about divorce in those cryptic little notes Finders Inc. forwarded to me.”

“Again—I’m sorry,” she whispered but she didn’t look at him.

Max was heartily sick of hearing that word, but at the moment there seemed little else either of them could say. He was sorry, too. He’d made his own mistakes, pushed when he should have just been there for her.

As he studied her, Max suddenly realized that this woman was not the Callie Merton he’d married. Body and mind were there. But her soul, the essence that made Callie who she was, now hid in a mask of protection that prevented him from reading her real emotions. She seemed as confident as always, but was it real or simply a front—something to keep him from getting too close?

Callie lifted her cup and he noticed her hand was shaking. He took a second, more deliberate survey of his wife, sans sunglasses and hat. The sight stunned him. There were dark rings around her eyes, she was far too thin, her cheekbones too pronounced even for a fashion model. Physically 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 really told him much about her work before. He’d told himself it was a security thing, or because she wanted their time together to be free of Finders Inc., but his heart had known better. Max felt a wiggle of satisfaction that she’d willingly explained this much with so little prodding.

“How long did you follow him?”

“Two months, day and night.”

“And in all that time he didn’t notice you?” He could hardly believe it.

Even thin as a rail, Callie was gorgeous. A cap of curls that shone like rubbed mahogany, sapphire-blue eyes and a mouth that tilted upward in an impish grin when she laughed. She was tall and slim with a swift agility he’d always admired. How could anyone not notice Callie Merton?

“We use disguises, Max.” She made a face. “Trust me, he never even knew I was there.”

“Why were you tailing him for so long?” he asked, curious as to whether her absence from his world all that time had been by choice or by request. “You used to take cases that lasted only a week or two.”

“Our client didn’t want him to go missing before they could get immigration to bring him back into the country and since I was already on the case—” She shrugged. “It wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be. He usually slept till noon or later. Believe me, I got lots of time on the beach. The ocean was great and I soaked up a few rays, as well.”

She didn’t look tanned and rested. She looked—tense.

Callie wasn’t telling him everything. Max had a hunch it was important to find out what she’d deliberately omitted. In the past he’d shied away from asking too many questions. Maybe that had been a mistake.

“He stole some crack from a fellow who doesn’t like to be messed with. To get away, our boy headed for the Outback.” She grimaced. “There my cover was that I was a scientist conducting experiments in the area. Once he dried out, we got to be pals. There were no bars in the area, you see. When immigration finally picked him up, I think he’d been sober the longest in his life.”

“Some good from the bad then.” He kept his focus on her, realized she wasn’t going to tell him any more.

“I suppose, though it took me a couple of hours in the shower to get rid of all that dust. It’s not a place I’d recommend as a holiday spot even though it is beautiful.” Callie grinned at him, blue eyes dancing with fun. “It sure cured me of camping, though. I don’t think I ever want to sleep in a tent again.”

“That’s something to be thankful for.” He grinned back, remembering the first few months they’d been married. How many weekends had he left work early, packed up their sleeping bags and that ratty tent she loved? He’d trekked behind her up and down the mountain for miles until she found exactly the right place to make camp so they could sleep in the outdoors.

“I think I’m too old to sleep on the ground again.”

“Me, too.” She giggled.

The laughter died away until only silence hung between them.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you, Max,” she whispered, her voice so faint he had to lean in to hear. “I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just—I can’t stay married to you anymore.”

“Why?” He needed something to silence the desperate whisper in his heart. What they’d shared couldn’t be beyond repair. He wouldn’t accept that. “What was it I did that was so terrible you had to run away, and keep running?”

“It wasn’t you!” She stared at him, her eyes huge in her heart-shaped face. “Of course it wasn’t you. It was me. It is me. I’m an embarrassment to you, a nuisance, the proverbial square peg in a round hole.”

“Callie, that’s not true.”

“Of course it is.” She shook her head, her face rueful. “Did you think I didn’t notice how many times you had to apologize for me to your friends, your employees, your family?”