Jewel of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  Moments later, the trio rushed down the private dock under a cloudy night sky. The smoke and haze from the palace-attack drifted over the hill like a gathering storm. The unmistakable, metal stench of gunfire loomed in the air. At the end of the dock was Señor Valera’s speedboat, which no longer seemed like an odd choice for a fisherman.

  Perfect for a retired royal guardsman.

  Señor Valera tossed the bags onto the deck and helped the two ladies on board. Alanna’s feet were sturdy, wearing the canvas shoes Rona had given her. They were a size too large, but still comfortable enough to maneuver around the boat. She’d go barefoot once out in the open sea.

  “I’ll be just a moment.” The former Royal Guardsman returned to the house while Rona climbed below deck, leaving Alanna alone at the helm, fingering the wheel and switches.

  She’d seen what these men did to the rest of the palace staff. They’d do the same to these two if they found her with them. If they were caught at sea, they could deny everything, claim to be fishing. But only if she weren’t on board.

  The thought of her guard, his widened eyes as the bullet pierced his spine, made the decision easy.

  No one else will get hurt because of me.

  Clutching the bag Señor Valera had given her in one hand, she scratched out a note on a pad of paper by the wheel, promising to call when she was safe.

  Any U.S. Consulate off island was the protocol, so she’d follow it.

  Alone.

  She jumped out of the boat, raced down the wood planks and into the dark bushes. Dozens of private docks were scattered around the island; almost all of them had a boat of some kind, motor or sailing rig. She could man either one. All she needed was the chance.

  The first three docks were empty, and fear sizzled along Alanna’s nerves. Had all these people escaped, or had the madmen captured them? Commandeered their vessels? She’d lost track of how long she’d been running and her lungs were about to give out. Still, staying with Rona was no longer an option.

  She crested a small hill, and relief washed over her at the cloud of heaven floating in the middle of a deep inlet.

  Jackpot!

  The large yacht with running lights on was poised to depart. A smaller boat, clearly the yacht’s tender by the matching paint job, sat at the docks with a man loading supplies in the back. She didn’t recognize the berth, but the stern read: Breezy Dreams, Brisbane, Australia.

  Australia will work.

  Alanna crept down the hill, drawing closer to the dock, the man’s focus on loading the boat. Under the dock lights overhead, grease marks marred his thick arms, and his cargo shorts were clearly worn, but still showcasing a nice pair of tanned legs. A moss-colored T-shirt pulled across his back as he worked, displaying thick ridges of muscle in his shoulders. Only when she was a few yards away did he look up.

  The most enticing jade eyes she ever imagined fixed on her. She froze, literally mid-step, and gasped. The ten feet between them was the only thing keeping her from reaching out to touch him, to feel if he was real.

  A hint of stubble lined his perfectly angular jaw line, his square chin anchoring a face that was nothing short of angelic. His chiseled cheekbones made for a smoldering look, which he’d clearly mastered. Tanned skin defied his Caucasian ancestry. But his sandy-blond hair did not, windblown, as if he’d spent his life on the sea.

  Though how could someone as young as him afford a yacht like that? Over a hundred feet long, three decks high with gold plated trim and a helipad on the top. Family money, probably. Or was he part of the staff? Grease marks—perhaps the mechanic or engineer.

  “What are you doing here?” The timbre of his deep voice washed over her, her hope of getting on that ship rolling out with the tide.

  He’s American?

  As an engineer, he probably had no authority to bring her onto that boat. Or to steer it the hell away from Solana. But his simple question made her speechless. Or his accusatory tone.

  “What do you want?” His grip on the box of supplies tightened, the challenge in his gaze reminding her of what was at stake.

  And of who she was.

  She straightened, pulled her shoulders back, and gave him the smile of a princess who was about to give her first command.

  “I-I need a ride on that yacht. Right now.”

  “A RIDE—AT MIDNIGHT?” FLYNN had never met someone with perfectly symmetrical eyes before. On a woman who appeared out of a jungle in the middle of the night, no less. With amazing symmetrical proportions on the rest of her as well.

  “Yes, at midnight,” she answered, clearly out of breath. “I will pay you for your trouble, but we must leave immediately.”

  It wasn’t her sudden appearance that threw him off, or her incredible figure in those linen pants and fitted shirt. Or even the ridiculous request of leaving with him. Flynn was able to look a complete stranger in the eye. For the first time. His childhood inability to make eye contact had bugged the hell out of his teachers and friends. Finally, his mother taught him to fake it by focusing on someone’s forehead or nose, which came in handy in the Navy with the officers hollering in his face.

  But there was no need to fake it with her. Perfect almond-shaped, dark chocolate, eyes at precise equal distance from her nose and mouth. A feature he didn’t believe humanly possible.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  She blanched and bit her lip. The way she fidgeted and kept glancing over her shoulder, anxiety was written all over her. Flynn turned and set the box in the boat.

  “Please don’t leave me.” The touch of panic in her voice forced him around again. “My name’s Alanna,” she blurted and stepped forward. “Alanna…Kalani. It’s an emergency. The tide is going out.”

  He faced her again, still stunned he could look someone new in the eye. He’d have agreed to anything for that alone. “That’s the captain’s call, not mine.” Flynn climbed into the boat and started the engine. The boat rumbled with energy and he removed the rope from the front pillar on the dock. When he looked up again, she still stood there, five feet from the edge looking helpless and astray. “You can’t expect the captain to hear you from the dock, can you? Get in.”

  Her relief was palpable, but she kept looking back at the hill, as if it would disappear any minute, or a monster would pop out from a palm tree. He held out his hand to help her in, but she didn’t need it. Easily climbing aboard, she removed the lines without question.

  The woman knew her way around boats. Another plus.

  With a press of the throttle, Flynn braced himself against the helm and the boat lunged forward. Alanna staggered to the jump seat beside him and brushed the hair out of her face.

  “What’s your name?” she called over the roaring engine. Flynn ignored the question, knowing she couldn’t hear him anyway. He’d wait until they were alongside the yacht. Besides, he was more concerned about what Dean would think. Transporting a stowaway on a client delivery, particularly after Flynn’s last debacle on a yacht. Not a conversation he was looking forward to. But he couldn’t say no to Alanna’s perfect eyes. Perfect…everything.

  Pulling up to the yacht stern, he eased off the throttle and Alanna secured the lines. He switched off the engine. She climbed on board, carrying only a single clutch. Not big enough for a change of clothes, shoes, or even sunscreen. What kind of woman traveled so lightly? She turned and held out her hand, palm down. He hesitated but eventually took it.

  Her skin was soft. Almost too soft. Her fingers were tiny in his palm, the pale pink nail polish as delicate as the rest of her. When he was on board, she didn’t let go.

  Don’t ever let go. I want to hold onto your warmth.

  “Your name?” she asked with a raised brow.

  “Flynn.”

  Something on the hill caught her eye and she released his hand. Flynn pursed his lips at the loss of her touch, and followed her gaze to the darkened coastline.

  “What do you keep looking at?”

  “We
need to go.” She moved up the stairs to the main deck.

  If she noticed the new paint on the railings or the film protector on the glass door, she didn’t say anything. She didn’t even pause when she slid it open and stepped into the cooler salon. As if a mega-yacht was an everyday vehicle for her.

  The rich furnishings were top of the line, as required by the luxury-obsessed client. A Fendi suede sofa sectional separated the dining area from the salon, accessorized with gray fur pillows and a purple rug over dark-wood floors. Panoramic windows covered the entire back half of the yacht, which brought in the perfect amount of light during the day and a spectacular view of the sunset no matter the angle. Though tonight, the shades were drawn and only a few LED lights surrounding the ceiling were on.

  Beyond the just-as-lavish dining room was the galley, with bare cherry-wood counters and a gaudy chandelier. Dean sifted through the stainless-steel refrigerator, no doubt looking for a midnight snack on their sparsely supplied trip. There was no need to bring food for more than two people on a weeklong delivery. It was partly why they’d stopped on Solana. To refill the cabinets with Dean’s chosen sweet foods and coffee addiction. For a fifty-year-old man, he ate like a teenage wrestler.

  “Did you get the Polynesian blend I asked for?” he asked, still rummaging around the fridge. He finally turned and saw their visitor. A stick of beef jerky stuck out the side of his mouth like a toothpick. He removed it, and his silver brow furrowed, deepening the lines in his cheeks. “Hardly the trip to pick up a date, Flynn.”

  “She’s not a prostitute, Dean,” he drawled. He stepped around Alanna and looked at her. “Are you?”

  Her eyes flashed and her doe-eyed expression morphed into rage. “Of course not!”

  “Forgive me.” Dean rounded the counter. “How can I help you, Miss…”

  “Pe—um…Kalani.” She extended her hand. Palm down again. “Alanna Kalani.” If Dean let her ride with them, the first thing Flynn would teach her was a proper handshake. “I am in need of a ride off Solana. Tonight. Immediately.”

  Dean’s dark gaze roved over Flynn before he replied. “Why are you in such a hurry, Ms. Kalani?” The hint of suspicion in Dean’s voice filled the galley. “And what’s wrong with one of the passenger boats in the marina?”

  Alanna’s mouth dropped. “You don’t know?”

  A large boom in the distance drew their attention to the windows. But all the shades were down. He and Dean rushed out the side door and stood on the narrow deck just as a small fireball rose over the shadowy hill, followed by an eerie orange glow.

  “What the—” Dean retreated inside for a moment, and then returned with binoculars. As he surveyed the top of the rise, several unmistakable pops ripped through the air. The two men ducked and rushed her inside. “Don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m not sticking around to find out. Flynn, bring up the tender, now.”

  Flynn had already turned and rushed to the back of the boat, using his military training to keep him focused. Head down and quick feet, he secured the rigging and maneuvered the hydraulic platform from under the water, raising the tender out of the sea. Then he tied down the remaining ropes and dashed upstairs.

  “They weren’t shooting at us.” Flynn made his way to the helm. Dean sat in the captain’s chair scanning the waters with binoculars, while Alanna stood next to him and watched the anchor rise from the bay. “It was on the other side of the hill.”

  “You want to go back to shore to be certain?” Dean switched on the engine and throttled forward. “I’m assuming this is what you were running from, Miss Kalani. Care to explain?”

  “The marina is destroyed and the Royal Square was attacked.”

  “By who?”

  Alanna’s voice tightened. “Terrorists.”

  When the yacht reached deeper waters, Dean pushed the throttle to thirty-five knots. The black sea beyond the bow was calm, but they relied on the new navigation system to find their way out, past the coral reefs and sandbars.

  “Alistair will never let us use his dock again,” Dean grumbled.

  “If it’s still there when he returns from Hong Kong,” Flynn said. “We only on-boarded half the fuel. The rest is sitting in his storage shed.”

  “Shit.” Dean shook his head. “Well, let’s hope whoever fired those shots leaves Alistair’s estate alone. So much for a secluded cove.”

  “You’ll want to keep due north for another few miles before you turn,” Alanna piped up, gripping the other bucket seat like a life raft, her tiny bag still clutched in her fingers. “The reef is wider on the east side of the island, and you’ll want to steer clear of the marina. Just in case.”

  Both Dean and Flynn stood waiting for more explanation, but her jaw tightened.

  She knows the local waterways. I’m doubly impressed. And thankful.

  Flynn flipped on the television, checking local channels for any coverage. Satellite communications allowed them to tap into nearby stations, but every screen was the dreaded black-and-white static. “The local stations are out.”

  The wrinkles in Dean’s forehead deepened. “Better log this in the book, and call your dad when we get clear of this.”

  “Hell no. I’m not waking him up for this shit.”

  “The brokerage owner needs to know when a delivery has snags. Before the client finds out.”

  “Wait.” Alanna held up her hand to stop them. “You’re not the owner of this yacht?”

  Dean laughed. “I wish. This is a sea trial and delivery to a buyer in Manila.”

  Alanna made a choking noise. “Manila? But…the boat says Australia.”

  “That’s where the boat was manufactured.” Flynn answered, confused why she was suddenly panicked. “I’m sure the owner will change it after he takes possession.”

  Even covered in panic, Alanna still mesmerized him. Standing this close to her brought out her coconut perfume, or perhaps it was a lotion or soap. Either way, it was intoxicating. She was intoxicating. Too much; he couldn’t concentrate. Flynn moved to the window, hoping the sea air would help him think more clearly.

  “We’re far enough from shore. I need to bring in the supplies.”

  Dean nodded. Alanna moved to follow Flynn, but the captain stopped her. “Not so fast, Miss. Do you have ID? I need to log this in the book.”

  “I’d rather… That won’t be necessary.”

  Dean’s eyes darkened, but his face remained impassive. “If you refuse to show me I.D., I have no choice but to assume you’re a fugitive and turn you into authorities at the next port.”

  Alanna scowled. She dug in her bag, grabbed her green passport and slapped it in Dean’s outstretched hand. After he inspected it and wrote her name in the log by the controls, he returned it.

  “Satisfied?”

  “Thank you, Miss Kalani.”

  “Is there someplace I can wash up and rest?” She stuffed the passport away.

  “Absolutely. Flynn, take her to the forward guest cabin. You can show her the boat in the morning.”

  “This way.” Flynn ignored the fatigue plaguing his muscles. Despite the fiery episode Alanna displayed, she was a soft little thing that kicked his protective instincts into gear. She was short, maybe five-two, but with the presence of an admiral—impossible to ignore or overlook. She followed, her shoes squishing against the wood floor. “This is the galley.” He paused at the top of the stairs. “Help yourself to whatever you like, except the liquor and champagne. That’s for the client. Although, I’ll ask one favor of you.” He leaned closer, not just to murmur his request but because she smelled so good. “Don’t drink much of the Polynesian coffee. Dean gets a little cranky without it. It’s not pretty.”

  Alanna’s mouth wrinkled as if she was trying to hide a smirk. “Not a problem. I don’t drink coffee.” Her smooth voice drifted over him like honey.

  Flynn cocked his head. “What do you drink?”

  “Water. Or tea.”

  He frowned. “We don’t have
any tea on board.”

  “That’s okay.” She smiled. Exhaustion tinged the corners of her mouth and her eyelids started to droop. All of a sudden, his energy drained. Fatigue was contagious. He continued down the stairs—twelve of them—until they reached the carpeted hallway toward the guest cabins. Leading her to the last room on the right, he opened the door and waited. Alanna moved inside, her arm only an inch from his torso as she maneuvered around him. Her coconut scent overwhelmed him in the narrow space, and he leaned in closer as she passed.

  Relief washed over her face at the sight of twin bed against each wall with a single circular window between them. Despite the small interior, it was comfortable and soothing, with the silver bedspread, and bedside lamp on a cherry-wood nightstand between the mattresses.

  “There’s a bathroom to the right, though please keep showers quick so we don’t waste the fresh water or overwork the desalination machine.”

  She dropped her bag on one bed, and eyed the other. “Where do you sleep?” The concern in her eyes radiated through her posture.

  Something stirred inside him. Perhaps it wasn’t just the situation that she feared, but also him. A twinge tugged at his heart as she pulled her neckline higher.

  “The crew’s quarters are aft.”

  Alanna licked her lips and brushed the hair out of her eyes. Standing in this small room, she looked lost. Almost crushed.

  “I’d put you in the forward master cabin, but I don’t think the owner would appreciate that.”

  “No, this is fine.” She sighed and plastered on a tired smile. “Thank you, Flynn.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he blurted. The instant the words came out of his mouth, he cringed.

  But she didn’t scowl at him, like he expected. Or yell at him, or flinch away. Instead, she blinked and gave an awkward smile.