Between Two Shores

2. Chapter One

Chapter One

BETHANY

Bethany Michaels stared at the patches of beige regurgitation adorning the Navy officer's impeccably polished shoes—her vomit.

Holy crap.

Clinging to the rail of the Rottnest ferry, she begged her stomach to settle and cease its tumultuous protest. Grateful that she’d had nothing more than coffee that morning, she took stock of the minimal damage. Gradually lifting her head, she was met with the soothing cadence of an American voice.

"Are you okay, miss?" A pair of deep brown eyes locked onto hers, offering solace.

His Navy colleague, seated behind, grabbed a handful of napkins from his backpack and shoved them into the hand of the man she’d just puked on. Onlookers stared, some with empathy, others with disgusted frowns. An Asian woman used two hands like a make-shift mask, covering her entire nose and mouth, and slunk to the back of the cabin.

It's seasickness, not a viral threat, lady.

Bethany blinked in slow motion. If only she could lie down somewhere soft. The man before her came into focus again. He steadied her other arm. Aftershave mingled with whispers of salt swirled around her.

Must sit.

He handed her the napkins. As she wiped her lips, she mumbled, “Thank you—and I’m so sorry.” She pulled from his hold, kneeled to the fiberglass floor, and swiped the brown saliva concoction from his black steel cap boots.

“Ma’am. I’m fine.” He touched her shoulder. “Please, come sit down.”

As he supported her arm, his gaze bounced from her eyes to her lips, and settled on her chest. Typical sleazebag. Like his Navy buddy behind him, who had checked her out earlier.

“That’s a nice pendant you have there.” The stranger’s drawn-out words sang in her ears.

Bethany clutched at her necklace. “This is extremely special to me.” Her mother’s photo nestled inside the antique clasp.

He straightened to his full six-foot-frame. “It’s not often a young person wears those. Must be from someone special?”

Her brow furrowed. Asking questions usually fell to her as a struggling reporter. If this sailor wasn’t turned off by her retching on his shoes, he must be desperate for female company. Bethany wouldn’t be drawn in by his act of kindness—not from his type.

“Yes. Not that it’s any of your business.” Her face heated. What had she said? He might genuinely want to make conversation and nothing more.

The man chuckled. “This is true.” His laugh lines relaxed as he tapped his uniform-covered chest. “Unfortunately, the American Navy’s reputation in Fremantle isn’t that upstanding. They sure think Australian women are beautiful, but I’m a Deployment Resiliency Counselor and it’s my job to keep the boys respectful at port.” He shrugged.

The flush on her face must be tomato red by now. “Oh my—I do apologize, sir. I thought you were—” She eyed the sailor seated on the metal bench, tapping his phone screen.

A swish of waves from a passing speedboat revived her nausea. She grappled for the rail.

He held her free arm. “Miss, you should sit. Let me get you some water.” He led her to the bench, near the younger sailor, then strode away.

His friend glanced at her with a lop-sided grin. “Trouble with your sea legs, ma’am?”

She forced a smile. The acid in her throat still stung. Bethany faced the staircase. The counselor’s toned legs pounded the stairs and disappeared to the drink and snacks bar on level one. She didn’t want to be left alone with his buddy too long.

“I’m Officer McKillip. But call me Wally.”

Bethany turned toward the guy, and he offered a peppermint Tic Tac. She squinted at the offer. Did her breath stink? How embarrassing. She took two mints from the container and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Crunching on the candy, she scanned the cabin, relieved most people were preoccupied and had stopped staring—all except an old Italian woman wearing dark sunglasses. The little lady probably thought the tint hid her eyes well enough. Or maybe she didn’t care and found the scene before her entertaining.

“And you are?” Wally interrupted her thoughts with his distinct southern twang.

Why couldn’t she bring herself to have a civil conversation with this guy? Her father had raised her to treat all people equally without judgment. They needed to have that mindset for the community centre they ran. Like fingerprints, the code of conduct had melded into her psyche.

High school memories flashed in her mind—the ones of sailors coming into port, taking over the streets, arms dangling from pub windows. They’d whistled and leered, finding something alluring about her school uniform. More bile rose to her throat. She wouldn’t throw up on this sailor too—would she?

“I’m Beth.” She slumped against the rigid seat, her spine grating against the cold aluminum. Bethany gazed at the view of the sparkling ocean and took slow, deep breaths. The saltwater sprayed like pins past the window as the ferry bounced at high speed. Land only minutes away. Why couldn’t she handle a thirty-minute trip to Rottnest Island? Ridiculous. And she hoped to be a cutting-edge journalist? She shook her head. If she didn’t get the scoop on the Quokka numbers decline, then perhaps the story of a woman throwing up on a Navy officer could be her backup. A local story might get her boss’s attention—although a tad boring, the Fremantle Herald might print it.

She peeked from the corner of her eye. Wally had given up for the moment and tapped away on his phone. Thuds from the stairs made her head turn and lock eyes with the well-built counselor. His uniform contoured to firm muscles. She mentally scolded herself—just because she was a single thirty-one-year-old, didn’t mean she should ogle the American.

With a broad smile that could melt icebergs in Antarctica, the handsome counselor held out a bottle of spring water. “This should help.” His smooth accent soothed like a healing balm.

“You’re so kind—even after I ruined your shoe.”

“And I took another bullet.” He pointed to his chest and winked as he sat beside her. His muscular thigh brushed hers.

She inched away and spotted two wet patches on his khaki uniform. Bethany ground her back teeth. That must be why he took so long, cleaning her mess. Had she sprayed him when he’d bent to help her earlier? So gross.

“I’ll buy you a new one when we get to the island.” She rushed her words.

His eyebrow twitched as a grin formed. “They sell Navy uniforms there?”

“No. But there are souvenir t-shirts. It can remind you of when a nit-wit reporter couldn’t keep it together on the Rottnest Ferry.” She gave a sheepish grin, then took a sip of the water, letting the cold soothe her throat.

“A reporter, hey?” His brown eyes sparkled as he angled toward her. “What are you investigating?”

“There’s been an unusual amount of deaths among the Quokka marsupials. They’re already vulnerable to extinction. Rottnest Island has kept them safe from predators like foxes or cats, but scientists are trying to work out why an increased number has become sick recently.”

His eyes widened. “So, I better not touch one? They might be diseased.”

She leaned in and whispered, “No. They’ve ruled that out. Now the police are involved. Something suspicious is going on. One corpse had traces of plastics, but they could’ve been poisoned on purpose.”

He scrunched his brow. “Who’d want to hurt those cute mini-kangaroos?”

She let out a laugh. The Quokkas did look like baby roos, and they were adorable. “I know, right? It doesn’t make sense. That’s why I’m on a mission to find out. But I only have today to investigate.”

“Can we help?” He glanced at his friend and back. “If you don’t mind Wally coming along, that is?”

“You’ve noticed I’m not keen on your mate.”

“Yes, I saw the warning don’t-you-dare-go-there look. You can see through his fa?ade.” He lowered his voice. “I understand. I’m assigned to keep an eye on him. He got into a brawl last night at the Sail and Anchor pub with some lady’s boyfriend.”

Wally’s face had a slight mauve-gray mark below one eye. That’d teach him. Why did sailors annoy her? Not all should be judged by the bunch of meatheads she came across at sixteen.

“What do you say?” The counselor raised a brow.

She straightened her back and tilted her chin. “What’s your name anyway?”

He offered his hand. “Counselor Peters, they call me in the Navy. Lachlan is my preferred name.”

She gave him a firm handshake. “They call me Private Detective Michaels.”

He sniggered. “Nice.”

“Most people know me as Bethany or Beth.” She grinned. “It may be to my advantage to have you both on my investigation team for the day. No one would expect American tourists to be snooping up a scoop.”

“This could be a lot of fun. I’m up for an undercover adventure.” He gave a ridiculously attractive smile.

“To be honest, I’m a part-time copy editor for a local newspaper. They paid me for two articles, but the rest were free submissions. I want to become a full-time journalist, not the sub-editor. I’m at the bottom rung of the ladder.” She shrugged. “But I’ve got to start somewhere.”

“True.”

“If this ends up a bigger story than imagined, I’ll submit the article to the West Australian . That would be a dream come true—published in the state’s newspaper.”

“I hope I can help those dreams come true.” He lowered his voice. “And, hey, if Wally acts out as usual, maybe it’ll make national news.” He chuckled, then shook his head. “No, that would be bad on my part. I’m assigned to him, so we keep our reputation intact. And save his butt from being discharged and sent back to the U.S.”

She angled toward him. Her pulse tripled in speed when his kind eyes connected with hers. “It’d be my pleasure to have you assist me, Counselor Peters—free of charge, mind you.” She offered a cheeky smile and a handshake.

“Lachlan will do.” He shook her hand in agreement. So warm and inviting. Tingles flew up her arm.

Bethany reclaimed her hand. Nice guy or not, he lived elsewhere. He didn’t belong in Australia, but she did. No point in getting all light and fuzzy from his charms. But she could enjoy his company and friendship for today—no harm in that.

Wally called to Lachlan, “I see the island.”

Bethany’s tummy turned again. How would she manage to join the crowded lines of people without feeling claustrophobic?

Lachlan rubbed her shoulder. “You look a little green. Are you going to be okay? Shall I find a sick bag?”

She must look like a weak female. But she’d rectify that impression once on land. Bethany Michaels was no damsel in distress—as the eldest of six siblings, a born leader, she showed initiative and managed her life as an independent, more than capable, woman.

“I’m fine.”

He raised a brow. “You sure about that?” Lachlan lowered his hand to the middle of her back, heat seeping through the cotton. “I can stay close, just in case you have a spell again.”

Bethany didn’t want to come under any spell, but with his closeness, she became weaker. The bumpy ride wasn’t the only thing making her feel dizzy.

“Thanks, Lachlan. I appreciate your concern.” She gazed into his eyes. He suited the role of counselor. His genuine kindness relaxed her shoulders, and the knots in her stomach dissipated. She could do this.

The ferry slowed as it approached the jetty. A steady hum from the motors underneath sent vibrations up her legs. But as the boat swung in a ninety-degree turn, she swayed into Lachlan. The engine growled as the boat paralleled to a stop, and her face plunged into his neck, intoxicating her with his woodsy scent.

He placed his arm firmly around her shoulder. “Steady breaths.” His voice became slow and comforting. “You’ll be okay.”

She put a hand to his chest and pushed herself upright. “Sorry.”

His muscles flexed under her palm, and she retracted her hand, heat scorching her earlobes.

“Don’t be sorry.” His gaze made her insides flutter. “Stay close and lean on me if you need to. I’ll help you to the rail. We’ll take our time.” He pointed. “And I’ll grab your backpack.”

Bethany turned, grateful that her camera bag had remained safe near the spot where Lachlan had first tried to help her. Little had he known, it would cost him to come to her rescue. He didn’t seem to regret it. Still here. Still holding her.

People rushed past them and lined up at the exit signs. The crew on deck looped thick ropes over the hook stumps in a criss-cross pattern. An announcement over the PA system thanked the passengers for choosing Rottnest Express and wished them a pleasant day on the island. A crew member in a red polo shirt slid a small metal bridge across the gap, connecting to the jetty. He stepped back and waved the passengers through, offering a nod and “thank you” to each person.

Wally passed them. “See you on the other side.” He winked at Bethany.

Lachlan squeezed her shoulder. “Ready?”

How silly did she look? A grown woman incapacitated by a brief ferry ride. The boat had stilled mostly, and she didn’t need a man to help her. Bethany gently shook off his hold and stood.

A swirl rushed inside her head, and she blinked, regretting standing so quickly. But she’d show Lachlan what she was made of—one hundred percent pure Australian stubbornness. One step in front of the other, she sensed his body heat behind her, following like a shadow. She reached below the rail to collect her camera bag, but Lachlan brushed his arm down hers and grabbed the handle first. Now, her hand on top of his, she let go like she’d touched a dangerous flame. This guy seemed too much of a gentleman.

“I’ve got it.” His breath tickled the top of her hair.

“Thanks.” She dared not turn into that captivating gaze again. Bethany marched stiffly to the metal bridge, then stepped into the glorious West Australian sunshine. She might’ve kissed the ground if tourists didn’t swarm about the jetty. The wind whipped her ash-blonde ponytail into her face. She gulped in the fresh, pure air. Ah, better already. Calmness washed over her.

“Aren’t you glad that’s over?”

She turned around.

The tall and handsome counselor half-grinned and held out her bag. “Let’s go on that Quokka investigation, Private Michaels.”