Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
JUNE
Seconds tick by and the boat approaches, bigger than the Betty , from the looks of it. Definitely nicer and newer, not that that’s hard to accomplish. My breath comes in short bursts, my pulse somewhere around a hummingbird’s.
I keep one hand on the shotgun under the towel, the other under my chin.
That’s me, yep. Not a care in the world. Except, you know, the whole being hunted by drug smugglers thing.
The boat rocks. A shadow passes over me.
Dean’s stalking toward me, murder in his eyes.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Adapting to the plan.”
“You don’t have a plan. This was my plan.” A good one, too.
He shakes his head. “Fine, princess. Have it your way. I’m adapting to your plan.”
“I only have one towel.”
“So? Way I see it, that makes it even easier to sell.”
The incoming boat motor roars loud enough now to drown out the squawking gulls overhead.
With any luck, Dean will slip and fall overboard.
“It’s hot as heck on the deck. Not my problem if you want to burn your abs, though.”
“No, it’s hot as hell. And besides, I thought we could share.” His grin is slow, sexy, and all too tempting. “That is, if you have room on there for all the abs you’ve noticed.” He trails one hand over his stomach, and I look away quickly as he goes lower, to the band of his shorts.
“Excuse me?” I splutter.
Smooth, June, real smooth.
“You said distraction. Let’s give them one, you know, make it believable.”
My eyes narrow, but I don’t have time to react.
Dean’s body covers mine, blocking the heat of the sun… but replacing it with an entirely different kind of heat. I watch with rounded eyes as he holds himself up in a plank position perfect enough to make any Pilates devotee jealous. His arm snakes around my waist, and before I can throw it off, he’s flipped me onto my back. His other cradles the back of my head, tangling in my hair.
Ooohhhh.
This is nice.
I melt into him, living for the way he makes me feel safe and protected.
Desirable.
I can’t look away, can’t even think about the sound of the boat drawing closer. The half-smile on his lips, his intense focus on me, makes the world fall away. My breasts graze his bare chest, his knees on either side of me.
It isn’t until my hands are tangled around his neck that I realize he now has the shotgun. The whole thing a ruse, designed to get the gun from me. Again.
“Ugh, you mother—” I start to yell, completely annoyed.
“Shhh,” he tells me, and when his lips faintly brush against mine, I can’t help but comply.
Out of shock. That’s all.
The sound of the approaching motor dies, replaced by Jimmy Buffett crooning about fins on the other boat’s speakers.
Even the incongruous sound of Jimmy Buffett can’t stop the desire pooling deep inside. Dean flashes a full smile at me, triumph in his eyes at having the literal upper hand. Unwilling to be outdone, to lose this little battle, I make a split-second decision.
Tugging his head down, I feel a flash of victory as his breath ghosts across my lips, shock clear on his face. Closing my eyes, I press my mouth against his, nibbling his lower lip, throwing a leg over his waist.
His mouth opens slightly, and I moan against him.
It unleashes something in him, and he lowers himself further onto me.
Oooh boy. I’m in trouble now.
The pressure from his big body is delicious against mine, and I writhe, trying to escape the ache screaming for more.
“I don’t know, man, it doesn’t look like he needs help,” a southern voice drawls. “Evans, you need a hand?”
What. The. Fudge. I push him away, staring at him with pure hatred in my eyes. He knows them?
“You donkey ,” I mutter, furious. Mostly at myself, because damn, that was a good kiss.
“You liked it. I liked that little noise you made,” Dean tells me, not even bothering to look up at the men calling to him from the other boat.
Well, I won the battle, but at what price?
“Hell, I’d give her a hand,” a second speaker says before a chorus of laughter.
The price of absolute, utter embarrassment .
Dean practically vaults from the bow, the searing heat of his body replaced with the cold slap of instant regret.
“Shut up, Thompson,” Dean barks, and the laughter dies. “How did you guys get here so fast?”
Propping myself up on an elbow, I shield my eyes, attempting to see just who is on the other boat. To see who knows Dean enough to make fun of him for kissing me.
Oh god, the kissing. Unf.
Dean stands at my side, a grim expression on his face as I take in the other boat. Their fancy double decker cabin cruiser pulls alongside the Betty , giving me the perfect view of the hulking bodies still smirking at us, all built similar to Dean. Like they’ve spent years of their lives packing on muscle.
He’s glaring at them. He looks pissed.
Huh. Not entirely happy to see them, then, is he?
It shouldn’t make my stomach flutter with butterflies.
Reaching back lazily, my hand lands on the barrel of the shotgun. In one smooth motion, just like my father taught me, I’m sitting up, the butt of the gun resting in the hollow of my shoulder.
“Woah, woah, woah. Uh, Evans, your girl is loaded for bear.” The man with the Southern accent, reflective aviators showing just how good a shot I have, tilts his head to where I sit. He raises his hands, his eyebrows joining them.
“I’m not his girl,” I grind out. I nudge the gun sideways until the other man on the boat raises his hands as well. “And who the heck are you?”
Dean gives an exasperated sigh that I promptly ignore.
“We’re the heckin’ cavalry, darlin’.” The one who said he’d give me a hand smiles. I move the gun to him, and his eyes widen slightly, darting nervously between me and Dean.
“The cavalry better keep their hands to themselves.” I shoot a look up at Dean, who appears to be suppressing a laugh.
That is about enough of that and his stupid dimple.
“Is something funny about this, Dean?” I aim a kick at the back of his knee, but he dodges before it lands. “Who are they, and how the hell did they know where to find the Betty ?”
“Don’t be pissed, June. I radioed them while you were asleep with our coordinates. The one in the glasses is Thorne. Thompson’s the jerk.”
His little wave doesn’t stop me from keeping the gun leveled at him. I grin at him, but it’s not a very nice one.
He pales a little.
Ha.
“They’re part of my team. They’re assisting on this. Trust me, we’ll want the help.”
That’s the problem, though. Trusting him.
If I do, it means admitting he might be right about my father—about his involvement with the Russian smugglers.
My throat tightens, the ache in my chest returning full force.
“Men, this is Dr. Legarde.”
“Oh, so not princess, now, huh?” I mutter, low enough so that only he can hear me.
“You’re not princess to them,” he says roughly.
The other men dip their heads, their eyes never leaving my face, telegraphing the possibility of violence you wouldn’t see coming until it was too late.
“They’re not DEA.” They look like a CrossFit gym and Dwayne Johnson had babies. Nothing like Pierce.
Why didn’t he radio his partner? Where the hell is Charlie?
Unease nestles inside me.
“No, we’re not DEA,” Thorne offers, his bright blue aviators glinting in the sun. “I see you’ve got a bushel of blue crab back there. Looks like y’all have had quite a morning. Sorry if we spooked you, ma’am, but would you mind lowering the gun?”
Ma’am. Definitely military. Or at least used to be… maybe even ex-Marines. My mouth twists to the side.
“Where’s his partner? Where’s Charlie, huh?”
“Evans trusts us. Charlie’s fine. I’m sure he’ll be in touch with his DEA handler as soon as he’s sure you’re both safe.” Thompson spits the word out, his mouth curling with something like disgust.
Handler?
“How do you know Charlie is fine?”
“She’s with Pierce, isn’t she?” Dean answers. “She’s safe, princess.”
Thompson’s eyes tighten slightly at his response.
I dare a glance at Dean. A quick confirmation nod from him, and I automatically lower the barrel.
It’s like my body knows I should trust him even when my head’s fighting it.
My hands shake from clutching the gun tight, but I hide it. Pretending I’m fine. The men loose a collective sigh of relief before tethering the boats together and making small talk, as though I hadn’t been about to shoot each of them.
“That’s a good haul of crab, y’all thinkin’ bout sharing, or what?” Thompson asks. “Be a shame to waste it.”
“If you play your cards right.” Dean hops off the catwalk and into the cockpit and I stand stiffly, the shotgun still at my side. I wrap the towel around me, all too aware of the bare expanse of skin still electrified from Dean’s attention.
Beneath the men’s gentle ribbing and catching up, there is an undercurrent of unease. They’re ready to descend into violence at the drop of a hat.
They’re built for it.
Carefully, I balance the towel and gun, stepping down from the boat’s catwalk and into the cockpit. Bending, I retrieve my hastily abandoned dress. Conversation slows to a stop as I unwrap the towel to throw the dress back on.
Ugh .
Distraction from the bad guys in theory is one thing. Being the center of attention of all the men now idly chatting is another. Men who’ve seen me kissing Dean Evans, resident donkey, is yet another.
Heat spreads across my face, moving down my chest and neck. Dean snaps the towel up, blocking my body from view. Conversation restarts, and I dare a look up at Dean, grateful for the assist.
He’s glowering at them.
I’ve read the word before, of course, but seeing Dean perform it, all hard lines and flinty stare, it’s now indelibly attached to the syllables. My own personal Dean Pictionary.
My stomach clenches.
No, not my own personal anything.
I can’t risk catching feelings for a man like this. In a situation like this, where we’re literally running from smugglers.
My chest heaves.
Dean’s eyebrow rises, a muscle twitching in his temple. “You okay?”
“I’ll pretend.”
Dean freezes, his gaze going glacial before reverting his attention back to the newcomers.
Glower.
“Well, you gonna tell her why we’re here? What’s the play, Evans?” Thompson’s arms flex as he crosses them over his chest.
I tug the hem of the dress down and plop into the captain’s chair, stretching my legs up onto the console, shotgun across my lap. Waiting.
“They’re here for backup.” Dean says, throwing the towel on the bench.
“Pierce isn’t enough?”
They all avoid looking at me.
“Did Pierce seem like enough after what happened yesterday?” Dean asks, no gentleness in his tone, all firm.
I shiver, remembering the sound of the explosion, the feeling of firing the shotgun at actual human beings. The way they fell when the pellets tore into their bodies.
“No, but you said Cha?—”
“I’m sure Charlie is fine.” Dean sounds sure, but I squint up at him. “We’ll rendezvous with them later.”
“Fine.” As though I have a choice. Still, his confidence that Charlie is okay, that my friend is safe, soothes me, just a little. “So I guess you brought the entire squadron of Mattel Military Ken Dolls in because you don’t trust him.”
Thompson chuckles. “Does that make you Barbie? Thought she was a blonde. Besides, we’re all GI Joes over here,” he says, puffing his chest out like some deranged peacock.
The twitching muscle near Dean’s eye goes into overdrive.
“Why don’t you tell us about what that sea glass in the dry box meant?” Dean’s voice is slow, a deliberate rasp. Like he’s trying to maintain control but losing the battle.
“Yeah right, so you can leave me behind and take your band of merry military spec ops men to find my wreck? Or drugs, or whatever.” I level him with a stare. “Either way—” My voice breaks, because I’ve just admitted it out loud.
That my dad must have been involved in this crap.
“Either way,” I continue, “the Santu Espiritu will be my find. I’ve spent a decade looking for that treasure and I’m not about to give it up to some bossy know-it-all.”
I don’t exactly trust Dean, but I’m not about to be left out.
Besides, he said I was the key.
I’ll be my own leverage. I lift my chin, waiting for him to tell me no. Expecting it.
“If this has something to do with your ship, and not the shipment we’re after, then by all means, take the credit. We’re not interested in the wreck.” Dean glares at me. And dang, even like that, he looks hot.
“Stop glowering at me.”
“Glowering? What?” He shakes his head. “Don’t try to distract me, princess. You don’t know enough about this world and what you’re asking to walk into.”
“You don’t get to boss me around. I already told you, my boat, my rules.”
The men on the other boat still. As though I’ve crossed a major line.
I seize on the idea. I can use this.
“These clowns are used to taking orders from you. They don’t like that I’m not falling in line.” I tilt my head, considering. “Lemme guess, you all served together, and you were in charge. They come when you call, so you’re all still working together, likely all at the same firm.”
Thorne looks surprised, but Thompson wears a huge grin.
Dean says nothing. Just glares. Glowers .
“Tell me I’m wrong.” I can’t seem to stop pushing.
No one answers, but Thorne shifts from foot to foot.
“What do I hear?” I ask, cupping a hand around my ear. “Oh, that’s right. Plausible deniability. My father taught me more than how to shoot a gun.” It’s my turn to glare at Dean. “Besides, not one of you knows these waters better than I do. I’ve built a career out of researching the reefs and sandbars the wreck could be at. All that’s been stopping me is money and manpower.” I give Dean a smug look. “Now… well, now? It looks like I have both.”
“Woman’s got a point, boss,” Thompson drawls.
“It’s Dr. Legarde to you,” Dean snaps.
“I’m coming, whether you like it or not.” I look up at Dean, taking in the tendons tight in his neck, and I stand. “And I’m an asset.”
“You’re a liability, princess.” The boat rocks, punctuating his words.
“I can handle myself,” I say, raising the barrel of the gun. Just enough so he knows I’m serious.
He turns on me, gently pushing the shotgun barrel down, and I let him. A little frisson of excitement passes through me.
“Fine. But when I tell you to jump, you ask how high.” Dean draws himself up to his full height. Which is really very tall.
“Why would I need to jump?” I shouldn’t bait him.
I can’t seem to help it.
“And when I tell you to hide, you hide.”
“Hide? What, you didn’t like our distraction?” I bat my eyelashes.
He grunts. Thompson lets out a low laugh, even taciturn Thorne chuckling.
“Those are my conditions,” Dean finally manages.
Gotcha .
Lifting a finger, I give him a lazy salute.
“Now, what the hell does the sea glass mean?”
I swallow my first reply, words passing the lump in my throat.
“June?”
“It means we’re going to a beach and having ourselves a crab boil,” I say, handing him the shotgun.
He immediately takes the shell out of the chamber.
“I’m guessing you aren’t going to tell me what beach ahead of time?” Dean’s eyes narrow.
“You’re catching on,” I say in a sing-song voice. “But I’ll tell you where you and your band of merry military men can pick up a propane tank and the rest of the boil supplies. Ever heard of Wal-Mart?”
Thompson guffaws. “I like you, Dr. Legarde.” He rubs his hands together and claps a hand on Thorne’s shoulder. “Alright, doc, you make the list, we’ll do the shopping. But when I get back, I wanna hear all about this treasure ship you’re huntin’ for. Deal?”
“Deal.” They’ll regret asking, probably fall asleep as I drone on and on. My students certainly do from time to time. “And you don’t need a list. All we have is crabs. Get everything else.” I shrug.
“You got it. Until then, you two lovebirds can work out your issues.” Thompson grins.
Lovebirds.
The word sends a little thrill through me until I catch Dean’s glacial stare. That muscle in his forehead working overtime.
That kiss? Had to be pure acting .
A distraction .
A long sigh pulls from my chest, and I roll my eyes skyward.
No more kissing.