Cate didn’t panic. She never panicked. She wasn’t the shaky, panicky type, yet Harm took one look, said, “Easy there,” in a voice more gentle than silk. He pulled her in, pulled her close. “Bad news,” he said, not wasting time framing it as a question.
She nodded, because her chin seemed to be wobbling too much to get a clear word out. It was his fault she couldn’t keep it together. At least he didn’t sleep naked, but he was only wearing sweat bottoms tied low on his hips. Her cheek seemed to be pressed into the geography of blond hair on his chest, which covered a far more muscular torso than a desk man should have. It’s not that sex was on her mind. It wasn’t. Even remotely. It was just…
No one did that. Held her. Just pulled her in and held her. And because Harm was so clearly braced for trouble, to take care of trouble, she didn’t have to be.
“It’s Fiske, Harm.”
“Sick?”
“Worse. I found him dead on the galley floor. I paged Ivan right away, woke him up-he’s probably en route to the galley by now. He asked me to come get you.”
“Of course.” But he didn’t immediately release her, as if waiting to make sure she was steady again. He pulled back, blue eyes examining her face, shrewdly assessing how she was. “It’s frightening. Finding someone who died. Happened when I was in the military too damned often. I don’t care how tough you are. It’s hard.”
She took a big gulp, found the steadiness that had eluded her. Maybe she’d just needed him to say that she wasn’t a wuss. “It was awful,” she admitted, and then quickly turned around to face the door.
The instant Harm let go of her, he reached for the drawstring tie at his waist, obviously intent on dressing fast-whether she was there or not. “Could you tell what happened? How he died?”
She hesitated. “I’ve got some solid first-aid background, but I don’t have any doctor-type judgment or experience-”
“Cate. Could you tell how he died?”
From the quiet urgency in his voice, she realized what he was really asking-if Frisk had died a natural death or if he’d been murdered.
Shock numbed her throat. She understood that the problems in his company were grave, but not that Harm had been worried about something like foul play or violence being a possibility. Suddenly, everything she’d seen and heard took on extra dimension. Her voice seemed to come out full of gravel.
“I don’t know, Harm. There was no blood, so it didn’t look as if he fell and hit his head. I…” She just couldn’t force the picture back in her mind. “I can’t guess why he was in the galley. Whatever happened must have occurred after you and I went below deck, so the timing had to be in the really wee hours of the morning.” Her voice started to crack. “But I just don’t know what a heart attack or stroke looks like, so I-”
“Okay. Damn. Didn’t mean to make you feel put on the spot. The facts’ll come out, Cate. It’ll all get figured out. And I’m headed up right now.” But before charging ahead of her toward the companionway, he snugged a hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t a sexual touch-just a totally personal one. A gentle squeeze of support, an awareness of how upset she was, even if she didn’t show it. A gesture to let her know he was there.
Cate headed back on deck, thinking what a way to tick a girl off. She wasn’t used to anyone being there for her. She didn’t want anyone there, hadn’t depended on anyone since she could remember-and liked it that way.
She damn near fell in love with the man over that single stupid gesture.
Of course, she wasn’t herself. Finding a dead body was a mighty upsetting way to start a day.
If she wanted to wallow, though, there was no possible opportunity. Topside, Harm and Ivan took over the galley, locked in discussion.
Harm’s men seemed to smell the crisis, woke up early, popped on deck one after the other, each appearing shaken by the news of Fiske’s death. No one seemed to know what to do, what to say-and heaven knew, neither did she. But she just started pitching in, starting with making coffee, one pot, then another.
Even after Ivan and Harm headed for the pilothouse, no one wanted to be in the galley-not until some decision was made regarding Fiske. Cate couldn’t imagine anyone wanting the original fancy breakfast she’d planned, but she raided the storerooms and pantry, came through with plates of fresh fruit, breads and preserves. Everyone said they weren’t hungry, but both coffee and food disappeared every time she put out more.
Harm’s men sprawled in the salon. Harm and Ivan kept charging in and out of the pilothouse. No one quit talking when Cate brought coffee or took away empty plates, so she heard everything that was going on.
Whatever anyone wanted to happen, a death on sea just wasn’t exactly like a death on land. The captain had all the decision-making power onboard. It was his call to radio the coast guard, and when he discovered a CG cutter was less than two hours away, it was his decision to bring them in. Two ruddy-faced uniforms boarded just after ten.
In the meantime, she watched Harm’s men, trying to imagine one of them harming Fiske, stealing that treasure of a formula. The three hung together, and pretty much never stopped talking about Fiske-it wasn’t as if anyone could think about anything else-but nothing sounded odd to her.
“What else could it have been but a heart attack?” Arthur kept saying.
“It could have been a stroke,” Yale kept saying right back.
“He liked his sweets. Didn’t even try to keep the weight off,” Purdue kept pointing out. “He must have had arteries clogged to the gills. And that’s probably what he was doing in the middle of the night in the galley. Going after something to eat.”
“Maybe we’ll never know.” Yale couldn’t sit still, kept jumping up and pacing around the salon, staring at the sea, not seeing it. “But one way or another, I assume we’ll immediately head home after this.”
Cate suspected that going home was the ideal choice for the thief. Freedom of movement was easier in the home environment, where here, everyone was under Harm’s microscope. The culprit could try playing the innocent card, but who could possibly do that 24/7 without a slipup?
Another hour of upheaval followed the coast guard’s arrival. They met with Harm and Ivan, then took Fiske’s body aboard their vessel and left. Moments after that, Ivan and Harm assembled the whole group in the salon to relay what would happen next.
Ivan started talking first. “Coast guard will be taking Mr. Fiske to Juneau. There’ll be an investigation started there, including an autopsy, no different than for any other unexplained death. That’s pretty automatic before a body can be released out of state. For that matter, to you outlanders, I have to tell you, that’ll probably take more time than the same basic investigation in the Lower 48.”
“Which means what?” Arthur asked. “What kind of time are you talking about?”
“A week minimum is what they put on the table,” Ivan said. “After that, Mr. Fiske’ll be flown to Georgia, where I gather his daughter lives, the closest relative, so that’s where the funeral will be held.”
“Not by us, not in Cambridge?” Yale asked.
Harm stepped in then, and Ivan stepped back, poured himself a long, tall mug, braced it with whiskey, and heaved himself in a chair. Harm looked exhausted, Cate thought.
“No,” Harm said. “It’ll be with Fiske’s daughter. I talked to her myself just a short time ago…”
Cate stopped listening for a few minutes, because she had heaps of dirty dishes and messes to clean up by then. And no one was thinking about lunch or dinner, but sooner or later they were both her responsibility. She needed to scour her galley. Think through what kind of foods might help calm down six traumatized men.