She watched, listened, and absorbed intently. Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t have known a marine widget from a nautical whatsit and wouldn’t have cared. But nothing had been normal since Kyle vanished.
The Tomorrow was her best chance of helping him. The logical part of her mind knew that the boat wasn’t much of a chance. Her emotions didn’t care. This was the only chance she had. She would make the most of it and ignore Archer’s smug advice about going back home and catching up on her designing.
It was hard to design when she couldn’t shake the feeling that the key to Kyle’s disappearance—and reappearance—lay somewhere in the San Juan Islands, just waiting to be discovered by her. That was why she had plastered the town with “Wanted: Fishing Guide who knows SeaSports” notices.
She finally had the guide. Now all she had to do was keep her mind on cold electronics instead of on a stranger with clean hands and a wry, sexy curve to his mouth. Considering that she had given up dating precisely because she was tired of men who thought sex was as obligatory—and exciting—as breathing, keeping her mind on electronics shouldn’t have been a problem.
But it was.
She wondered if Jake would mind not exhaling for a bit, just while he was so close to her. The coffee-and-cream scent of his breath was making her restless.
“Chart plotter,” Honor said, trying to gather her thoughts.
“What about it?”
She frowned at the small computer screen to the left of the steering wheel. The screen, and assorted other electronic equipment, was mounted on a swinging arm that could be pushed out of the way into the V berth when the boat was at anchor. There were rows of buttons with cryptic labels bordering the screen. There was another number pad below, but it wasn’t set up like any computer she had ever seen. None of the labels helped her to figure out what all the buttons did. In addition there was one of Kyle’s crazy add-ons wired into the lot. She had no idea what modification her brother had made to the standard electronic setup.
But if he had an electronic “lock” on this computer, she knew the password he used to access his other computers. All she had to do was figure out how to use the basic electronic equipment while learning how to run the boat itself. Then she would access the special computer stuff—if any—with Kyle’s password, find out the key to everything, fire up the SeaSport, and go rescue her brother.
Simple.
Honor ignored all the self-doubts and gaping holes in her plan. She had been over them all again and again in the past week and done nothing but wear paths on the cottage floor as she paced. The secret to success lay in doing one thing at a time. Right now, the thing was learning the Tomorrow’s electronics.
“How does the chart plotter work?” she asked.
“Well, I hope. If not, there’s always the old-fashioned way to plot a course.”
“What’s that?”
“Compass, pencil, and ruler.”
“Tell me about the electronic way.”
Jake’s eyebrows lifted slightly. The demand in her voice was polite but very real. Excitement whipped invisibly through his blood. She didn’t like boats or water but she was dead set on learning about plotting a course. If the cops were right about Kyle sneaking back into the United States, the key to the stolen amber might very well be the Tomorrow.
The lady must have amber on her mind. That was the best news Jake had heard since the amber disappeared and the governments of Lithuania, Kaliningrad, and Russia had decided that J. Jacob Mallory’s passport was no longer welcome in their countries. Nor was any representative of his company, Emerging Resources.
“I’m used to a different electronic setup,” Jake said, which was true. “I’ll have to study up on these before I can teach you much.” Not true, but hell, she was a Donovan. Lies weren’t new to the Donovan clan.
“We’ll learn together,” Honor said.
Jake would rather have pried the truth out of the computer without a Donovan witness. “If you’re in a hurry, you can teach yourself.”
“How?”
“Read the manuals that came with the equipment.”
“I couldn’t find any.”
“Then we’ll have to do it my way, won’t we?”
“Hell.”
He smiled despite himself. “Patience is a virtue.”
“So is chastity. I don’t hear many men standing foursquare behind it.”
“Or women.”
“Equality. Ain’t it great?”
Jake looked at the bright, hard teeth filling Honor’s smile and wondered if she enjoyed the sexual merry-go-round that passed for urban dating. Scorecards had never appealed to him. Neither had punchboards.
“Yeah, great,” he said coolly. “The white button is the horn. These two levers over here are the gas feed and the shifter.”
“Which is which?”
“Black knob is the shifter. Red is the gas. You can turn off the blower now.”
In order to reach the console, Honor had to lean across the aisle in front of Jake. Except for the horn, all the rocker switches looked alike. Black.
As she edged closer to read the fine white print beneath the dark switches, she discovered that Jake’s body was a lot warmer than his voice. The living heat of him radiated through his stained denim jacket. Stained, but not dirty. The cloth was as clean as her own fingernails. She wondered if the rest of him was equally warm and well washed.
Think nautical she told herself sharply. Think fishing. Think root canal without anesthesia.
Her clean, unvarnished fingernail pressed on the blower switch. The noise from the back of the boat stopped.
“I’m assuming this is like the other Volvo marine engines I’ve run,” Jake said.
“Meaning?”
His big hand wrapped around the lever with the red knob. He pumped the gas feed up and down several times. “They catch fire faster if they’re stroked a bit first.”
“Is that some kind of salty saying that has double meanings?” she muttered beneath her breath, thinking Jake couldn’t hear her.
“Like ‘broad in the beam’ or ‘any port in a storm’?” he asked, deadpan.
Her head snapped around. He was looking at her from a distance of two inches. There were slivers of blue and green and black mixed in with the transparent silver of his eyes. His eyelashes were much too long for a man who wore a scruffy denim jacket and had calluses on his hands.
His eyes were beautiful.
“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” he said. “You like my eyes.”
A hint of red stained Honor’s cheekbones.
“Such manly modesty,” she drawled. “Do all your female clients gush over you?”
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s a good thing you aren’t expecting a tip. You have the interpersonal finesse of a neutron bomb.”
He gave a crack of laughter, inserted the small ignition key, and twisted. The engine growled to life. He tapped the lever, adjusting the gas feed. The engine settled into a contented, chuckling kind of rumble.
“We’ll let it warm up for a few minutes,” he said. “It—”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess. Another salty homily about hot engines and smooth rides?”
“If the oil isn’t circulating, friction is bad for the engine.”
“No kidding. Would it interest you to know that Kyle and I used to build street racers together?”
“Then I won’t waste any more time teaching you how to check fluid levels.”
“Good.”
“Yeah. Leaves more time for the interesting stuff.”
“Electronics.”
“Fishing.”
Honor tried not to look like a plugged toilet running over with enthusiasm.
“Where did your brother keep his papers?” Jake asked.
“What kind of papers?”
“Boat registration, proof of ownership, insurance, manufacturer’s instructions, that kind of thing.”
“Behind y
ou, in the second drawer.”
He backed up and turned away. The tiny galley was just behind the driver’s seat. In addition to the small propane stove, there was a cabinet and four drawers. He checked the coffee water, saw that it wasn’t quite boiling, and settled for the papers. A quick jerk up and out released the catch on the second drawer.
Two large waterproof envelopes lay inside. The first envelope had the documents and certification he was looking for. The second envelope had warranties, instructions, and manuals for everything on the boat but the electronics.
“I’ll make the coffee while you do whatever,” Honor said.
He nodded absently and sat at the small galley table without looking up from the papers. For a time the only sounds were the small clatter of coffeepot and mugs and the mutter of the engine as it warmed up.
She handed him a mug of coffee.
“Thanks,” he said, still reading papers. He took a sip and then glanced at her in surprise. “How did you know I liked cream, no sugar?”
“I smelled cream on your breath. Lucky for you, I like milk on my cereal.”
She turned away and put the milk back in the small refrigerator under the dinette seat.
Jake watched her closely, wondering if she was flirting or just answering his question. He couldn’t tell, because he couldn’t see her eyes.
“As for the sugar . . .” She straightened, picked up her own coffee, and climbed into the pilot seat. “If you like sweet things, it hasn’t made a dent in your personality.”
Smiling slightly, Jake went back to scanning papers. When he was satisfied, he returned everything to its proper envelope and shut the drawer.
“Well?” she asked.
“All in order.”
What he didn’t say was that there were more warranties and instructions than there were items of equipment on the Tomorrow. Two auxiliary outboard engines were mentioned. One was permanently attached to the stern of the boat for use as a trolling motor while fishing. The other, smaller, engine was presumably for a Zodiac, which also had papers in the file.
Then there was the handheld Global Positioning System receiver unit whose warranty and receipt had been stuffed into the envelope as though Kyle had been in too much of a hurry to worry about keeping neat records. The date on the receipt was thirteen days ago.
Kyle had vanished four weeks ago in Kaliningrad and reappeared halfway around the world, in the Pacific Northwest, only to vanish again. The smaller engine and the Zodiac apparently had disappeared with him. Probably the GPS unit as well.
Jake made a mental note to pick up the portable GPS receiver from his own SeaSport tonight.
“Did your brother have any kind of tender?” Jake asked.
Honor looked at him blankly. “Excuse me?”
“A small boat.”
“Another one?”
“No, just a little runabout. A skiff to take ashore when he anchored in a place without docks.”
“I don’t know. Is it important?”
“It’s not required by the Coast Guard, if that’s what you mean.”
She didn’t know what she meant, so she kept her mouth shut. Her tongue had already gotten her into trouble with this man. Her tongue or her hormones, or both working together without benefit of her brain.
“Where does he keep the PFDs?” Jake asked.
“The what?”
“Personal flotation devices.”
“Oh. I don’t know.”
The look Jake gave her said he wasn’t surprised. He bent low, quickly scanned the V berth in the bow, and found nothing that looked like it would pass a Coast Guard inspection.
And he suspected they would be having one. It was the sort of thing he would have done if he couldn’t think of a better way to get a look around the Tomorrow.
Honor tried to see past Jake into the V berth, but couldn’t. He blocked the entrance and then some. A big man.
“Are the, uh, PFDs up there?” she asked.
“Nope. Nothing but clothes, fishing rods, a landing net, and two down-riggers.”
“I take it that down-riggers aren’t PFDs?”
“Not hardly. They float like anchors.”
“Then what are they good for?”
“Fishing.” He backed up slightly and turned toward her without straightening up. “Move your leg.”
Her breath came in hard as one of his hands went between her calves. The instant of brushing contact was brief, but it was enough to rattle her. Quickly she shifted so that he could reach beneath the seat without touching her.
Though Jake said nothing, he had noticed the sudden, involuntary widening of her eyes when he touched her leg. If she had been riding the sexual merry-go-round, it hadn’t been for a while. Instinctive body language didn’t lie. The lady definitely wasn’t used to being rubbed up against.
Too bad. It would have been a lot easier if she were the type who changed men every day and three times on Saturday night. Then he wouldn’t feel like a ruthless son of a bitch if he followed up on the purely female interest he saw in her eyes.
Cursing silently at his inconvenient attraction to a thief’s—and probably a murderer’s—sister, Jake forced his attention back to the open area beneath the bench seat. That was where he stored his own PFDs when he was alone on the boat.
That was where he would have found them a minute before if he hadn’t been thinking how nice it would be to reach beneath all that loose sweat suit cloth and find the warm, sleek leg beneath.
“Here we go,” he said, reaching in. “Just what the Coast Guard ordered. One certified PFD.”
She looked at the thick, bright orange jacket he was holding out.
“Looks more like Halloween to me,” she said.
“Shows up real well against the sea, no matter how dark it is. If you’re wearing this when you take a header into the drink, you’ll be floating and easy to spot. Keeps the coroner happy.”
“Coroner? I thought the point of floating was to stay alive.”
“Then stay out of the water. Summer or winter, it’s cold enough to kill you in thirty minutes or less.”
Honor looked out the cabin windows at the blue-green water of the little cove. A fitful breeze had ruffled the satin surface into a shimmering kind of velvet. The ocean looked about as dangerous as cotton candy.
Yet she knew how quickly the wind could deepen and strengthen, piling up dangerous waves. It had happened to her when she was a girl. Justin and Lawe had managed to bring the skiff back to shore right side up, but it had been a terrifying experience for her. She hadn’t been for a ride on a small boat since that day. If she had had her way, she never would. But finding Kyle was more important than leftover childhood terrors.
Jake put the float coat back under the seat. Then he looked at the two cheap PFDs that were stacked at the far end of the opening. Each thick, awkward vest had a Coast Guard stamp of approval on the bright orange fabric.
Silently he straightened and turned back to the woman who was either a fine actress or actually intrigued by him as a man. He kept hoping she was only an actress of the same high caliber as her brother. At the very least, she could have been as arrogant and high-handed as the rest of her family.
Somehow he didn’t think he was going to be that lucky. Or unlucky. He couldn’t decide which. And that bothered him even more than the fresh, vaguely peppermint scent of Honor Donovan.
Remember Kyle, Jake told himself savagely. You liked him, too. And he screwed you but good.
At least getting screwed by Honor would be a lot more fun.
“I assume your brother kept a log?” Jake asked impatiently.
“Yes. Could you hand me my purse? I’ve been looking through the log, hoping to find where he . . . uh, fished.”
Jake looked over his shoulder, where she was pointing. A dinette table stuck out between two more bench seats just across from the galley. The resulting booth could seat four, if they were friends. It made into a bed that would sleep two, if they wer
e very, very good friends. Or planned on getting that way.
“This is a purse?” he asked, lifting the black leather backpack on the table.
“It works for me.”
He held the backpack with one hand. “Find any?”
“What?”
“Good fishing holes.”
“Er, no.”
“So you decided to hire a fishing guide?”
“Er, yes.”
Jake decided that Honor needed a lot more practice lying. Unless she really was a world-class actress pretending to be the innocent sister of a larcenous brother . . . .
Impatiently Jake told himself that it didn’t matter. Either way, the lady with the cat eyes and quick mind was definitely trouble in oversized sweats.
“Why are you looking so skeptical?” Honor asked. “Surely you’ve seen a woman’s purse before.”
“All sizes and shapes. I once saw a woman pull a live rooster and two chickens out of her purse. Of course, she was on the way to the market, so it wasn’t all that surprising.”
“Any fresh eggs?”
“Does scrambled count?”
“Nope.”
“Then there weren’t any eggs.”
A smile changed the taut lines of Honor’s face. The smile was brief and all the more beautiful for it.
“Ah, well,” she said. “Maybe next time. Where was this market?”
Telling her that it was in Kaliningrad would raise the kind of questions Jake had no intention of answering.
“In the country,” he said. “Is that the log?”
“Yes, but there’s nothing interesting in it. Just rows of dates and gas consumption and maintenance records and that sort of thing.”
Adrenaline pulsed through Jake. He had hoped that Kyle was the kind of captain who kept decent records. That, plus the chart plotter and computer, could tell a lot about where the boat had been recently.
Jake took the log from Honor. For a minute or two he flipped through it, frowning like a man working hard. Then he looked up at her.
“I can’t say for sure that the boat is ready to go out until I look over this log more closely,” he said. “Why don’t I read it while you go into town and get boat shoes and a fishing license? If you hurry, we can still make the tide change.”