by Rachel Grant
“Thank you.”
“I’d have guessed you were more the one-piece type.”
She looked up at the glass that wrapped around the helm as she ran her hand down her side, a nervous gesture, adjusting to the feel of the suit. “Trina made me buy it.”
“Trina?”
“A coworker. The only clothes hound at NHHC. She has the shopping gene the rest of us lack.”
Trina. Dr. Trina Sorenson, Navy historian. He remembered her from one of the conference calls last November. Trina was a close friend of Undine’s.
Should he tell her about his alter ego, Parker Reeves? Would it make a difference? Probably not, considering she thought Parker was a Ukrainian terrorist. She needed time to get to know him, not be fed stories she probably wouldn’t believe anyway.
“Trina has good taste.”
“She also made me buy the stilettoes I wore last night. I’d never have been able to fight off Spiderman without those shoes.”
“That makes her my new favorite person I’ve never met.” He meant it. If Ivy hadn’t been wearing stilettoes, they could be in a very different situation right now.
“Her fiancé is a badass former SEAL who runs a mercenary organization. The kind of guy who’s protective of Trina’s friends and has a small private army—which happens to be owned by my cousin—to back him up.”
He chuckled. “Point taken.”
She settled on one of the padded seats and set her drink to the side. She relaxed into the cushion, and the sun caressed her peach orchid skin. Thoughts of the flower reminded him of last night, and that fast, he was hard. “If we capsize, it’s your fault for wearing that bikini on the front deck while we’re underway.”
She poked her head up and scanned the horizon. “I see nothing but water. No boats. No land. No reefs to snag us until we’re closer to the islands. Waves are low, no threatening storms. You mess up, it’s on you.” Her smile turned sly and a little bit wicked. “What the hell, it’s not like you haven’t see it all anyway.” She untied the strings around her neck and unhooked the back of the suit, then dropped the scrap of fabric on the deck.
Oh Jesus. She did have torture in mind.
Her heavy breasts spread and relaxed. Soft to the touch. A feast for eyes and mouth. He could close his eyes and remember her taste, the feel of her puckered nipple against his tongue, but he had a boat to drive.
“Fuck but you have beautiful breasts.” The words slipped out. But then…she was practically inviting him to comment, given that they’d slept together and now she put herself on display for him.
She covered her nipples with her hands in what appeared to be a moment of self-consciousness, then gave up and took another sip from her drink and settled back on the cushion.
The sun beat down on the deck, and lying on the bench as she was, sheltered by the well, he could imagine the breeze skipping across her skin, a soft, warm caress.
He wanted to be that breeze. To forget Jack and Dimitri and lost technologies and spies. And just be a man with a beguiling woman. The bench was the perfect height for him to kneel between her legs, to lick open her flower petals, and feel her thighs curl around him as he brought her to orgasm.
“What are you thinking right now?” he asked.
“Honestly?” She let out a hard laugh. “I’m thinking sitting here topless in front of you was a stupid idea. I’m bored and tense at the same time. I’m scared the guys from the swamp will find me. That I’m going to prison. That I’ll be abducted from my abductor. And that I’ll get a sunburn and my nipples will peel.”
“That’s a lot on your mind.”
“That was just the last five seconds. Before that, I was worried CAM will malfunction, and we’ll never find what you’re looking for. I’ll rub up against a poison tree during the survey and get a rash, and then mosquitos will bite me and I’ll get dengue fever. I’ll die lost and alone in a mangrove swamp, and the world will believe I betrayed my country.”
“Now I think I need a drink.” He couldn’t promise her the world wouldn’t believe she’d betrayed her country. Many already thought exactly that.
“Tell me who you’re working for, Dimitri. Make me understand why you’re doing this.”
He’d been expecting that question again and remained sorry he’d disappoint her. “I can’t tell you for your own protection.”
“But I can’t trust you unless I know what’s going on.”
“Trust is irrelevant. Just know that I’ll protect you from the others. No one will be able to come at you while you’re with me.”
She rolled to her stomach and hugged the bench pillow to her chest. “Maybe…maybe I can help you. I know people. I can talk to the attorney general. Maybe you can cut a deal. Maybe it doesn’t have to be this way.”
He could practically smell her, wanted to touch her sun-warmed skin. “Here’s one more truth for you: I’m going to die before this game ends. There is no future for me. No deal could ever save my ass.”
She tucked her head down. Her breathing was ragged through the microphone. “If you have nothing left to lose, then maybe a deal would—”
“Oh, sweetheart, therein lies the problem. I have something left to lose. People I hold more precious than my own life.”
Her gaze zinged in his direction, seeking him behind the glass, but all she would see was a dark, reflective surface. “Are you married? Do you have kids?” she asked.
“No children, and I’m not married. No girlfriend. Not even a friend with benefits in the wings. You’re the closest thing I have to being involved with someone.”
Her body stiffened. “We are not involved.”
He would argue that her decision to sunbathe topless before him belied that point, but she gathered the towel to her chest in a way that said she didn’t need the reminder.
She let out a deep breath; the puff of air hit the microphone and blasted his ears. “Who is it, then? Your parents?”
“I won’t tell you, Ivy. Don’t think I don’t know that you’ll hang me out to dry at the first opportunity. There will be no deal, and I’m not about to hand the FBI the weapon that will hang me and endanger all that I hold dear.”
Sophia and Yulian had been used against him enough.
Ivy grabbed her bikini top from the floor and hooked it behind her back. Good. Hopefully she’d go inside.
He grimaced, realizing her interrogation technique might not have gained her the answers she’d wanted, but he’d revealed more than he’d intended.
She was trying to figure out how to get the upper hand. If she only knew, she already had it. He’d given it to her when he admitted he’d never hurt her. Hell, he’d had to take her a hundred nautical miles out to sea because it was the only way he knew to scare her without actually touching her.
He was supposed to be a badass spy, but he’d frozen at the idea of physically intimidating her.
He wanted to tell her. Everything. He wanted to make love to her on the sundeck. He wanted to turn the boat around and head to Malaysia, to flee this life and start a new one.
Dammit. She needed to get inside before he did something stupid, like tell her about Sophia. “Go below. Build your drone. We’re going to start searching once we reach the Rock Islands.”
She glared at the reflective glass. “You don’t get to boss me around.”
“Fine. Then stay on the deck and I’ll whisper in your ears how much I want to fuck you. How amazing your body felt wrapped around mine. How much my cock wants to be deep inside your wet heat right this minute. How hard I am for you. How it felt to hold you against the shower wall and slide home. You were so slick—”
She yanked off the headphones and tossed them in the corner. She finished tying the bikini bra around her neck and refilled her drink. She went light on the vodka, heavy on the juice. Telling him she wanted him to believe she was getting wasted, but proving she was too smart for that.
Too smart for him.
Ivy MacLeod was the type of woman he
’d always been fascinated by. Brave. Forthright. Quick. And that amazing brain. Relationships had never been in the cards for him, but if it had been possible, she was the type he’d have gone for.
She lay back on the bench and closed her eyes. Her body was stiff. She was probably cursing herself. Cursing him.
Much as he wanted to deny it, he had abducted her. He just hadn’t used physical force or coercion. He was a regular fucking saint, just like Ivy had said.
He deserved her hate. Her revulsion.
Yet…he knew an irrational part of her was turned on by him, even now. He didn’t deserve that, but he’d take it. As he’d take any other breadcrumb she tossed his way. But Ivy MacLeod was too good for a lowlife spy like him.
She deserved someone like Luke Sevick. Much as he liked Luke as a person, he also hated the golden boy. Or at least resented him. Watching Luke fall ass over teakettle for Undine Gray had been a sharp, painful reminder of everything Dimitri couldn’t have.
Chapter Twelve
The conversation on the deck had served its purpose, Ivy reminded herself. She’d needed a way to transition into a working relationship with Dimitri, something that would bridge their morning argument and her orders from the US attorney general to cooperate.
She hadn’t expected to be turned on knowing he could see her but not touch her. Hadn’t expected to be aroused by having his voice in her head when she couldn’t see him.
Well.
But what surprised her most about the whole conversation was…she felt empowered.
There was a raw honesty he gave her. She could hear it in his voice, but it was something he managed to hide when they spoke face-to-face. He was desperate to find hope in his hopeless situation. She’d bet even he didn’t know that about himself.
More important, she’d learned he wasn’t doing this for himself. There were people—presumably family—who he cared about. If Curt could locate them…maybe they could be used to put pressure on Dimitri to cooperate with the FBI.
Of course, that was exactly why Dimitri hadn’t revealed who they were. But dammit, she hadn’t asked for this situation, and she would damn well do whatever necessary to escape, even if it meant finding Dimitri’s weakness and exploiting it.
Knowing he was vulnerable had shifted the balance of power. She no longer felt helpless.
Plus, she believed now more than ever he wouldn’t hurt her. Again, it was the tone of his words when she couldn’t see his face. She could swear the tiniest hint of Russian accent slipped through, meaning his emotions were getting the better of his control.
She’d been watching his amazing body for a week as he swabbed the deck and otherwise put himself on display for her. As he’d intended, she’d viewed him through a lust-filled lens from the start. But he’d been studying her—reading her articles in scientific journals. Memorizing her IQ and accomplishments.
In the course of that, she suspected he’d developed a respect for her. And that respect was getting in his way.
She suspected he wanted a human connection beyond what he’d been allowed as a covert operative. A connection beyond sex. Sex was merely a placeholder for what he craved.
She imagined his life had been quite lonely, and now he faced what he believed to be his final days. He might be viewing Ivy as his last chance to make that connection.
Or it was all bullshit and she was seeing what she wanted to see. She wasn’t a psychologist—although she’d read enough books on the subject. She was a tech geek, because at least there she could find concrete answers. Except, she’d gone deep enough into mathematics to know even numbers could betray her with outliers or unknown variables. There were problems that far exceeded her ken.
Dimitri Veselov was the ultimate equation, and her future hinged on being able to solve him.
Who was he before he showed up in Palau and became Jack Keaton?
Curt had said the name Veselov was news to him, but clearly he’d identified the photo as someone.
Dimitri glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes questioning. Concerned. And holding a trace of lust he couldn’t hide. He turned back, returning his attention to the water as he guided them through the Rock Islands.
Her fingers paused on the keyboard. How could she feel attracted to him, even now?
But she did. She’d felt the caress of his gaze in the same part of her body that he’d lavished with attention late last night. Thank goodness she’d instilled the no-touching rule, when just a look could turn her on.
She was messed up in a way that belied her vaunted IQ. She’d married a traitor. And now a spy had aroused her with a glance.
She finished setting up CAM’s control console. Dimitri had insisted she work at the aft end of the uppermost deck so he could keep an eye on her and the equipment as he navigated the channels between islands.
She’d come to the conclusion Curt told her to cooperate with Dimitri because the CIA, DIA, and FBI wanted whatever it was Dimitri was looking for. Curt must know what Dimitri was after. She understood why he hadn’t shared the information. She could easily slip and let Dimitri know she knew what they were looking for.
Best for her to remain ignorant and keep her acting to a minimum. After all, she’d ruined the fourth grade play with her rendition of sunflower number three. But was it her fault the director didn’t understand that fully mature sunflowers don’t follow the sun across the sky? Their heads are too heavy and their growth cycle is complete. If you ask a girl to play a sunflower, at least understand the science before you tell her it’s October and her petals are turning brown.
She flashed on the memory of her parents laughing in the front row as she dramatically drooped under the weight of her seeds, stealing the spotlight from students singing songs about Halloween and candy corn.
Her heart squeezed. She hoped to hell she’d see her parents again. She wanted to thank them for embracing her kooky literal side and going to bat for her with teachers who were irritated by being corrected by a know-it-all student.
She’d been a handful for her parents and teachers. Socialization came naturally to some, but to Ivy, it was a skill that had to be learned and ten times harder than advanced trigonometry. Triangles made absolute sense, but the boy in seventh grade English who thought she was a freak because she was tall, busty, pimply, and obsessed with astrophysics had been a complete—and painful—mystery to her.
But then, triangles were the best shape, the key to time and distance. Triangles were poetry and magic and explained the entire universe.
She puffed out a deep breath and shook her head. She was losing it if she was mentally escaping to her excruciating adolescent years and fawning over triangles. Why would she want to return to that time?
Again her mind flashed on her parents, giving her the answer. At twelve, no matter how awkward she’d been, she’d always felt safe at home, grounded. Loved. But right this minute, she felt vulnerable on twenty-seven different levels. No wonder she wanted to find triangles in the wood grain lines on the deck.
Coping mechanism. Pure and simple.
She flicked the power switch for the drone, which gave a soft whirr as the system booted up.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Dimitri said from the helm, “what does CAM stand for?”
“Officially, it stands for Computer-Aided Mapping, but it’s a bullshit name. I named the system after my grandpa, Cameron MacLeod. Grandpa Cam.” Her Scottish grandfather with the heavy brogue who loved triangles too. She nodded to the drone as it lifted from the deck. “The drone is named RON.”
“Does RON stand for anything?”
“Not yet. There’s a pool at NHHC. The person who comes up with the best name that fits the acronym gets the kitty. Costs ten bucks to enter a name. I pick the winner.”
“Any good entries?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Recording Orientation…and Navigation?”
“See. It’s not easy. But you have to give me ten bucks if you want me to consider yo
ur entry.”
He laughed. “I’ll wait until I have something better.” He used reverse to bring the boat to a stop, then powered down the engine. She heard the metal clank of the anchor descending into the water. “If you want to get closer to the island, we’ll have to use the trolling motor to stay in place. I won’t drop anchor on the reef.”
She smiled, glad that he was considerate of the fragile live corals that were both beautiful and the habitat of thousands of species. She felt the same protectiveness for the Peleliu wreckage, where dropped anchors could damage historic debris and human remains.
RON checked out, all systems running, so she returned her focus to the computer. This was a test run in which she would use the drone to map the seafloor where there were known Peleliu wrecks. RON was equipped with regular and enhanced Lidar and infrared mapping technology. It was the enhanced Lidar she was testing here. To create the enhanced system, she’d bundled radio signals into the light beam so the laser could penetrate to the bottom without the radio signal being attenuated by water. Above-water mapping of the seafloor without distortion. A cartographer’s dream.
A Japanese Zero had crashed in the vicinity. RON would capture a three-dimensional image of it.
Her job at the keyboard was to integrate the data collected by RON using CAM, which could interpret the enhanced Lidar signal and break out the radar data. With calibration, CAM’s brain could learn the terrain, and then her baby would do the heavy lifting of separating the data into different map layers—seafloor, corals, metal wreckage, natural and artificial voids that represented tunnels. CAM and RON together were an X-ray machine for land and sea, with the ability to generate three-dimensional images.
Last week she’d done aerial survey with a seaplane instead of RON, using both types of Lidar and the infrared. She crunched the data through CAM, but in broader swaths, to get the overall landscape, nothing to a scale that allowed for 3D. RON was meant for slower, small-scale, meticulous survey, which she hadn’t been scheduled to start for another week.
