Chapter 25
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
JUNE
My entire body aches. Unsurprising, since I spent the remainder of the night sleeping on the floor of a boat, rocking in the none-too-gentle embrace of the gulf. My middle is heavy, hot, and I open one eye to dawn breaking on the horizon.
Ugh .
The heaviness shifts and I swallow.
The warmth against me isn’t a blanket. Isn’t a pillow.
Nope. That’s Dean Evans curled up against me, spooning me, holding onto me as though I am something precious to him.
This is niiiiiice.
“Hey.” His voice is gruff, rasping against my ear, my languid body suddenly snapping to attention.
“Hi,” I say on a yawn. I close my eyes, leaning into him. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep, I’ll open my eyes again and wake up next to him in my bed.
Maybe all this Russian smuggler crap is just a bad dream.
Instead, something long and hard presses against my back.
My eyes fly open.
Dean pulls me closer. “Is this okay?”
Yep . It’s better than okay. He fits around me like a puzzle piece, and I feel so safe. Well, except for the absolutely ridiculous erection pressing into my lower back. I don’t want to be impaled, after all. And except for the mild heart attack I’m having.
Slowly, he releases me, tugging his arm out from under my head, replacing it with one of the cushions he used as a makeshift pillow.
“Oh.” It’s a breathy exhalation, surprise tinging it. I didn’t respond out loud, and now it’s too late.
Dean is up, rubbing hands through unruly dark hair, the stubble on his jaw only serving to better highlight its perfection.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to…” He trails off.
“You spooned me.” This kind of awkwardness should be reserved for freshman hook-ups. “You were sleeping. It happens.”
A muscle near Dean’s eye twitches. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
“I was sleeping,” I tell him earnestly.
His face falls, and I feel like an idiot.
“The lure.” I dive into a different conversation, dying to talk about anything but how danged awkward I am. “I figured out what it meant. The coordinates on the map, one of them said amberjack next to it. I wouldn’t have known what kind of lure it was if Thompson hadn’t said anything. We should go. To the where the fish are.”
I really don’t care about going to where the fish are. Nope. I want to go to where the clothes aren’t.
Or, just as tempting, back to sleep, to cuddling in the peaceful heat of Dean’s big body. But I’m awake now. The Santu Espiritu is within my reach. And if it is drugs, fine, whatever. At least if we find the drugs I’ll be safe. Safer. Probably.
Maybe.
Bracing myself against the rocking boat, I stand. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Still no contact?” I ask.
Dean’s frowning at the satellite phone, clearly rattled that Thompson and Thorne haven’t checked in.
“Not yet.”
“Do they go radio silent on these jobs?”
“We’re supposed to rendezvous today.”
“Do you want to go find them?”
“I’m not sure that would help.” He’s staring at the phone like it might ring at any time. “They must have a reason.”
“Do you think something happened?”
“I can’t think like that.” He glances up at me, all dark eyebrows and eyes and two days’ worth of stubble, and I want to tell him it’s going to be okay.
I’m not sure it will be, so I keep my mouth closed.
“How’s it going for you?”
“I found it.”
It made my heart ache to look at my father’s handwriting, the tiny fish doodle next to it, so I memorized the coordinates and squashed the fishing list back into my pocket and glued my eyes to the depth finder while Dean tried his team on the sat phone.
“That’s great, princess.”
The fuel gauge shows only a quarter of a tank left, but it’s the battery that worries me. As much as I’ve used the bilge pump over the last two days, it could be in danger of running out of power.
If the bilge pump or battery fails, we’ll have no choice but to turn the boat around. Thank goodness I remembered to run the bilge pump last night. Honestly, it’s sheer luck the Betty isn’t at the bottom of the gulf.
With a sigh, I flip the manual switch.
It doesn’t start.
“Something wrong?” Dean asks, coming up behind me.
I don’t answer, instead flicking the switch up and down until it finally kicks on. Relieved, I slump against the captain’s chair, never so glad to hear the tell-tale whine of the pump starting.
My mind swirls with unfinished thoughts and wild emotions. One moment I want to stop the boat and finish what I started with Dean on the beach, and the next I’m wishing I never met him, because that would mean I could live my life without knowing who my father really was.
But my father is dead, and Dean is living, breathing right next to me. Somehow, he seems to sense my mood, and gives me space.
Gathering myself, I check the GPS and frown.
“Son of a bean dip,” I swear.
The depth finder still shows a hundred meters. It’s unlikely my father found anything that deep. I press a finger against the grayscale screen of the fish finder, bringing it to life. It picks up fish, yes, but it can pick up anything as large as the wreck on the seafloor, too… except not at this depth.
This isn’t the spot, and it can’t be right. It’s too danged deep.
I scan the watery horizon. “Son of a bean dip mother Frito.”
Dean’s laugh startles me, and I whip around to find him standing over my left shoulder. “What’s wrong? Are we where you wanted to be? With the fish?”
“According to the list, this is the amberjack spot.”
“And you really think this is where he dropped the narcotics shipment? It couldn’t have been anywhere else?”
I close my eyes, wishing I snagged the lure from the beach before I blew it all to hell.
“I think this is where he was trying to steer us.” Why is it still so hard to believe he did this? Led a double life where he worked for the very people who hurt me, who kidnapped me?
“What now, princess, do we just hop in the water with the scuba gear and hope for the best?”
“No. We eat something. Drink something. Keep the fish finder on and mosey around.”
He gives me a blank stare. So I stare back.
A little laugh rips out of my throat.
“You want to go fishing?” he asks.
“What? No.”
“Then why the fish finder?” Dean tears into a protein bar and hands me one already opened, glancing at my bandaged hand.
Oh.
“Thanks,” I sputter. “The fish finder will show us anything weird below us. Not just fish.”
“Okay.” He unscrews an energy drink and hands it to me too. “It’s not coffee.”
“I would kill for coffee right now.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
The words sound like a joke, but it doesn’t feel like one. “Urgh.”
“Princess, look at me.”
Rubbing a rough spot on the white pleather, I tug at the jagged edge of the start of a tear. Who am I becoming? I felt powerful last night, setting the beach ablaze, taking some small measure of revenge.
This isn’t me .
I squeeze my eyes shut, my stomach roiling.
“June,” he says my name on an exhale.
Finally, I meet his eyes, my stomach twisting uncertainly. The boat continues to rumble, untroubled by my discontent.
“This is survival.” Dean puts his hand on the back of my chair. “Tell me about how you like your coffee.”
“Coffee.” My nostrils flare as I inhale, sucking down a great big breath and blowing it out. Another breath. The protein bar feels chalky against my teeth, and I grimace.
“That’s right, coffee. Latte? Pumpkin spice? Mocha café Frappuccino whipped chip abomination?” Dean sits back down on the pallet of blankets and cushions, tearing into a third protein bar.
“I know what you’re doing, Mr. Ex-Marine.” I scowl at him.
“What’s that?” he asks innocently.
“Trying to distract me.”
“Maybe I just want to know what kind of coffee you like on mornings you’re not out to sea with a,” he taps his temple like he is trying to remember, “a Ken Doll? So maybe the next time you wake up next to my ugly mug, I can make you your favorite.”
Something tightens inside my chest, my stomach filling with that tell-tale fluttery feeling. “You’re assuming a lot.”
“Maybe I am.” His gaze seems glued to my face, toffee brown in the late morning light. Why does he have to be so dang good-looking? It really isn’t fair.
“I like it any way I can get it,” I answer.
His eyebrows shoot up.
I clear my throat. “Coffee, that is. I like it pretty strong. Americanos are what I order if I go somewhere fancier than the coffee cart on campus or my trusty coffee pot at home.”
A wave rocks the boat, the light sparkling off the greenish water.
“Do you like to go to fancy places?” His jaw works as he chews the protein bar and I study him, allowing hope to swell as sure as the current around us.
“There aren’t many fancy places in my college town.”
“I’d take you somewhere nice.” Dean clears his throat. “The real question is, would you want to go with me?”
A smile blooms on my face. “Are you asking me out?”
He returns the smile. “Caught me.”
“No.” I blurt. “Yes.”
“I think that’s what they call mixed signals.” One eyebrow rises.
My chest heaves, and I put my head on the steering wheel. The protein bar sticks to my teeth and I lick them, tired and faintly nauseated.
“June?”
“Sorry, my jaw’s been welded shut by this gourmet meal,” I manage, but it comes out garbled.
A calloused finger traces the line of my jaw.
“If this is just… if what’s between us is one-sided—we can chalk those kisses up to adrenaline.” His finger dips down the line of my neck, and my instant reaction belies his words.
There would be no one-sided to this. It would burn hot and fast and so good and then it would be over, ashes and third-degree scars.
I swallow again, dislodging the protein bar. “Pull the Speed card.”
Confusion mars his handsome face.
“You know, Sandra Bullock? Keanu Reeves? It’s a classic. But they don’t stay together, because whatever attraction they had was built on surviving an extreme circumstance.” I point at the space between us. “This could be an extreme circumstance.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs, and my body comes alive as his muscles bunch. “Or maybe we could watch it together and take it slow.” A cocky grin tugs the corner of his mouth.
“Dean…” He withdraws his finger, and I miss it immediately. “I just think maybe we should get through this first. You know, one thing at a time. Survive, then see what happens.”
“See, that’s how we’re different. Helps me to have something to look forward to.” His gaze heats, raking over me, leaving no doubt as to what exactly he is looking forward to. “But I understand. When you’re ready, I’d love a dinner-and-a-movie night with you. Just dinner and a movie. If you’re not ready to answer, that’s fine. I’ll wait. If it’s a no, that’s fine too.”
It shouldn’t melt me, this gentlemanly side of him.
This side of him that is soft and patient and so dang hot.
Dean is a sharp edge, his entire body promising violence when he is in action. Except with me, his muscled body is thick with the promise of pleasure. I manage another bite of the protein bar, chewing slowly so I don’t open my mouth and take his.
The problem isn’t him waiting for an answer. The problem is I want to have sex with him immediately and often, and that— that —is a recipe for disaster.
A shrill ring interrupts the calm lapping of water against the side of the boat, and Dean frowns before removing his hand from the back of my chair and digging his phone out of the pack.
I nearly turn back to the fish finder, but that would interrupt the absolutely perfect view of an absolutely perfect derrière.
“Evans.” A pause. “Yep. Good to hear. Yeah. Let me check. Okay. Rendezvous at,” he checks his watch, “eleven hundred.”
He rattles off their GPS coordinates and my lips press into a thin line.
“How’s Charlie?” he asks.
Pierce, then .
My brow wrinkles. Something about that man. Where did they go last night? Suspicion rises.
Charlie and Pierce knew where to find us. We told them about the beach, then they’d taken the inflatable boat and driven away in the middle of the night. I focus on the control gauges, the endless blue ahead, my mind running a mile a minute.
Couldn’t have been him, though. Pierce is government, for crying out loud, he works for the DEA, why in the world would he have given us away? It makes no dang sense.
Dean smashed the tracker to smithereens while I watched. That’s how the cartel found us. Fear punches me. The tracker was how they found us, and they almost captured me.
Still. Unease flickers through me, catching like wildfire.
Dean clicks a button on the black brick of a phone and tosses it back into the pack.
“What did he say about Charlie?” Dread spreads, tingling down my limbs and into my fingertips, tapping against my thighs.
“She’s still with him, said to tell you hello.”
Huh. Seems normal enough . I frown.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Shaking myself, I stretch my arms high above my head, pointing my toes as hard as I can. When I look back up at Dean, his mouth hangs slightly open before closing it with a snap.
“What?” I echo his question.
“You seem upset. Worried.”
“It’s nothing.”
A crease appears in his forehead. Dang . He’s going to age like a fine wine. “I always teach my people to listen to their gut.”
If I listened to my gut, I wouldn’t have let Dean strong arm me onto this boat. I wouldn’t have gotten drunk and poured tequila all over that Russian dude at the bar.
I probably wouldn’t have gotten this close to finding the Santu Espiritu.
I wouldn’t have kissed him, and that would be the biggest shame of all.
“You keep watching the fish finder,” I say.
It’s time to go to work. Turning the boat on is safe. Work is safe. There will be no turning me on.
“I’ll watch the depth. Let’s do this.”
He nods at my directive, a sly smile on his face.
The quicker we find the Santu Espiritu , the sooner this nightmare will be over.
And the sooner I can figure out what, exactly, I’m going to do with Dean Evans.