The Record Keeper

By Will Decker

Book 4 in the George 'Mac' McClain Action/Adventure series. With Eddy now working as his official partner, Mac takes on the job of protecting a Federal witness in a racketeering case. Soon after taking custody of the witness, they are ambushed by a sweeper team. Mac doesn't believe it's coincidence that they knew where to find them and immediately suspects their contact in the justice department. Not sure where to turn for help, Mac leads them into the wilderness of Northern California where he believes the National Guard is on maneuvers and that he will find a way to use them to his advantage. Heading down a dead-end logging road with killers in hot pursuit, Mac begins to wonder if the only one he's outsmarted is himself. Ex-Special Forces, Ex-Homicide Detective, Mac has only 2 vices, fine rum and finer women.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Will Decker
• Release date: Feb 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458192059

Will Decker

Hello,There have been some dramatic changes going on in my life and because of them I am finding that I now have more available time. Yeah, that's a laugh. Now it seems like my days are even more hectic than they were before. Hence, I have decided instead of using the narrow sighted approach to marketing my books, I am going to use a much simpler approach. No longer will my books be available through Amazon markets, but instead, my plan is to make them all available through the Smashwords site as well as their affiliated markets for FREE. However, this will take time so if you have read any of my books and are looking to read more of them, bear with me, I promise you they are coming. I hope this works for my dedicated (few) readers. On a different topic, as you can see, most of my writing efforts have been serials.With that said, you will never find a Cliff Hanger amongst my works. All of the stories have beginnings and endings and can stand on their own. Their common thread might be the characters and in some cases, the planet, but all are Stand-Alone novels! I really despise Cliff Hangers with a passion. Can you tell?Thanks for taking the time to get to know me a little better, WillHope you have a great day.Sincerely, Will Decker

Book preview

We’re just wasting our time, I grumble sourly, watching the red and white bobbin moving slowly along on the current. There ain’t any fish left in this lake.

We could just take a swim since the fish aren’t biting anyway, she seductively purrs, her tongue wiping sensually around the lip of the open beer bottle as she studies me from beneath the broad brim of her woven sunhat.

Looking back into her shades as if able to see through to her baby blues, I remark as if I haven’t heard her suggestion, Isn’t that beer getting kind of warm? You’ve been nursing it all afternoon.

Not as warm as I feel when I look at you, she says with a smirk, lowering the bottle till it’s sitting between her bare thighs, the white string bikini leaving little to the imagination while accenting her darkly tanned skin and firm flesh. She could easily pass for a woman half her age.

Setting my rod down against the gunwale of the little wooden rowboat, I stand up with my bare feet submerged in at least two inches of clear lake water that has seeped in between the rotting planks. Stretching, I pull my T-shirt over my head and drop it on the wooden bench that hasn’t shown my ass an ounce of mercy for the past three hours.

Unconsciously, she licks her lips in anticipation while studying my well-muscled and equally tanned bare chest and broad shoulders with open approval and desire.

Without warning, she flips the beer she is holding outward. With a splash, it lands twenty-feet or so from the boat. Pulling herself into an upright sitting position on the wooden plank of a seat, she smiles and carefully removes her sunhat.

What’d you do that for? I quickly blurt, slightly irritated that she would so callously litter.

Rising suddenly, her actions almost upsetting the aging little craft, she excitedly cries out, Whoever finds it is the winner. Loser buys lunch!

Stepping recklessly up onto the wooden bench of a seat, she plants her right foot on the gunwale and propels herself outward. The force of her thrust against the little boat sends it rocking dangerously away from her. Before I can catch my balance, I’m over the edge and into the water, my entry into the water an awkward flop compared to her graceful dive.

The water is clear except for a small amount of algae. Soon, with the long warm days of summer, the algae will multiply and bloom into a thick green soup unsuited to swimming. But for now, it is warm and wonderful, scintillating against the skin.

With powerful strokes, I pull myself in the general direction of the bottle and also toward Eddy. It isn’t necessary for me to surface before swimming swiftly after her. Within seconds, I can make out the bright white of her bikini bottom just a few yards ahead of me. She is pulling with her arms and kicking with her feet as she fights buoyancy to reach the bottom, almost twenty-five feet beneath the surface.

Reaching out, I grab her right foot and pull her back towards the surface. Instinctively, she kicks out at me with her other foot. But it’s already too late as I am already abreast of her and swiftly moving past.

The bottom is in sight, but the bottle is nowhere to be seen in the soft layer of chocolate brown silt.

Applying the powerful strength in my arms and upper body, I pull savagely against the liquid barrier until I can push my hands into the soft goo of the bottom. Yet, before I have a chance to sift through the mucky silt, I feel Eddy’s hands on my shoulders and then her body sliding past mine as she pulls and pushes against me.

Not ready to surrender so easily, I roll onto my side while reaching around to grab her before she can put any distance between us. My hand slips off her left shoulder and snags in the string top of her bikini. Before I can react and pull my hand clear, the light strap snaps and the skimpy top drifts away.

Mistaking my actions for something less innocent, she spins around in slow motion with her hands outstretched and reaches for the top as her full breasts teasingly taunt me. With the added buoyancy of the water, they are even more inviting than I remembered.

She is about to converge on her wayward top when she suddenly changes direction and dives downward at the bottom. To my chagrin and delight, she reaches into the murky silt and comes up with the prize.

Smiling at me through the rays of sunshine from above, her top all but forgotten for the moment, she pushes off from the bottom with her feet and kicks toward the surface.

Like an idiot, I remain unmoving for another moment while looking off in the direction of her lazily floating top. Glancing upward, I see her break the surface and then turn toward the boat.

With a growing awareness of a need for oxygen, I swiftly chase after her top, coming upon it as it drifts lazily toward the surface. Grasping it, I tuck it into the waist band of my jeans before breaking through the surface and gasping loudly for air.

After making certain that no part of her top is visible beneath my waistband, I turn toward the little wooden rowboat and slowly swim toward. Eddy, I’m glad to note, is holding onto the side while she waits for me. Fortunately it’s a large lake and we are relatively far from any other boats; I don’t relish the thought of Eddy showing off her pride to the world.

Winning the bet is much more important to her than the loss of her bikini top and she is smiling victoriously as I slowly and defeatedly swim towards her.

You never had a chance, she says excitedly, purposely holding herself low in the water to conceal her naked breasts.

You cheated, I argue, reaching up to the gunwale next to her. You were in the water before I knew it was a race.

You’re just getting slow in your old age, she rebukes.

Not too slow to catch you now, I smirk, reaching my free arm around her waist and pulling her against me before she can slip away.

Careful not to break it in the boat, she reaches over the side and deposits the bottle on the wooden floor with a dull thunk. Ah, she says triumphantly. The sound of victory.

Slipping my other hand loose from the gunnel, I slide it down into the water and around her waist while searching for the side of her neck with my hungry mouth.

To my surprise, she turns her head away, her wet, curly blonde hair tickling my nose. Wasn’t it you that was acting all interested in me just a few minutes ago? I ask, confused by her sudden change in mood.

Oh, Mac, she starts, her voice apologetic. It must have been the water. She pauses a moment before adding, I’m just not in the mood any longer.

You’ll change your mind when you see where I’m taking you for dinner, I encouragingly tell her, hiding my disappointment while reaching into my pants and producing the bikini top. Here you go, I can’t take you anywhere looking the way you do.

Hey, what do you mean by that remark? she fires back, feigning indignation.

Just that I would have to fight the entire world off to protect your chastity, is all, I flirtingly reply.

Hold me up a minute, would you please? she asks, letting go of the boat so she can use both hands to inspect the bikini top.

Keeping her afloat with my right hand placed gently beneath her left arm, I use my left hand to secure us to the little boat. When she continues working with the top for almost a minute, I finally ask, What seems to be the problem?

It tore loose right at the seam and there isn’t enough material to tie it together, she replies, frustrated that she isn’t able to make it work. And then, having given up on it, she angrily tosses it into the bottom of the boat.

Reaching up and over the side, I locate my T-shirt on the seat and grab it, offering it to her. Here, wear this, you obviously have more need of it than I do.

With a simple thank you, she takes the proffered shirt and pulls it over her head. Despite being way too large, the wet fabric clings to her wet skin and further highlights her large pink nipples. To my amazement, the wet shirt only makes me desire her more, not less, and I have a hard time taking my eyes off her.

Put your eyes back in your head, she says disgustedly, pulling herself up and climbing back into the boat with a little assistance from me in the way of a push on her well-shaped derriere.

Landing on the wooden plank seat, she looks back disapprovingly at me and says, That wasn’t necessary.

Sorry, I mumble humbly, momentarily chastised by her condescending demeanor as I climb into the boat unassisted while she leans away to keep the boat balanced.

Eddy has never showed me this side of her before and I’m sure what to make of it. Something is clearly bothering her, and whatever it is, it came on her very sudden like. Maybe later, when she’s dry and comfortable and has a little food in her tummy, she’ll be more open to explaining her behavior. Until then, however, I’ll just give her some space and try not to upset her anymore than she already is.

**1**

The ride back to the dock in the little rowboat goes smoothly enough. Neither of us speaks more than ten words all told, and then they are all with regard to the poor fishing or the wonderful weather.

As we pull up to the dock, the kid that I’d rented the boat from comes running out of the bait shop. He appears to be all of 12 years old wearing a dirty t-shirt and cutoff jeans with a pair of worn out sneakers that were once white in an earlier life and no socks. For a white kid, his skin is tanned almost black with sun streaks in dark chestnut hair. He glances only briefly at Eddy before taking the lead rope and tying it off to the dock. Before he can weasel any more money out of me, I advise him of the increasing amount of water his boat is taking on. A bit shamefaced at first, he still accepts my money without an offer of refund or discount, which I wasn’t really expecting.

The rent comes to thirty-two dollars with the fishing tackle and bait. I give him two twenties and watch as he smiles briefly before running up the dock and disappearing into the bait shop. I’m not foolish enough to expect him to return with my change. Just as I’m well aware of the fact that he knew the boat was leaking badly before he rented it out to us. But so long as it returns each day and he gets his rental money, he has no intentions of doing anything about it.

The motel is less than a block from the docks and it takes us less than five minutes to reach our room. After freshening up and putting on some clean clothes appropriate to going out to eat; basically clean jeans and a fresh T-shirt, we casually stroll through the historic part of town, checking out the antiquity shops and novelty stores. Unlike a lot of coastal towns, the video arcade industry hasn’t found this little hamlet yet, and for that reason alone, it’s still a nice stroll.

We have almost reached the far end of town and the sun is turning all shades of pinks and oranges in the western sky when we come upon the place that I have in mind. It’s a surf and turf type restaurant leaning heavily on the surf motif, probably because of its proximity to the lake. This place comes highly recommended, I comment while we wait just inside the doors to be seated.

The dining room is large, the far side lined with windows overlooking the lake, but dimly lit in an attempt at creating atmosphere. The construction reminds me of a Swiss Chalet the way the walls and ceiling are white planking accented by heavier, dark timber beams. The tables and chairs are also constructed of a dark heavy timber to match the beams.

Without asking us if we have a preference, the young girl smiles brightly and then leads us to a table for two on the far side of the spacious room. As we draw nearer, I am even more impressed with the magnificent view overlooking the lake. After pulling out Eddy’s chair for her to sit, I take up mine opposite and facing her. Because the restaurant is built on tall peers, we are sitting up high above the water line, which accents the perception of the view, giving it an almost surreal appearance. If we hadn’t just rowed a boat out there, one might believe we were looking at a painting.

The young hostesses smile is genuine as she advises us that the special tonight is Catfish, grilled lightly and seasoned with a hint of garlic and a twist of lemon. Before I can thank her for the splendid seating and inquire as to the occasion for her selection, she adds, Your waitress will be with you shortly. Can I bring you something to drink while you wait?

Eddy casts me a questioning look before speaking, Excuse me.

Yes? the young girl spiritedly inquires, her face clearly exhibiting her eagerness to please as she turns toward Eddy whom is looking at me. If you know what you’d like, I can take your order now and give it to the waitress.

Yes, I do, Eddy replies. But first I’d like to know why we are at one of the nicest tables in the establishment. Surely, you don’t treat all your walk-in patronage this kindly.

I’m sorry? she replies, her face perplexed. I’m afraid I don’t understand. Is there a problem with this table? If you would prefer another table, I’d be glad to move you, she quickly and obligingly adds as she sweeps the room with a wave of her hand to indicate that we can have any of the empty tables that we wish.

The evening dinner crowd hasn’t started arriving yet. But without a doubt, the place is going to get busy and there’s a large sign at the hostess station clearly stating that walk-ins may be required to wait as reservations take priority.

Eddy’s demeanor is not typical of her generally easy-going manner, and I am again finding myself wondering as to what is going on with her. Although I have to admit that I too was wondering why we were being treated to one of the nicest tables in the place, my curiosity wasn’t enough to question it. And normally, Eddy would have simply accepted it in stride also. If anything, she might have mentioned it to me in private later, after the hostess departed, maybe saying something about our good fortune or mistaken identity and then laughing it off as if we had gotten away with something.

Instead, her voice sounding a bit hostile, Eddy dismisses the offer. I’m not complaining about the table, Miss. It’s more than adequate. I was just wondering if there is a special reason that you placed us here and not somewhere off to the side and out of the way, if you get my drift.

Eddy’s words and the manner in which she delivers them have a profound effect on the young girl as her face falls and she appears on the verge of tears. I’m very sorry, Mam, I was just doing what I thought was expected of me.

A bright crimson shade rises up from beneath her collar and flushes her cheeks as she nervously chokes on her next words; the young hostess suddenly appears as a small trapped animal about to be devoured by a lioness. My heart goes out to her as she is unable to continue, her mind at a loss for words and her throat tight with anxiety.

Before the situation can deteriorate further, I jump in to rescue her with a simple, straightforward question that shouldn’t require any degree of thought, Miss, who asked you to seat us here and when was the reservation made?

No one could have known we were coming here. We didn’t even know ourselves until we actually arrived that this was indeed where we were going to eat.

The young hostess closes her eyes tightly and takes a deep breath, exaggeratedly swallowing to clear her throat before speaking while her arms are crossed in front of her breasts in a typically defensive pose.

When she again opens her eyes, I notice the swelling moisture of tears ringing them. It’s okay, Miss, Eddy starts, her tone no longer harsh, but more conciliatory. It wasn’t my intention to upset you. It’s just that, well, we were wondering why you were giving us such special treatment. This is obviously among the finest restaurants in town, and I’m certain that your customers generally make reservations just to get a table in here, even in the off season. So I have to ask, what makes us special?

But, she starts, visibly searching for the right words to continue. You do have reservations. Or, at least they are reservations of a sort.

Please, do explain, Miss, I encourage her, my curiosity now piqued.

Before she starts, she takes another deep breath and ungraciously clears her throat. I received a call around two this afternoon, right after I arrived for work and opened the phone line for incoming reservations for the evening. A gentleman called, stating that he wanted the best table in the house, preferably with a view. She pauses for a moment to take another breath before continuing. When I ask his name, he said that I should just keep an eye out for a good looking couple in denim jeans and sneakers. The man will have on a sky blue T-shirt and the woman a plaid blue and white blouse.

Good looking couple, I softly reiterate for Eddy’s sake, and then fall conspicuously silent when she chastises me with one of her looks.

Nervous, oblivious of the exchange that just took place between Eddy and I, our young hostess looks out at the calming tranquility of the lake as a small motor boat cruises by with a man and his young son aboard. They are just returning from a long day of fishing and racing against the looming darkness.

Continuing of her own accord, she says, I informed him that we were going to be filled by seven-thirty to which he quickly explained that money was of no object, just so long as I made it happen. She pauses for a moment before adding, He sounded very forceful on the phone, almost threatening. She takes another deep breath before hesitantly adding, I should have told my boss immediately.

Why didn’t you? I ask while carefully studying her face for a reaction.

The money, she replies with a tinge of guilt. I’m working my way through school and I really need the money.

Would you recognize his voice again if you heard it? I asked, and then had another thought. It wasn’t my voice, was it?

Oh no! she hurriedly blurts. And then, as if to explain herself, she smiles at me and says, You have a soft, gentle voice; what my mother would call a caring voice. His was harsh, uncaring, almost on the verge of being mean. She blushes slightly before continuing, I suspected immediately that the reservation wasn’t for him. And then, when you came in, I knew immediately my suspicions were correct.

I’ll take that as a compliment, I smile, giving Eddy a told-you-so look. It also doesn’t escape Eddy’s notice that the hostess referred to me in the singular. So, if he didn’t give you his name, how did he pay, or didn’t he? And was the reservation just for two, or should we be expecting a third party?

I asked the latter question, even though I knew the answer before she replied simply because she placed us at a table for two.

Just for two, she quickly replies, her nervousness slowly dissipating. He gave me a credit card number for payment. If there’s a limit on it, I’m not aware of it. He covered your meals, drinks, and a more than generous tip for all the hired help. He made of point of making sure that even the busboy wasn’t overlooked.

It would seem to me, we have a very generous benefactor, Mac, Eddy calmly remarks, no traces of her hostility of just a moment before.

Yeah, and someone that makes a point of assuring that no one is overlooked by his generosity, even the lowly table cleaner, can’t be all bad, I add with an outward smile. Inwardly, my brain is feverishly running over everything that has happened since we arrived in town. Yet, no matter the smallest details, I keep coming up empty.

Before I can say anything more, Eddy pipes up. Since drinks are on the house, bring us a bottle of your finest West Indies rum and a small decanter of molasses, if you would please.

Yes, Mam, she says, and then turns hurriedly away, overtly relieved to be free of any further duty-bound obligation to us.

What’s going on, Mac? Eddy whispers, looking suspiciously after the hostess as she disappears through double swinging batwing doors leading into the kitchen prep area. We don’t know anyone in this town.

It would appear that we’ve got a mystery on our hands, I calmly remark, suddenly anxious for the rum that will be delivered in short order.

The look on Eddy’s face suddenly changes and I realize immediately that she is still harboring suspicions of me setting this up.

No, Eddy, I didn’t have anything to do with this. I am in the dark the same as you. Gospel, I add, my voice dripping with sincerity.

Although the situation is strange, it doesn’t strike me as dangerous. No one from my past has the finesse or class to fix us up with a wonderful meal in a nice restaurant just to kill us after the fact. The type of thugs that I’ve dealt with would just put a bullet in the back of my head and dance on my corpse for good measure.

No, more than likely this is someone that wants to thank us for a past deed or is about to ask us for a good deed in the near future. Either way, I’ve a gut feeling it’s going to become evident soon enough.

Someone not only figured out that this is the restaurant we would be drawn to, but also how we would be dressed. How do you figure that one out, Mac?

The restaurant is a no-brainer. Unless we picked up some junk food on our stroll back to the hotel, which you have to admit isn’t exactly our style, this is the only establishment that serves liquor within walking distance of the lake and the motel. But what gets me is, we hadn’t even returned the rowboat by the time our benefactor was making reservations for us and yet, he knew what we would be wearing, right down to your blouse and my T-shirt?

Reading my thoughts, Eddy finishes for me. He had to be in our room to know what we’d brought along in the way of clothing, and based on the forecast temperature this evening, figured out what would be appropriate.

Even I don’t know myself that well, I grumble under my breath as the waiter heads across the room toward us with a tray holding two menus, two glasses, a miniature decanter of a thick dark liquid, and a fifth of West Indies rum.

Following close on his heels is another waiter carrying a tray with a covered loaf of freshly baked bread, a large patter of hand-churned butter and two glasses of ice water on one hand with a stack of dishes, silverware, and napkins on the other. Their stride is second nature as if they’ve done this their entire lives.

The first man, dressed identical to the second in black slacks, white shirt, and black tuxedo, leans over the table as he elegantly unloads the tray with his free hand.

After setting a glass and a menu before each of us, he politely asks if we would like him to serve the rum or if our preference is to do so ourselves.

We’ll be fine, thank you, I acknowledge, my impatience for them to be gone so I can indulge in the rum growing by the second.

He bows and steps aside to allow the second man access to the table. While the second man sets out the plates and silverware with a learned deftness and grace, I take note of other patrons as they arrive for the evening business. With regularity indicative of a prospering business, the hostess moves from her station to the tables, seats the arriving guests and then returning to her station to start the process all over again.

When the second waiter or maitre de finishes setting our places, he says, I’ll return when you’re ready to order. Then he bows curtly, a bit overdone in my humble opinion, and follows the first waiter back to the kitchen area.

Noticing my studious attention to the new arrivals, Eddy asks, Do you think our benefactor might be among the other guests this evening?

I think it’s a very good possibility, I resignedly concur, turning back to face her. If our benefactor wishes to make his presence known, he will contact us. If not, we won’t know him from any of the others that frequent this place.

The setting sun is casting soft hues of reds and oranges through the plate glass window. The effect is causing her skin to glow. You look beautiful tonight, Eddy.

Do you love me, Mac?

The question comes out of nowhere and the light from the window dissipates as if on cue from some all-knowing being. Momentarily taken aback, I unromantically blurt, Of course, I do.

Even though I didn’t give you what you obviously wanted out on the lake earlier?

I’d like to believe that our relationship is more than just sex, Eddy, I exasperatedly retort beneath my breath, purposely keeping my voice low so as not to draw attention to our table while trying desperately to figure out where this conversation is going. Already, there are people sitting on the tables to either side of ours.

We haven’t worked in more than three months, since moving in together, she continues, her voice equally subdued as she leans forward. There has to be more to our relationship than fishing trips, rum, sex, county fairs, and going out to eat.

Of course there’s more to our relationship than just having a selfishly good time, I reply, clearly on the defensive in this conversation and having a hard time keeping my anger in check.

And then, it suddenly dawns on me like a load of bricks hitting me from 10 floors up. Eddy wants to take our relationship to the next level. Marriage, children, and a permanent commitment maybe. Or at the least, definitely something more than what we are currently sharing?

So the big question I have to answer is, am I ready for something more? Because if I’m truthful with myself, I have to admit that I’m rather enjoying our current relationship.

I understand now why you have been acting differently lately, I say in a pacifying tone of voice, treading softly for fear of upsetting her by sounding condescending. You need something more from me, don’t you?

Yes, Mac, she softly replies, suddenly on the verge of tears. She is struggling with her thoughts and I can do nothing but wait silently for her to straighten them out and verbalize what she wants from me. Or more importantly, what she feels she needs from me.

Using the moment of silence, I pour us each a generous portion of rum before taking a second to add a couple of drops from the small decanter into each. From experimentation, Eddy and I both discovered that we found our rum even more enticing when doctored with a few drops of molasses. Since rum is distilled from molasses, adding a couple of drops back into it seems to return some of the fine flavor that is removed in the distilling process. Of course, we only indulge in this little extra treat when it is convenient.

Without giving it any thought, I slowly stir my drink with the tip of my right pinky while Eddy’s gaze drops down as if deeply studying hers, unable to look me in the eye.

I’m afraid, Mac, she finally whispers, her voice a bit unsteady with emotion.

There is nothing to be afraid of, Eddy, I quickly reassure her. You know I love you with all my heart. That’s not going to change. But you have to talk to me. I’m not psychic. You have to tell me what’s going on, I gently plead.

You know how I feel about you Mac. And I believe that I know how you feel about me, she whispers emotionally, taking a breath before she can continue. And yet, it scares the Hell out of me to tell you this. She pauses for a moment, taking a swallow of her drink before subconsciously swiping her right hand across her forehead as if wiping away sweat, though the restaurant is neither hot nor cold.

Relax, Eddy, it’s not that bad, I say, trying to assuage her fears and concerns. My heart reaches out to her, the stress she currently finds herself under having an acute effect on me also.

Forcing a smile, she raises her eyes to mine, and says, One of the things that first drew me to you was your independent nature. You were like a pillar of strength in a field of peasants. She chuckles softly at the recollection of her memory. "It was impossible for me to resist you. You were unlike any other man I’d ever met. Even though you are extremely independent, you have a soft side, an unprotected