2. Chapter Two
Chapter two
Jacob Noble floated in a warm saltwater cocoon in the Gulf, off the coast of Saint Petersburg, watching a school of brightly colored fish.
The name of that great body of water had been hotly debated in recent years, but like all Saint Pete natives, Noble thought of the wide expanse of green water not as the Gulf of America, nor as the Gulf of Mexico.
It was simply the Gulf. Call it anything else and locals instantly mark you as a tourist.
Sunlight dappled the surface. Bright shafts shifted and danced beneath.
Noble wore blue swim trunks, fins, a mask, and a snorkel.
He gripped a spear in one hand, the rubber tube tight against his wrist, ready to release.
His other hand pushed slowly against an underwater current, keeping him in place.
He tracked a fish, waited until the moment was right, then fired.
The spear launched with a soft shushing noise, muffled by the press of the ocean.
Three prongs struck, passing all the way through the fish’s body.
The creature was stunned at first, then it tried to swim away but the fight was short lived.
Noble reeled in the spear and by that time the fish had lost its battle, going limp.
Noble pushed it down into a drawstring mesh sack belted to his waist, where it joined half a dozen others.
His lungs were starting to burn and his catch was drawing predators.
A nurse shark lurked near the sandy bottom, slowly circling, attracted by the scent of blood.
At least, it looked like a nurse shark. Noble was no expert.
Nurse sharks were generally docile, but the Gulf is home to the bull, the tiger, and the Great White.
All three are far more aggressive than the nurse, and where there’s one, there are generally more.
He kicked for the surface, his fins cutting through the murk. A moment later his head broke the water. Hearing returned. Gulls circled overhead, talking to each other with indignant squawks.
Noble blew water from his snorkel before pushing the breathing apparatus from his mouth and gulping air. His goggles needed to be cleaned. Water wasn’t beading off the way it should so he took a moment to wipe them.
The Yeoman bobbed at anchor. It was a thirty-foot wooden schooner with brass accents and crisp white rigging, currently tacked.
A steady wind from the west had her listing slightly to port.
She had belonged to Noble’s father. Jake and his dad had spent countless hours lovingly restoring the old gal.
When Jake’s father died, the boat passed to him.
Now she belonged to Jake’s cousin; a hastily prepared false identity, that would keep the boat in Noble’s possession after his untimely demise at the hands of Samantha Gunn.
Noble cut through the water with smooth, even strokes, the spear bumping along at his side.
Reaching the Yeoman, he grabbed the rear ladder and pulled himself up.
Saltwater rained down from his bare arms and swim trunks.
He planted himself on the gunwale long enough to kick off his fins.
Depositing the spear in a locker at the stern for cleaning, he shed the mask and snorkel and carried his catch along the slowly rolling ship to the bow.
Samantha Gunn lay stretched out on a yellow towel.
She was on her belly, black hair spilled out to the side, her eyes closed.
She wore a black bikini, the top untied to prevent tan lines.
A paperback mystery lay nearby, open and face down on the deck.
A tall plastic cup of iced tea stood next to the novel, condensation beading on the side, and a lemon wedge balanced on the rim.
Noble held up the mesh sack. “Dinner is served.”
Sam smiled and peeled open one eye. “Looks good. You clean and gut ‘em. I’ll cook ‘em.”
She reached back to tie her swim top.
“Deal.” Noble hung the catch on the gunwale, then dropped down next to her. “But don’t lace up on my account. I prefer you exactly the way you are.”
“Lech.”
Samantha Gunn was the product of an American father and a Chinese mother. She had expressive eyes and lips that made Noble’s knees rubbery. A shoulder length curtain of silky black hair caught highlights from the sun. She had lean muscle under tan skin.
Sam wriggled about, her chest flat on the deck and her arms twisted back in an effort to lace the top. “Give me a hand.”
“I hardly think so,” Noble told her. “I’m enjoying the show.”
She cocked an eyebrow.
“Fine,” Noble said. “But I want it on the record I’m doing this under protest.”
He sat atop her, took the black strings and let his skin glide across her bare back as he slowly worked the knots together. Her body tensed. She let out a cat-like purr. Jake took the opportunity to place a soft kiss just on the back of her neck, below her hairline.
Sam pulled in a breath, let it out, and when her bikini was secure, she wormed around onto her back, Noble still sitting atop. She said, “You know, you are entirely too good at that.”
“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice,” Noble told her.
Her brows shot up. “A lot of practice?”
“I meant, occasional practice,” Noble said. “No more than the average guy.”
“Uh-huh.” She put her arms around him and Noble allowed himself to be pulled down. “As long as you’re not practicing with anybody but me from now on.”
Noble settled his weight on top of her, feeling her beneath him. “That sounds official.”
“Very official,” Sam said and gave him a peck.
Jake sighed. “I’ll have to make a couple dozen phone calls. There’s going to be hurt feelings.”
“Dozens huh?” Sam needled him. “Dozens?”
Noble laughed and tried to squirm away. She followed. Noble landed on his side and Sam wedged up against him. She kissed him again and asked, “Who are all these dozens of women? Huh?”
“Tracy, Becca, Sarah, Trixy, Miffy, Muffy, Buffy…”
“Keep naming, names, Mister. I’m building a hit list.”
Noble laughed and kissed her. “You know I’ve only got eyes for you. Does that scare you at all?”
She placed a hand on his chest. “Not a bit.”
In the next moment, they were wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing passionately on the deck while the Yeoman rocked gently to the slow rhythm of the sea.
Noble pulled her tight, pressed his lips against hers, and let his hands roam.
His fingers were tripping along one thigh when she said, “Where are them hands going, Mister?”
“Where no man has gone before.”
Sam laughed, took his hand in hers and laced their fingers together. “For the record, Star Trek quotes are definitely not the way to a woman’s heart.”
“Always worked for Bill Shatner.”
“Did you learn everything you know about women from Bill Shatner?”
Noble did his best, or worst depending on how you chose to look at it, impression of Kirk. “I … think I’ve … fallen … for you.”
Sam nodded, trying to contain her laughter. “Did you think any more on what we talked about last night?”
They had talked about a lot of things last night while the ship creaked and waves slapped against the hull.
They’d been tangled up together under a blanket in the galley and talked about their future, and about Sam’s ‘no sex until marriage’ rule.
But Sam was referring to her speech about how he’d have to get a job.
She wasn’t going to be in a relationship with a sun bum who spent his days tooling around on his boat and spear fishing.
Which seemed unfair. Some of the best people Noble knew were currently sun bums, including himself.
He turned onto his back, letting the hot Florida sun bake the last of the sea water off his skin.
“I suppose you’re right. I’ll have to find a way to make some money.
Of course being dead puts a slight wrinkle in getting a nine-to-five. ”
She cozied up next to him and traced her fingers along his belly. Her hair fell down in a curtain that blocked the sun from his eyes. “Think any more about working for Burke?”
Noble groaned. The Central Intelligence Agency had burned him twice now.
The first time, Burke had been calling the shots on an operation in Doha.
Everything went sideways and Noble found himself out of a job.
Then they brought him back into the fold, only to burn him again when a Chinese intelligence asset got murdered and Noble took the blame.
CIA knew he wasn’t the killer but pinned the crime on him anyway.
Now, Burke ran a private intelligence outfit and had offered to bring him on board.
Noble wasn’t keen on going back to into covert intel, even for a private outfit.
Unfortunately for him, there wasn’t a whole lot else he was qualified to do.
He’d joined the Army right out of high school, applied for Special Forces Assessment and Selection, become a Green Beret, then got sheep dipped by CIA to run a Special Operations Group.
Noble gave a theatrical sigh. “If I promise to hear him out, what do I get in return?”
Sam gave him a sly wink and reached back, fingers teasing at the straps. Noble sat up, watching intently. She let go of the strings with a laugh at the eager expression on his face. “You get to tell all those other women that you are officially off the market.”
“They’ll be crushed.”
She gave him a playful push. “Go clean the catch. I’m getting hungry.”