Dangerously Yours

by Lark Brennan

  Dangerously Yours

  The Durand Chronicles: Book One

  Lark Brennan

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 2015 by Lark Brennan

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email info@diversionbooks.com

  First Diversion Books edition December 2015

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-832-3

  To my brilliant husband Steve,

  who makes every day a romantic adventure.

  Chapter One

  Fat Dog Harbor, The Grenadines

  “Can’t you harass somebody else for a change?” Bodie Flynn muttered at the ancient Obeah woman shaking a mummified bird claw at him from the end of the dock. Every time he came to shore she materialized on the beach to curse at him. Sometimes she threw shells. He had no idea why, and after three years the routine was getting old. Turning his back on her, he rammed the business end of the faded red hose into the tank of his sailboat and turned on the water.

  Where was Joshua with his supplies? He adjusted his sunglasses and scanned the break in the line of palm and papaya trees along the stark white beach. Bodie would get his own provisions if it wasn’t for his little infirmity. In the mid-afternoon sun, the translucent globes and shapes he saw hovering above the sand could have been reflections off the water. But they weren’t. And they waited to torment him.

  The fiberglass sailboat wasn’t what he would have chosen. The stark white hull and minimum of teak trim made it indistinguishable from the larger bareboats chartered to tourists throughout the Caribbean, which was the point. The last thing he wanted was attention. Still, a sleek, classy vessel would have made his exile more endurable.

  His fifteen-year-old part-time assistant was twenty minutes late. Not that it really mattered. He had nowhere to go and nothing in particular to do. And that was becoming a problem. He was sick and tired of his own company and bored to death of sitting in the harbor of Fat Dog Island, a.k.a St. Nowhere.

  The hum of an engine broke the peace. He searched the sky to the west until a seaplane appeared above the mountain tops, circling low over the cove, the island’s only harbor. The height of the surrounding hills created wind currents that made landing tricky. On the other hand, the seas outside the bay were rough with a strong current and landing there was impossible. Either way, the island’s geography discouraged casual visitors by air or by sea.

  The seaplane approached from the mouth of the harbor, coming in low and slowing. Bodie chuckled to himself. “Good luck, cowboy.”

  The first wind shear hit the plane, lifting a wing so suddenly most pilots would have found themselves flipped over. Not this guy. He steadied the craft and continued his descent. The next freak gust came from the other direction just as the plane skimmed the water. With a lurch, a pontoon sunk into a wave, nearly sending the plane nose first into the water before the pilot compensated and glided the craft across the choppy bay to the end of the pier.

  Bodie shook his head. “Either damned good or damned lucky.”

  The pilot cut the engine, climbed onto a pontoon and tied the plane to a cleat on the far end of the pier. All Bodie could see was the guy’s height—six feet at least. Only when the pilot leapt onto the dock did he see him clearly. And he was most definitely a she. A young, long-legged brunette striding down the dock in his direction.

  “Going somewhere, Bodie?”

  His heart sputtered and started pounding. Nobody knew where he was or even that he was alive. Well, almost nobody. He straightened and turned to face her, expecting his height—all six-feet-seven-inches—to intimidate her. Instead she grinned.

  “You are Bodie Flynn, aren’t you?” She planted her fists on her hips and her tone was less friendly now.

  “Never heard of him.”

  The woman wore a tailored uniform of crisp white shirt and khaki shorts. The dark aviator glasses were a little disconcerting but her body was athletic with lean, defined muscle.

  A slim eyebrow cocked over the Ray-Bans. “Really? You mean there’s another Talos IV in Fat Dog Harbor?” She glanced down at the line he hadn’t quite untied. “I came from the British Virgins to see you, so don’t even think about blowing me off.”

  Which was exactly what he was going to do. He folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve wasted your time and fuel.”

  “I was told you could help us. I’m head of the Marine Mammal Research Foundation. Some whales we’ve been tracking have vanished. Their GPS devices went silent in the Puerto Rico Trench.”

  Fear’s icy fingers gripped his lungs. Who was this woman? “Sorry. Can’t help you.”

  She removed her Ray-Bans and fixed him with a blue-eyed stare. “I’m Lex Durand, Mark Durand’s sister.”

  And with that, Bodie’s peaceful life shattered around him like a plate glass window strafed with machine gun fire. Mark Durand. The man who’d saved his life. The S.O.B. who owned his soul. He swore under his breath.

  She chuckled. “Mark has that effect on people. I, on the other hand, am quite reasonable. How about we talk over lunch? My treat. I’m famished.”

  He eyed her suspiciously and slid his Durand Tech communications device—ComDev—from his pocket. “You won’t mind if I verify your identity.”

  “Have at it,” she said and waved at the ComDev.

  He snapped a photo of her and sent it to Mark Durand with a two word message: Your sister?

  The reply came back instantly. Yes. Help her.

  He glared at the screen, tempted to tell Durand to stick it. Except he needed Durand Tech’s resources, not to mention the cash flow.

  The rattle of a makeshift cart on the wooden dock announced Joshua’s arrival.

  “Hey, boss,” Joshua said as he pushed the cart to a stop next to the Talos. “You got company.” He grinned at Lex.

  “Josh, this is Ms. Durand. Would you please show her where she can get lunch?”

  The kid nodded and motioned for Lex to follow him. “There’s a nice café on the square or a beach bar that serves fresh fish.”

  She stayed put. “If you won’t join me, can we get something brought here?” She pulled some bills from her pocket.

  Josh shrugged. “Whatever you like.”

  Bodie was trapped. This woman wasn’t going to be put off easily. “Right. Josh please get a couple orders of fish and chips from Manuel.”

  “No fish for me,” she said, “Salad, fruit, chips would be great.”

  “Sure.” Josh reached for the money, glancing at Bodie for approval.

  Bodie shook his head. “Put it on my account and get yourself some lunch, too.”

  The kid winked at him. “Right, boss.”

  “Thank you,” she said as she flashed a friendly smile.

  Bodie grabbed a couple canvas bags from the cart and stepped onto the deck of his boat. “I need to stow these. You might as well come aboard.”

  • • •

  Bodie ducked into the companionway, and Lex wondered why a man his size would live on a sailboat. A glance was all it took to size up the vessel. A production boat, sixty feet and so common in the islands it was almost cliché. She noted the spotless deck and the neatly stowed gear, signs of a good sailor.

  His head popped through the hatch. “Co
me on in out of the sun.” He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t barking at her. In fact, his tone held resignation. “How about some iced tea?”

  “If it isn’t too much trouble.”

  A snort. “No trouble, ma’am.”

  She stepped into the companionway and descended the narrow stairs, blinking until her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. “Geez. This is…” She gaped around her.

  “Unexpected?” he offered.

  She nodded. Instead of the cramped quarters of a charter sailboat, this space had been custom designed for a man Bodie’s size to move around in. In place of cheap veneers and vinyl, the finishes were mahogany, teak, and leather. “From topside this looks like a generic charter boat. I don’t get it.”

  He leaned back against the counter of the galley. “Nothing to get.”

  “I guess if you want to blend in, a charter bucket’s the way to go.”

  He removed his sunglasses and pinned her with an all-too-familiar silver stare. Her stomach lurched. Shit. Bodie Flynn was a revenant. Even in the Durand world revenants were rare and mysterious. Bodie’s eerie gaze drifted down her body and up again. He half-smiled, flashing straight white teeth. “You’d rather be the center of attention.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Flying around the Caribbean in a souped-up seaplane is low key?”

  Luckily he didn’t know just how high tech it was. No way was she jumping to his bait. The fact remained that Lex needed his expertise.

  “Can we just start over?” she asked. “Mark told me you might be able to help me find my whales. The foundation will pay you for your time and expenses. Will you help us?”

  “I’m willing to listen, but there’s nothing I can do that a decent technician can’t. GPS systems aren’t that complicated.”

  “Fair enough.” She accepted a glass of tea from him and slid into the tan leather seat. While she took a laptop from her backpack and booted it up, Bodie poured himself a glass and sat across from her. He set his drink on a cardboard bar coaster and rested his elbows on the mahogany table, flashing three intricate hieroglyphics tattooed on the inside of his forearm. She stared at the delicate symbols, transfixed by a mystical quality that pricked her psychic senses. Quickly, he lowered his arm, covering the ink.

  Lex took a deep breath. “Three years ago the Marine Mammal Research Foundation began a program to track the movements of humpback whales and bottlenose dolphins in the Caribbean and Atlantic. The devices use the most advanced GPS technology available and in some cases digitally record physical, audio, and ambient data that we download periodically.” She left out her telepathic debriefing of the animals to clarify the data. Even her team didn’t know about that.

  “Maybe the batteries ran out. Not unheard of,” he said.

  “Not these batteries.”

  “K-3s?” The comment was thrown out casually, as though he’d said Duracells.

  “Yeah. K-3s.”

  His chuckle startled her.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You want my help but you’re leaving out important pieces of information, aren’t you? The only way I work is with all the facts. Anything else is a waste of my time and yours.”

  All the facts. Like he’d believe them if he knew. “I’ll give you what I have starting with our data on the humpbacks’ disappearance in the Puerto Rico Trench.”

  Two clicks brought up a 3-D image of the depths of the trench.

  “What are we looking at?” he asked.

  “A whale’s journey at about 200 feet. The software creates the visual from the data in the recorder.”

  “What’s with all the color? At that depth everything looks blue.”

  “The software corrects to actual color to help us identify plant and animal species.”

  His fingers drummed on the tabletop as if itching to get at the keyboard. “Can you zoom in and out? Look side to side or from different angles?”

  She suppressed a grin. He was a computer geek after all. “Sure. Like this.” A few demo clicks of the mouse and a half dozen keystrokes later, she slid the laptop in front of him.

  Without hesitation he took over, long fingers flying across the keys. While his attention was glued to the screen, she studied him. He looked like Vin Diesel’s taller, better-looking brother—not conventionally handsome but definitely attractive in an über-male sort of way.

  “Okay, so you have good software,” he said without even looking up. “That it? Because I can’t see what this has to do with a faulty GPS system.”

  She pulled up a second file. “The journey you just watched was recorded five days ago by Poseidon’s recorder. Poseidon was our first humpback subject so we were excited to be able to follow him in real time.” She typed in coordinates, angled the screen so Bodie could see it. “Now this next part is fifteen minutes after the footage you just saw, a couple kilometers from where the first part was recorded.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “Just keep watching.”

  A moment later the wall of the trench in the newer video began pulsating, a rhythmic undulation like the breathing of a living being.

  “What the hell is this?” he muttered.

  She didn’t answer.

  The pulsating increased. Lex’s heart caught the cadence and its echo pounded in her ears. She knew what was coming. In slow motion the visual angle dove, showing Poseidon’s perspective as he plunged deeper. The vortex caught him like an underwater tornado, spinning, sucking him down, down, down into blackness. The screen went blank.

  Bodie exhaled loudly. “Damn.” He rose and crossed to the galley. He popped the cap of a Heineken and took a long pull on the bottle. “I don’t know what Mark told you, but I can’t find your whales.”

  Chapter Two

  “I was laughed out of M.I.T. My work was dismissed as delusional.”

  From the frown on Lex’s face, Bodie deduced that her brother hadn’t told her anything about him, not even his cover story. Figures. The S.O.B. tended to omit a lot of mission critical information. Based on the footage he’d just seen, what Lex was asking him to investigate was no GPS failure.

  “Yo, Talos. Fat Dog Catering has arrived!” Josh called from the dock.

  “Lunch.” Bodie swept a hand toward the stairs.

  Lex didn’t move.

  He shrugged, took a couple plates from a cabinet, three bottles of water from the fridge and headed up the stairs to the deck.

  “So who’s the babe?” Josh unloaded foil-covered paper plates from a cardboard box onto a foldup table in the cockpit. He wiggled his eyebrows.

  “She’s not bad if you like your women big and bossy.”

  He caught a movement in the hatchway. She’d heard his comment. Damn. Not that a Durand would care what he thought. Still, he felt like an asshole.

  She flashed a dazzling smile at the boy. “Thanks for delivering lunch. It smells delicious.”

  Josh grinned and gawked at her. “Happy to do it.”

  Bodie uncovered the plates. “We have fish, chips, johnnycakes, coleslaw, tomato and cucumber salad, mango slices. What’ll you have?”

  After slipping her aviators back in place, she filled a plate with salad, fruit, a johnnycake, and a hearty helping of fries.

  Josh joined them as they ate and asked Lex question after question about her plane. Bodie watched her from behind his Oakleys. She used her utensils like a European, reminding him she was a rich girl—a very rich girl—and Mark Durand’s sister.

  “So did you play basketball?” she asked.

  For a moment he didn’t realize she was addressing him.

  Josh proudly answered for him. “San Antonio Spurs. The NBA.”

  Bodie shifted on the bench and popped a chip into his mouth.

  She studied him. “Really?”

  “My eight-game career consisted of mostly pine-time and ended in a six player pile-up that destroyed both my knees.” That at least was true. For some reason he felt compelled to add, “Fortunately
my contract said they had to pay me for two more years and my agent had insisted I get disability insurance. So I went to grad school.”

  “M.I.T.? Impressive for a jock.”

  Actually Princeton, but M.I.T. was his cover story. “Some of us can read and write.”

  She picked up a piece of mango with her fingers and slipped it in her mouth. “Where did you go for your undergrad degree?”

  He was saved from lying by the clatter of four boys running down the dock toward the seaplane. “Hey, guys, look but don’t touch,” he called after them.

  The adolescents ignored him, one climbing onto a pontoon.

  Lex rose, muttering in French under her breath. “Kids are going to be kids. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  “Finish your lunch. I’ll take care of them.” Josh leapt onto the wooden dock and headed for the boys.

  Lex started to follow and Bodie caught her arm. “Let him handle them. He’s good with kids. They respect him.” Her skin was warm and smooth. He released it.

  She watched as Josh ordered the boys off the plane. “He seems like a good kid.”

  “Yeah. And smart. He wants to learn and has turned out to be a damned good assistant. Better than some of the grad students I had assigned to me.”

  “And I bet his family needs the money.”

  “He lives with his grandmother.” Just like Bodie had. “Good woman but it’s a poor island.”

  “Are you going to help him go to school?”

  He shrugged. “We’ve talked about it. There’s no Fat Dog U and he’s lived here all his life. Going off island to school would be a culture shock at best.”

  “You choose to live in the middle of nowhere, the kid should get a choice.”

  He swallowed a bitter laugh. Like he’d live in Fat Dog Bay if he could live anywhere else without getting himself killed. “If he wants to go to college, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “He will,” she replied. “So tell me more about what happened at M.I.T.”