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“I’m going to put my arms down now.” He started to lower his arms.
“Keep your hands up!” she barked.
Slowly, he raised his arms back up, squinted against the glare of the light. “Is that you, Jackie Birch?”
She didn’t know what to do. She moistened her lips, hesitated.
It was all the time he needed. He dropped to the floor of his boat.
Startled, she moved the light to track him, but when her beam caught him again, he was back on his feet, a real gun in his hand.
Pointed straight at her.
She immediately switched off the light. It was her turn to dive to the floor of her boat.
“You don’t have a gun, do you?” he taunted. “You’re all bluster.”
Crap! How was she going to get out of this? From her spot on the bottom of the boat, she eyed the keys dangling in the ignition. If she stood up, she’d be in his line of direct fire, but maybe she could ease over, start the engine and—
“It’s over, Birch,” he said. “Give it up.”
What the hell was he talking about? Give what up? He was the one stealing her equipment.
Anger warred with fear. She wanted to confront him, demand to know who he was and what he was doing, but he had a gun. She had no idea what he was capable of. Gone was the affable guy she’d met that morning. In his place was a man hard-core enough to pull a gun on an unarmed woman.
You started it. You told him that you had a gun.
And she was going to end it.
She scooted on her butt until she was close enough to reach the keys, never mind the Astro Turf on the floor of the boat burning her thighs. She heard the sound of heavy footsteps but didn’t dare look up. She had to get out of here before he tried to board her boat.
With one hand she started the engine. With the other, she slammed the boat into Reverse. The craft dizzily spun backward.
Jackie pulled herself up onto the seat but kept her head down.
Everly uttered a curse and a split second later the sound of his boat engine churned the night air.
Heart pounding in her throat, she goosed the accelerator and took off down the channel. She would have preferred the ocean as an escape route but she would have had to go past him in order to get there. Clearly, he would have no compunction about ramming her boat or shooting her for that matter.
Who was he and what did he want? He couldn’t simply be a competing researcher. Not even her father’s assistants would take things this far.
What if he was a smuggler and she’d accidentally staked a claim near his port of operation? She’d heard colorful stories about drug smugglers, had dismissed them as urban legends. Now she wished she had not been so cavalier.
Boone had told her that her single-mindedness would get her into trouble one day. She should have listened. Wistfully, she wondered if she’d ever see her brother again. She didn’t know him well, but he was the only sibling she had, the only connection to her mother.
She pushed down on the throttle, running her skiff full-out, but the bigger pursuit boat was gaining on her. The moon had started to rise, blazing a silver light over the water. Speed-generated wind blew her hair out behind her, whipping over her ears.
His engine revved, whining high and hot. In the rearview mirror she saw him move to the left. He was going to overtake her.
Go, go, go.
But there was no more power left in her dinky boat. It had nothing left to give.
She let out a cry of alarm. What to do? What to do? She could slow down, let him pass her, try to whip around and head for the ocean, but she knew she couldn’t outrun him. The scenario would be the same, only in the opposite direction.
Yet, she could not surrender. Could not give up without a fight.
You could always go into the water.
Water. The one place she always felt safe.
His boat caught up to hers. They were racing neck and neck down the channel. Mangrove trees whipped by on both sides. At this speed, in the dark, wrecking was a distinct possibility.
Dread crouched on her shoulders, but she kept going because she did not know what else to do. She’d learned a long time ago to bury her emotions. Deny them power over her actions.
He honked his horn.
She refused to look over. Fear was a marching band, ramming a cacophony of adrenaline through her veins. Her temple throbbed. Her fisted hands tightened around the wheel. Her thoughts galloped, but no solutions materialized. She should have moved her equipment when she’d run across him this morning. Why hadn’t she moved her equipment?
Because that was where her research had led her. Because in her single-mindedness she’d neglected to realize how vulnerable she was. Because she’d been so invested in showing up her father that she hadn’t paid any attention to the threats around her.
Stupid, stupid girl. She could hear her father now.
Berating herself wasn’t helping. She had to think. What was she going to do?
Everly’s boat overtook hers. He pulled around in front of her, and started slowing down. She had no choice but to slow down, too, or ram into him.
Go ahead ram him.
Except her skiff would smash to smithereens in the process. He had one hand on the wheel, but he was looking back at her, the gun extended from his other hand. Moonlight washed over his bare chest. He was still mostly naked except for a pair of dark boxer briefs.
“Stop your boat,” he ordered.
She started to jerk the wheel to the left to try to bolt.
“Don’t make me shoot you,” he warned.
Defeat drained every bit of energy from her body. She turned off the engine.
“Good move,” he said in a tone so patronizing she wanted to smack him. He wheeled his boat around, edged it alongside hers, cut the engine.
Narrowed, steely eyes met hers. His jaw was set. His gun pointed right at her heart. “Hands up.”
Slowly, she raised her arms over her head.
Time slowed, moved like syrup.
This was it. She was about to be raped or killed or both. She gritted her teeth, curled her fingernails into her palms.
No, no, I’m not going down without a fight. I’ll take my last breath fighting.
“United States Coast Guard,” Scott barked. “Face down on the floor. Prepare to be boarded.”
4
There’s no such thing as a Coast Guard on vacation.
—Marcy Dugan, public relations liaison, Sector Key West
SCOTT STOOD ON THE BOW of her small craft, playing his flashlight over the prostrate woman, alarmed by the jolt of sexual awareness passing through him. He couldn’t want her. He shouldn’t want her.
But he did.
Gotta stop these inappropriate impulses, Everly. Six months is too long. You need to get laid. Clear your head. ASAP.
“You … you’re really Coast Guard?” Relief leaked from her voice, filled the starry night air.
She lay on the floor of the boat, her hands clasped behind her back, wrists crossed together over her fanny, awaiting his handcuffs. Problem was, his cuffs were in the pants pocket of his uniform on his boat. Not to mention he was standing there in nothing but boxer briefs plastered wetly against his thighs and his half boner.
Briefly, he closed his eyes, licked his lips, struggled for control.
She raised her head from the floor, turned her face upward, squinted into the light.
Terrified that she would get a glimpse of his arousal, Scott commanded, “Face down!”
She obeyed, planting her chin back on the Astro Turf.
Scott wasn’t sure what to do next. He couldn’t let her up until he’d resolved his body’s unwanted involuntary response. He swallowed hard.
Quick, think of something libido crushing.
But all he could think about was how long and sexy her legs looked in those cutoff blue jeans.
Scott clenched his jaw. Global warming. The state of health care. The national debt.
“What have I done?” she asked. “What laws have I broken?”
He didn’t know what to do. Let her up? Go put on his clothes? But if he stopped to put on his clothes, she could make another run for it. Not that she could escape, but he didn’t want the hassle of chasing her down again.
Scott shone the light around her boat, looking for something to restrain her with, spied a rope coiled in the corner. It was too big and thick, but it would have to do.
“The least you could do is answer me,” she said. “This is pretty outrageous. You chase me down, pull a gun on me—”
“You pulled a gun on me first.” He retrieved the rope.
“I didn’t have a gun.”
“I didn’t know that.” He settled his SIG Sauer P229R and the flashlight on the short bow and leaned over to tie her up.
“Are you sure you’re Coast Guard?”
His fingers skimmed her soft skin as he looped the rope around her slender wrists. He could feel her breathing in angry gulps of air. The erection he thought he’d conquered stirred again.
Dammit!
Scott tugged on the ropes, making sure they were secure.
“You’re rude, you know that? How am I supposed to know you’re Coast Guard? You don’t identify yourself. You’re not in a Coast Guard cutter. You’re in your underwear—”
“Lieutenant Commander Scott Everly at your service,” he said. “And I’m on leave.”
“So if you’re on vacation do you even have the authority to manhandle me?” she seethed.
“I am when I see a crime being committed.”
“What crime?” she yelled.
“Easy there, mermaid.”
“Don’t patronize me.” She chafed.
He straightened, turned, moved away.
“Hey! Where are you going?”
“To solve the underwear situation.”
“What are you talking about?”
Ignoring her, he picked up his duty weapon and flashlight and stepped back onto his boat.
“What are you doing? You’re not just going to leave me tied up here!”
In spite of himself, Scott smiled. She was a feisty one. He’d grant her that. He dressed quickly, finally feeling fully in control again, holstered his duty weapon, retrieved the cylinder he’d found attached to the Kevlar cable and returned to her skiff. He reached down, hauled her to her feet and played the beam of his flashlight over her.
She sent him a blistering scowl. “I demand to know what I’m being charged with.”
“Have a seat,” he said mildly, indicating the captain’s chair.
“No.” Defiantly, she raised her chin.
He gave her his sternest military officer glare. “Do you really want to go there?”
“Bully.” Petulantly, she settled onto the seat.
“You’ve got some mouth on you.” He sank onto the small bench seat opposite her.
She narrowed her eyes, stuck out her tongue.
