Free Dark Memories (The DARK Files Book 1) by Susan Vaughan Page B

she’d offered him comfort about his old man. In the midst of danger and her own grief, she thought of others. Compassion flowed automatically, part of her nature.Regardless of the past, protecting her was personal as well as duty.
    And regardless of the present, he longed to taste her skin. To bury himself inside her until the rekindled passion burned all the lost years to oblivion.
    But to do his job and remain alert he needed emotional distance. Neutrality. Guarding Laura would be more torture than the New Dawn Warriors could dream up.
    “The class is held over on the east shore of Passabec Lake.” She pointed toward a cluster of rambling outbuildings that included a bathhouse and boat shed. All gave a good view of the rental and private cabins on the west side.
    They continued past the beach to the docks and the boat shed, about the size of a one-car garage.
    “The boat shed’s really an equipment building.” She shoved the old-fashioned door. The heavy wood squeaked in protest on its metal runner, but yielded and slid to the right. “And before you ask, no, we don’t keep it locked. This is Maine, not D.C. or New York.”
    He nodded, chalking up one more spot a killer could hide. Or a DARK officer for surveillance. Knowing he had backup downshifted the pressure to manageable.
    Only the sunlight streaming inside illuminated the boating gear. Oars, odds and ends of lines and ropes, sail bags and life vests lined the walls of the musty interior. A Coleman lantern and its fuel can sat atop a wooden stool, and an old rowboat lay in a corner beside a motor and red plastic gasoline containers.
    He whistled softly. “You’d better hope a big storm doesn’t come along and blow this shed away. Rotten boards all around.”
    She darted about the cluttered space, sorting sail bags and life vests. The sway of her hips and the silken fall of her hair snagged his gaze. “The regular handyman was going to repair it, but he hurt his back.”
    “I hope this place doesn’t get struck by lightning.” The stuffing from a pile of discarded life vests bled through ragged holes onto the dirt floor. Busy mice.
    “Eliminating the junk would help.” Laura prodded a fist-size hole in the white dinghy’s bottom. “I’d like this out of here too. It’s identical to mine. A guest ran it up on the rocks last summer. Jake was fiber glassing it. With him out of commission, Burt has his hands full with all the normal maintenance and gardening.”
    Heat erupted in his gut. It must be concern at an unknown factor like that kid. Cole had no real reason to resent him. Relieved he’d kept his anger spike to himself, he swallowed the rest of his coffee. He set the mug on the floor when she shoved an armload of life vests at him.
    “Here, make yourself useful. Put these out on the dock.” She picked up a couple of sail bags and headed outside.
    He followed into the brilliant sunshine as the novice sailors began arriving. Some wore T-shirts, others shorts over their swimsuits.
    No chance of missing the going-on-twenty-five Kay. Wearing makeup heavy enough to require a neck brace and a cutoff T-shirt that displayed her budding attributes, she was dressed for a street corner rather than a sailboat. She gyrated onto the dock to the beat from whatever was playing in her earbuds. A chunky boy, likely her younger brother, trailed behind.
    Six more youngsters trooped onto the dock chattering and laughing. Wreathed in smiles, they eyed him with curiosity.
    “None of the kids I’ve been around lately looked this well fed or well kept,” Cole said, struck by the openness he saw. “They were ragged and thin, wary of the Americans asking questions. Or big-eyed orphans desperate for affection.”
    Laura’s gaze skittered away. “Did you … come in contact with many children? Orphans?”
    “People are so poor in Colombia that some abandon children they can’t feed. My unit picked up a baby in a field and took her to an orphanage just north of