The media furor wasn’t going to die down for a long time.
What few cabins hadn’t been sold on the Fate went at a premium. Yes, there were areas on the ship that were a crime scene, but the crime scene units and specialized cleaning units would be finished before the set sailing date.
The Fate would keep her deadline—after all, she was the Fate!
Thor had a number of conversations with Clara about that. But she was determined she would sail on the ship. There was no reason she shouldn’t.
“It’s over, Thor. And this is what I do for a living. It’s a good show. Tate Morley and Marc Kimball stole lives. Now they’re dead. They can’t keep stealing. We can’t let them.”
For the next two nights, he had Clara staying with him at his family compound. He could easily reach the offices in Anchorage when he needed, the hospital in Seward and the state police. He was present at the press conference that Enfield gave, announcing that the FBI and state police were still piecing together the puzzle, but that they were satisfied that the Media Monster—aka Tate Morley and the Fairy Tale Killer—was now dead. The country was astounded that he seemed to have been aided by and worked in collusion with the multimillionaire Marc Kimball.
Thor tried not to watch the news.
Anyone who had been close to Kimball could seize the media and fifteen minutes of fame now, if they chose.
Thor was glad of the time he could take at the compound; glad to be there with Clara.
She was a natural at his home. The dogs loved her. They were somewhat insulted when they were locked out of the bedroom at night, but a couple of treats ended the problem of them scratching at the door.
It was a day and a night after the incident on the ship; he’d dealt with the tangle of the Bureau’s investigation and had his first mandatory psychiatric appointment—necessary after the shooting. He’d had a long talk with Jackson, who’d warned him, We can never be too careful with those we choose to love. Did I have to leave when I did—yes. Did Clara have to open that door—yes. That’s who she is. It’s why you’re with her. Can you change that and make life safe? No. We do our best in every circumstance and have faith in those around us.
Thor was thinking about that conversation when he and Clara were alone together that second night, after they’d played with the dogs all day and learned to “mush,” and he knew that Jackson was right. Clara was capable of intelligent fear—the kind that went along with survival. But if she had a chance to put herself at risk to save a life, she would.
Now they were naked and damp and hot-skinned from the shower, sunken into the plush freshness of the sheets and the softness of the down. And all he could think then was that having her hair fall around him was like being wrapped up in gold silk. The taste of her flesh was the sweetest he had ever known. He kissed her and teased her, hands and lips upon her mouth, her throat, breasts, belly, thighs and in between, and she was like a wild nymph in turn, touching him as he was certain he’d never been touched before, doing things with the shimmery slide of her tongue that he’d never felt before and driving to him to a state of hunger and desire that seemed to defy the universe—much like the climax that ripped through him volcanically. He wondered if sex was that incredibly good just because they were both alive—but no, sex was that incredibly good because there was something there, deeper than human instinct, richer than perfection. He loved her smile when, gasping, she strode atop him, tossing her hair. He reached for her, drawing her down beside him. “I’m due time off.”
She tensed slightly and he worried, wondering if this was just great “I’m alive” sex for her, if what they’d shared before had simply been a result of all the tension and fear that had plagued them both.
He smoothed back her hair and continued, “I was thinking of a cruise.”
“Oh—an Alaskan cruise?”
“I wouldn’t want any ordinary cruise. I’d want a historic ship. Something with a rich history. A ship that has survived war and trauma at sea—one that has carried thousands of immigrants. And, of course, been meticulously refitted.”
“Like a Celtic American cruise.”
“Hm, just like.”
“I hear you’ll never get a cabin.”
“Ah, sometimes people are willing to share.”
She crawled atop him again, all smiles having faded, her eyes deep and bluer than the day and night together, beautiful. Touched with emotion.
“You can’t give up anything for me, Thor. You need to be here, and right now...I can’t have another show fall apart and—”
“I have time coming!” he assured her. And he hesitated. “I may be transferring. I get a transition period, too.”
“Transferring?”
He nodded, his hands running down her sides. “I was with Jackson and Mike today—two guys who are great, two super agents. But...”