Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
DEAN
Clenching my jaw, I swirl the remnants of the blue Gatorade in my hand. Sweat rolling between my shoulders, as the latest crab trap buoy bobs on the surface.
Three down.
We found the first three traps handily, right on the coordinates June’s dad left her three weeks ago. Nothing in them but blue crab. Crab we now have in spades, crab we’ll have to toss back or find a half dozen other people to share with.
Luckily, I know just who to call.
Shaking my head, I put down the Gatorade, ready to haul up more crab. The late morning sun beats down on us, and it’s hotter than hell. Unzipping the bottom half of my pants, creating shorts, I wad the pieces up and toss them into the cabin. Then inspect the scrape on my chest. It’s healing nicely, already scabbed over.
Damn, we’ve been lucky.
“Those have to be the most ridiculous shorts I’ve ever seen.” Her small laugh accompanies the criticism, a slight smile spreading on her face.
“They’re practical.”
“They’re absurd.”
“Says the woman wearing a bikini and a dress while being hunted down by so-called bad dudes.” My mind snags on the memory of searching her yesterday, of trying not to be an asshole while trying to make sure she didn’t fulfill her promise of shooting me in the nuts.
“They fit enough ammo yesterday, didn’t they?” She tilts her head. “And don’t even get me started on the travesty of women’s pockets.”
“Fair point.” I shrug, gaze wandering over her backside as she steers, slowing as we reach the crab trap.
June eases the big boat close enough for me to easily reach out and hook it. She cuts the engine and flips the bilge switch again. Smiling to herself, she launches herself up the bow, dropping the anchor. Despite the fact she’s barely spoken to me, she seems happy.
Hell, I’d be happy too if I had someone to do the backbreaking work for me. Hauling these crab pots is hard, dirty work.
I drag my eyes away from her legs and focus on the trap.
Seagulls swoop above the boat and several pelicans drift in the water alongside us, long beaks ready at a moment’s notice in hopes of a free meal.
With a grunt, I grab the barnacle-crusted rope, hauling the trap up hand over hand. Without gloves, my hands are worse for wear, but it is what it is.
Behind me, several mesh sacks writhe as dozens of crabs from our previous catches struggle to get free.
June’s eyes misted when I suggested dumping the crabs back in.
That was all it took for me to agree to keep part of our haul. A now much larger haul. My shoulders burn, this pot fuller than the last ones.
“Sure you don’t want me to do it?” June twirls the end of her hair, nibbling her bottom lip.
“No,” I manage, kicking the spare rope out of the way. “I’m fine.” My wound seers from the strain, but pain is nothing new. “Can’t have the princess getting tired.”
She makes a strangled noise of frustration at that, and I grin.
I like getting under her skin.
I probably like it a little too much.
I’d like to touch that skin again, and every passing minute with her on this boat has me considering what it would be like.
The top of the trap breaks the surface, and several gulls divebomb, splashing saltwater across my face. I grunt again, heaving the trap up the side of the boat. The wire frame scrapes against the fiberglass hull. The trap contents come into view, and I raise a brow.
It’s full enough—a dozen or so adult crabs bubbling as they hit the air, a stunned catfish flopping around—but it feels heavier than the other traps.
“Huh,” June says, close enough now that when the gulf breeze catches the ends of her ponytail, the bright scent of her lemony shampoo teases me.
“There,” I say pointing to the middle of the trap. Surrounded by bad-tempered crabs, the bait pot holds something new. “Look.”
“It’s a dry box for diving.” June’s voice comes out strangled, and I cut my gaze to her. She looks stunned… stunned and sad. “Waterproof, so you can store stuff in it. Sorry, you probably know that. Oh my god. He really found the ship.” She takes a sharp breath, her excitement chasing away the storm clouds of her grief.
“It might not be the wreck, princess,” I say quietly.
“Why didn’t he just tell me he found it?” she asks at the same time, and I briefly wonder how someone so intelligent can be so deep in denial.
“I say we find out what he has in here.” I squat over the crab trap, my pulse accelerating. So close now, so close to finding this thing and getting my reputation back, getting my business off the ground.
“Let’s do it.” She nods at me, opening a mesh sack.
In one smooth motion, I unhinge the top and dump the crabs in.
“You’re getting good at that.” Her voice is slightly choked, and when I glance up at her in confusion, her eyes are wide, pupils slightly dilated.
The fish flops onto the deck. Its gills work overtime, trying to suck in water that isn’t there.
I grab for him, trying to get him back in the water.
“Don’t—” June exclaims, her palm squeezing my bicep. God, her hand feels good.
“Worried about me, princess?” I croon, then throw the fish overboard. Stunned, it floats for a second before swimming into the dark green waters below. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Catfish have poisonous barbs, I just didn’t want you to?—”
“Didn’t want me to what?” I pause, watching the way the climbing sun shines against the dark fall of her hair, new freckles sprinkled like stars across her nose.
The way her chest rises and falls as she takes hectic breaths.
Either she doesn’t want me to know what’s in the crab trap, or she doesn’t want to know what’s in it. Especially considering how firmly she’s stuck to the idea that her dad was innocent in all of this, like he didn’t bring the smugglers down on her head.
“Are you worried about me, princess?” I raise one eyebrow, giving her my best sexy grin.
Because I know being annoyed with me will distract her from whatever’s going on in that brilliant, pretty head of hers.
Sure enough, her expression goes flat with annoyance, and I chuckle at it.
“Want to open it?” I gesture to the dive box in the bait pot.
June fidgets.
“Fine.” She cringes though, biting her lip. “I don’t know if I want to know.” The words are bleak, and there’s a sudden breakable quality about the woman that makes me want to draw her into my arms, to keep her safe.
I don’t want her to cry.
“Princess, if you want me to handle your box, I am all too happy to oblige.”
That fragile quality turns to outrage as she processes what I’ve just said.
“You’re out of control.”
“Just trying to keep you on your toes,” I tell her honestly. “You okay?”
“No.” She shakes her head, then fixes me with a steely gaze. “I’m not. If what you’re accusing my father of is true, then I’m about to find out, and I’m not sure what to do with that. Now get the goddamn box out or I’ll do it myself.” She rounds on me, the panic bleeding out of her features, replaced by steel and anger.
“Goddamn, is it?” I blow out a breath, suppressing a smile. “Well, I had no idea you felt so strongly about it, princess .”
“You really are a donkey sometimes, Evans.” Her nose scrunches up.
“Just sometimes?” I smirk, flipping the trap over and unlatching the bait pot, indulging the impulse to keep ribbing her. “Or is it just that you like my assets so much you’re afraid to use that word?” I tease.
“There’s nothing special about your butt. Not that I’ve looked at it.”
“Mm-hmm. Sure.”
June’s delicate features are set, her eyes tight and focused. If not a bit angry at me. Good . I need her angry. It will be easier to keep her at arm’s length if she stays annoyed with me.
I need to keep her there.
She’s too nice to keep any closer.
The remains of whatever godawful mixture her father baited the pot with spill out on the white decking, the violently yellow dry box following.
June reaches for it, but I’m faster.
With one last look at her fuming face, I unscrew the cap. It opens easily, the suction that kept the inside dry popping as the seal gives way.
“What the fuck?” I shake my head in frustration.
I dump the open dry box into June’s waiting hand. She stares into the cylinder with furrowed brows, then pours the sea glass onto her other hand.
Smooth green pebbles glitter gently in her palm.
Eyes watery, she stares at them a full minute before turning her attention to the horizon, resolve etching her features.
I was right.
She does know something.
June Legarde is the key to the whole damn thing.
I thought I’d be happier about my hunch being right.
Instead, I feel like shit. June knows just enough to be dangerous to herself, knows enough that I need to keep her with me instead of keeping her safe.
“What does it mean to you?” I keep my voice low, gentle. Calming.
“It means he found something. It means he wants me to go somewhere.” Her dark laugh stills the air. “Although I guess I should use past tense. He doesn’t want anything now, does he?”
“June, I…”
“You can tell me whatever you want about him, you know that? You can tell me he was a bad man. That he hurt people trafficking with the Russians.” She shifts her focus back to me. “But he was my father, Dean. He was my father. And he took care of me when no one else could. I loved him.” She looks tired, drawn. “He might have made some mistakes, but you can not take him away from me.” Her knuckles are white on the yellow box.
I move toward her, drawn by the fury, the angst in her eyes.
I want to soothe her pain.
“I’m not trying to take him away from you.” My fingers feather over her wrist. “I am here for a job. This,” I point to the sea glass, “is the best lead I have. I feel lucky that the lead is… you, June.”
Her eyes widen as I say her name. Not babe, not Dr. Legarde, and not princess.
“June.” I repeat.
Her breath catches. For a second, my brain short-circuits, the need to kiss her, to taste her lips overriding any sort of sense I have left.
She buries her head in my chest, her ponytail tickling against my skin, chest heaving as she lets out one sob. Two.
Hot tears mingle with my sweat.
I hold her close, burying my nose in her citrus-scented hair, breathing her in.
We stand like that, holding each other, until she stops crying. Her breath slows, gentle and warm against the bare skin of my chest.
I wonder if she can hear how loud my heart’s beating against my ribs.
Kissing her would be so easy. A small tilt of her face is all it would take.
The dull roar of an outboard motor fills the air and June freezes, then pulls back, every line of her face etched in fear.
“Get into the cabin and stay there.” The words clip out of my mouth. The authority I tuck away around Pierce and the DEA stream from me like this is another Marine op.
To her credit, June doesn’t argue.
She doesn’t obey, either.
My jaw drops as she tugs her dress over her head, revealing tanned, smooth skin and a barely-there purple bikini.
I can hardly think straight at the sight of her.
“What are you doing?” I finally manage.
The boat’s definitely coming closer.
“Sunbathing. Seems like a good time for a distraction. You know, if it’s the bad guys?”
“Did you hit your head last night? Get in the cabin, princess.”
June stabs a finger in my chest, exactly where she was snuggled up just seconds ago.
I lick my lips, unable to look away from her. The way her body moves with the rolling of the boat is incredibly distracting.
“Listen, buddy, you said you need me. That means you don’t get to boss me around and tell me to get in the mother-loving cabin. My boat, my rules. I’m no use if I have a panic attack.”
Her tears are gone, eyes now blazing.
“My op, my rules.” It sounds stupid, repeating her words like we’re having some kindergarten spat on the playground.
“Oh, are you paying me? I’m part of the ‘op’ now? Do I get some kind of finder’s fee if we find your stupid drugs? And what if you turn out to be wrong, huh? What if this is about the Santu Espiritu ?”
“It’s not about the fucking wreck, princess.” I shake my head, the noise of the outboard motor intensifying. “Either way, I don’t want you to get shot.”
“I don’t want that either.” She frowns.
“Then get in the damned cabin.”
But June winks at me as she heaves herself onto the catwalk, walking the narrow strip to the bow, then unrolls a towel I’d somehow been too distracted to notice. In one smooth motion, she sinks onto the towel, rolling over onto her stomach, looking for all the world like she’s been there all day.
The glint of the shotgun shines from under the towel.
Clever girl.