14. West
CHAPTER 14
WEST
THIRTY MILLION DOLLARS.
Ten percent of thirty million dollars. Did she make up that number?
I stare at her as she smiles at me. I sigh when it all becomes clear. “You don’t do well under stress. You’re getting hysterical. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head this morning?” I ask.
Now she glares at me. “Of course not. Although, I did smack my knee when I tripped on the dock.”
“Not everything is literal. You can’t offer someone thirty million dollars and expect them to believe you,” I snap back.
She slowly reaches into her pocket and pulls out something small. I hold an arm up to block the sun so I can see what she’s holding.
It’s a flash drive. People usually don’t use those much anymore with all the online storage, which means whatever is on there is something they don’t want anyone else to see.
“Is that a seed for a money tree?”
She throws her head back and laughs, not letting me bother her one bit. “Pretty much!”
I shake my head, not ready to discuss her trying to hire me.
What did Bodie get me into?
She swings that little flash drive between her thumb and index finger as she stares at me, waiting for me to take the bait. I don’t. I studiously ignore her, paying more attention to what’s going on with the boat and how I can get her off here as fast as I can. Newport to Waldport is really close…but that might be pushing it by being too close. I’d originally planned on taking a practice sail down to Florence. And Newport to Florence could easily be a six- or seven-hour trip at a safe, quick pace. Looking back at Sydney and seeing the slight maniacal look in her eye makes me wonder if I could do it in two…
She stands up on her tiptoes, waving the flash drive in front of my eyes.
Maybe I’ll drop her off in Waldport. That would be much quicker. Get rid of her faster. Whatever happens, happens. I’ve done my part in keeping her safe.
She wiggles her eyebrows up and down quickly and smirks.
Unfortunately, it’s not that big of a drive from Newport, and they may just try finding us there.
Now she has a deranged smile pointing at me.
On the other hand, maybe they’re still searching Newport for her and don’t realize she was on my boat.
Better to be safe than sorry, though.
I can’t just leave her out there to get murdered. Hopefully, by the time we make it to Florence, Fletcher will be ready for her.
She eventually stops trying to get my attention and shoves that flash drive back into her jeans pocket. With a huff, she walks over to the railing, and I’m blessed with five whole minutes of silence.
“Oh, wow! Look! There’s jellyfish!” Sydney exclaims as she bends over the rail to look closer at the jellyfish floating by.
She’s perched precariously on the teak siding, so I step closer just as the boat pitches up against a faster wave.
Sydney shrieks, and her feet leave the deck.
I lunge forward and grab a thigh with one hand and the railing with the other as I pull her firmly back to the safety of the deck.
She turns toward me, grips my arm with both hands, and looks up at me with wide eyes.
“That was close,” she admits. Her breath is rapid, and her eyes widen as she stares at me.
She’s so small. Petite. She can’t even stay on her own two feet.
I purse my lips and glare down at her.
Finally, I push away from the rail and lead her to the bench next to the helm, pushing her down onto it.
“I nearly got an up-close look at those jellyfish,” she jokes as she smiles at me. She looks so tiny and vulnerable sitting there like she didn’t almost fall overboard.
I want to yell at her that she was being foolish, but I manage to rein it in.
“You are a four-letter word,” I grind out without yelling. My inner critics applaud my self-control.
“Actually, Sydney is six. S-Y-D-N-E-Y.” She ticks up her fingers as she says the letters. Finally, she glances up to see my thunderous expression. “Now you…you have four letters in your name, which would make you a four-letter word. But then again, you probably don’t do crossword puzzles much, do you?”
She looks at me so innocently I contemplate throwing her overboard myself. But then I see the twitch of her lips as she fights a smile, and I feel an unwelcome, grudging speck of admiration.
She’s not afraid to give sass. Now that I can handle.
“Sit down right there while I get you a life jacket.” I have to fight a smile at the way she mimics my glare.
She folds her arms across her chest and looks at me with raised eyebrows. “One little mistake, and you’re all grumpy about it.”
“Your little mistake could have ended with you dead. What if you’d knocked your head on the edge on the way down?”
She flinches at my words, and I’m glad. She needs to take this seriously. She almost fell overboard. The best-case scenario would involve me throwing a life ring out to her and pulling her back in. But the other option is entirely not nice and consists of death at sea.
The ocean is not to be messed with.
I lift the bench seat closest to the cabin and find what I’m looking for. I return with a bright-orange life vest.
“Orange isn’t really my color.” She points to her red hair with a laugh. “It clashes.”
I ignore her protest and plop it over her head. Then, running a hand behind her neck, I lift that red hair out of the way. My rough hands brush against the soft skin on the back of her neck. I hurry and slide the life jacket forward.
She’s staring up at me with a grin, making me think she enjoys making me uncomfortable. She’s doing an excellent job.
“Stop smiling.”
“Why? You don’t like happy people?”
I look her dead in the eye. “No.”
Pulling the life jacket into place with a quick jerk, I lean forward to wrap the strap behind her back. I catch a scent of something nice. I think it’s her hair that smells so good. I allow myself one quick sniff as I buckle the life jacket in the front.
I grasp her arms and pull her to standing, then I reach between her legs to pull the crotch strap to the front. Seeing my arms next to her legs is a stark comparison. My biceps are nearly the same size as her legs. I shake my head, focus on the task at hand—or leg—and adjust the strap length before buckling it. When I step back, I see a red-cheeked Sydney looking like an orange slice.
I point at the water. “Now, if you decide to take a tumble off the edge, you’ll float, and I’ll be able to see you.”
I turn back to the sails and ignore the mumbling coming from her direction—something about bad-tempered men and maybe I should take a quick cool down in the ocean myself.
It’s the first time in weeks I’ve felt like smiling.