Born Ready

by Lori Wilde

  This was it. The time had come at last.

  Jackie hovered on the verge of making her mark as a marine biologist and proving to her father, once and for all, that she was worthy of the name Birchard. Her success hinged on finding the elusive Key blenny.

  The man with movie star good looks cleared his throat.

  Jackie slid her hand over her face, dispersing the water. She had never much liked handsome men. By and large they cared too much about what people thought of them. Got too caught up in appearances. She had no patience for vanity or idle chitchat. Life was too precious to waste on the insubstantial. The planet was in trouble. Mother Earth in pain. Global warming threatened the oceans. Mankind was rapidly working to do itself in.

  She was on a mission to save the world, and with it, her relationship with her father. She had no time for pleasantries. This guy was in her way.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m Scott Everly.”

  Annoyed at being interrupted, Jackie glowered. Ugh. It was just her bad luck to stumble across some idiotic tourist at seven o’clock in the morning. If he asked her a stupid question, she might have to hurt him. “Bully for you.”

  Instead of putting him off as she intended, her curt comment brought an enigmatic smile to his lips. Good God, was he trying to charm her? Seriously?

  “What are you doing?” he asked, earnest as a golden retriever.

  Oh, she was going to ignore that. Ignore him. This was not Oceanography 101. She had no obligation to tell him anything. She turned and swam toward her boat.

  “There are bull sharks in the mangrove channels.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said absentmindedly, her thoughts already back on the Key blenny.

  “That doesn’t scare you?”

  Go away. “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “Incidents of shark attacks are actually quite low,” she said. “If you look at statistics, in Florida you’re ten times more likely to be hit by lightning.”

  “But bull sharks are one of the most aggressive species, right behind great white and tiger sharks.”

  “Been watching a lot of shark week on the Discovery Channel, have you?”

  He grinned. It was the kind of charismatic, come-hither grin that would have weakened the knees of most women, but not Jackie. “What if I have?”

  “I’d say, don’t believe everything you hear on TV.”

  He gave a fake gasp. “No?”

  “Bull sharks are declining in number in Key West.”

  “Really?”

  She shrugged. “People fish them for their meat, hides and oils.”

  “Are you a vegan?”

  “No.”

  He cocked his head. “You’re different.”

  Jackie rolled her eyes. Her toe found the submerged step at the back of her boat and she pulled herself up, knowing all the while he was staring at her butt.

  Don’t look at him. Don’t encourage him.

  She had an urge to readjust her swimsuit bottom but she didn’t do that, either. No need to call even more attention to her ass.

  But she couldn’t quite resist taking a small peek over her shoulder. Not because he intrigued her. Because he didn’t. Not at all. Jackie lived in her head, not her body. She was not one of those women always looking for the next guy to hook up with. Sex was fine for what it was worth, but when mixed with emotion, it invariably turned into a big hairy mess. She had no time or patience for that kind of drama.

  And Mr. Perky over there looked like he was totally into the games people play.

  He had a bright face, as welcoming and shiny as the morning sun. He possessed tanned skin and startlingly white teeth. His chocolate-brown hair was cut in a short, well-kept style, a poster boy for the healthy island lifestyle. He looked as wholesome as orange juice. It was enough to give a cynical woman the heebie-jeebies.

  “Do you need help with anything?” he asked.

  Back off, Skippee. “No.”

  She purposefully pulled up the white plastic milk jug she’d used as a buoy to mark this spot the previous day. It helped her find her way back, but she didn’t want to advertise the location. The last thing she needed was some nosy tourist like Skippee here mucking with the expensive instruments she’d borrowed from the University of California. Which was why she was pulling up the milk jug. She would trade it out for a smaller, more inconspicuous buoy once Skippee left.

  “You do realize that while the seclusion is peaceful, it’s really not a good idea to go boating and swimming alone. Bad things could happen and there would be no one here to help,” he said ominously.

  Jackie didn’t scare easily. Living twenty-six years with Dr. Jack Birchard cured her of that. But this guy was starting to creep her out. “I have a cell phone. I can call the Coast Guard.”

  “What if you severed an artery? They couldn’t get here in time to save you.”

  “The bull sharks again?”

  “There’s human predators, as well.”

  Normally, whenever she was unsettled, she withdrew into her mind, where she kept a rich supply of knowledge and fantasies to ruminate over. That skill helped her survive a childhood of an absentee mother and a demanding, famous father with standards as high as the moon.

  But whenever she was cornered—as she was now; she couldn’t exactly go off and leave her claim vulnerable to this stranger—she went on the offensive. Another skill she’d learned from dealing with her father. If you didn’t stand up to Dr. Jack at some point, he’d steamroll over you, turning you into a human pancake.

  Jackie spun around in the boat, hands planted on her hips, and donned her fiercest scowl, the one that usually sent men scrambling for cover. “Are you threatening me?”

  His hands shot up so fast in a gesture of surrender that he dropped his kayak paddle. “No, not at all. I didn’t mean to make you feel threatened. I wasn’t threatening you. I’m sorry if you felt threatened.”

  He looked so contrite that she almost smiled. Scott leaned over and plucked his paddle from the water, but when he raised his head, his gaze strayed to her chest. He stared long and hard. That’s when she realized her nipples were beaded tight beneath her bikini top.

  Men. Jackie snorted. They were so predictable.

  Still, she couldn’t help feeling a flush of embarrassment.

  Quickly, he yanked his gaze from her chest, and met her cool stare.

  A shot of pure sexual awareness buzzed into the center of Jackie’s solar plexus. The sensation was so intense that she gulped to keep from taking an involuntary step backward and she brought a hand to her tingling lips.

  Scott’s gray eyes widened and he looked as befuddled as she felt.

  Time skipped, glitched.

  They exhaled simultaneously, the sound softly explosive in the balmy air. The boat wobbled. Jackie had actually been born at sea, on her father’s research vessel, the Sea Anemone, and she always felt more balanced on water than she ever did on land. But now, she felt strangely tremulous.

  Withdraw! Withdraw!

  But there was nowhere to go. Scrambling to find her equilibrium, she focused on her bare feet, pushing her toes flat against the bottom of the boat.

  Scott ran his right hand through his hair. The gesture moved the cuff of his T-shirt sleeve upward, revealing a deep puckered scar on the underside of his upper arm. It looked like he’d been shot with a harpoon.

  Startled, she felt a knot of attraction form in the pit of her stomach. Oh, this was crap. She couldn’t like him simply because he suffered. For all she knew he was a drug dealer and that’s why he’d been harpooned. Mangrove channels made for great outlaw hideouts.

  But somehow she wasn’t getting that vibe from him. Then again, she wasn’t particularly intuitive when it came to people. Plants and animals and fish, yes. Human beings? Not so much.

  So there was absolutely no reason for her to be wondering what he looked like without a shirt on. His biceps were hard as baseballs. If his arms were that awesome, chances were his abs w
ere equally spectacular.

  She did not want to go there, but her rebellious stare slipped from his arm to his chest and on down to—

  Jacqueline Michele Birchard you will not look at that man’s crotch.

  Then something alarming occurred to her. What if he was spying on her? Oceanography was a viciously competitive field. Could he be out to steal her research project?

  Don’t be so mistrustful. How likely is that?

  Not likely at all, but she was her father’s daughter. She knew what kind of tricks people pulled to get a leg up in this cutthroat business.

  Jackie snapped her gaze back to his face and said curtly, “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Everly, I have things to take care of.”

  “You never did tell me your name.” His voice was low, teasing.

  And she didn’t want to tell him now. She didn’t trust him any farther than she could toss him. “Jackie,” she said.

  “No last name?”

  She hated dropping the Birchard name, but maybe if she gave him a name, he’d go away. “Birch. Jackie Birch.”

  Only half a lie. Still, she didn’t like fudging the truth.

  “Well, Jackie Birch, you have a nice morning.”

  “Thanks. You, too,” she said automatically. All she wanted was for him to go away so she could get back to work.

  “And seriously, do bring someone with you the next time you’re on the water. The buddy system works best out here.”

  “Yes, yes.” Beat it, Skippee.

  “I’d hate for anything to happen to you.” His smoky voice caressed her ears.

  Then there she was again feeling completely unbalanced.

  Without another word, he put his oar in the water, turned his kayak and paddled away, leaving Jackie stumped, stymied, suspicious and more than a tad sexually attracted to a total stranger.

  She didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  2

  The Coast Guard is the shepherd of the seas.

  —Late Chief Warrant Officer Benjamin Everly

  UNITED STATES COAST GUARD Station Key West was a major base in the 7th District founded in 1824. Sector Key West was a unified command consisting of two patrol boats, eight duel boats and three small boat stations. Even though it was a small unit, Sector Key West’s responsibilities encompassed 55,000 square miles of territory, including the borders of Cuba and the Bahamas.

  Every time Scott walked into his father’s old headquarters, a thrill ran through him. This was where he’d first fallen head over heels for the Coast Guard. His love for his chosen career had only deepened with time. He was living his father’s legacy. You couldn’t put a price on that kind of pride.

  Although now he worked out of D.C., his heart still belonged to Sector Key West.

  The place always stirred memories, but today his thoughts stayed anchored on the woman in the red bikini. In his mind’s eye he kept seeing her standing in the boat, vulnerable, fierce and sexy as hell. She’d said her name was Jackie Birch but that did nothing to alleviate his curiosity.

  Who was this Jackie Birch, besides a pretty woman who swam alone in the mangroves? And why did he keep wondering what she would taste like if he kissed her?

  “Scott!” Marcy Dugan, the civilian public relations liaison, exclaimed. Marcy was in her mid-forties, almost as tall as Scott, with a whip-thin figure from running marathons. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Don’t I get a hug?” He held out his arms.

  “Of course.” She embraced him. “It’s so good to have you home.”

  His strongest memory of Marcy was at his father’s funeral ten years ago. At the graveside, she’d placed a palm against his back and whispered, “Your father was so proud of you. I know you’re going to live up to his expectations.”

  He’d done his best to do just that.

  “How’s Megan?” she asked.

  “Flustered. She keeps second-guessing herself on every decision.”

  “All brides are nervous before the wedding. There’s so much pressure.”

  “She really seems happy, though.”

  “Dave’s a good guy,” Marcy said, referring to Megan’s fiancé.

  “I’m glad to hear he gets your stamp of approval. I haven’t had a chance to really get to know him yet.”

  Marcy smiled. “You’re having a hard time letting go of your baby sister.”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  “Yes.” She linked her arm through his. “But that’s okay. You’ve always looked after her.”

  “Except she doesn’t need me to take care of her anymore.” He was surprised to hear a wistful note in his voice.

  “It’s time for you to find a wife who will appreciate your protective qualities.”

  “Too bad you’re not available,” he teased.

  “Flirt.”

  “If you ever get tired of Carl—” he winked “—you know where to find me.”

  “Hitting on my wife again, Everly?” Chief Warrant Officer Carl Dugan drawled as he came down the hall toward them. Carl had been born in Corpus Christi, Texas, and although he’d lived in Florida for most his life, he never lost his Lone Star accent. “You’re late.”

  “Normally, Carl eats breakfast at 6:00 a.m. sharp,” Marcy said, slipping her arm around her husband’s waist and patting his flat belly. “He held off for breakfast with you, so he’s bit cranky.”

  Carl, while good-natured, didn’t believe in excuses, so Scott didn’t offer him one. Besides, how would it sound if he said he was late because he’d been ogling a girl in a red bikini? “My apologies, sir.”

  “You can stop calling me sir. You outrank me now.”

  “That’s never going to happen. I was calling you sir long before I ever joined the Coast Guard.”

  “Well, you’re on vacation so I guess I can let your tardiness slide,” Carl joked. “I’m hungry as a whale. How about you?”

  “You know me. I can always eat.”

  “See you boys later.” Marcy wriggled her fingers.

  “You’re not coming with us?” Scott raised an eyebrow.

  Marcy said, “I’ve got a busload of middle-school students coming by for a field trip.”

  “Better you than me,” Scott said.

  “You’d be great with kids. Just wait until you have little nieces and nephews running around.”

  Scott put both hands over his ears. “That’s my baby sister you’re talking about.”

  Marcy laughed.

  The three of them left the building together. Carl stopped to kiss Marcy’s cheek before she branched off in the direction of the parking lot. “Have a good breakfast.”

  Without speaking, Scott and Carl fell into lockstep. Scott didn’t have to ask. He knew they were having breakfast at the Lighthouse Restaurant just across the pier from the base. The familiar call of seagulls whinged overhead. The salty air carried on it a hint of coconut. Morning sun glistened glassy blue off the waves.

  He paused on the pier to take a deep breath of home and Carl stopped, seeming to understand that Scott needed a moment. It was good to be back.

  They walked into the restaurant, greeted by the clatter of dishes and the hum of voices. Most everyone in the place was Coast Guard of one fashion or the other—active duty, reservists, auxiliary or family members of Coasties. People waved and called out to them.

  The hostess knew Carl by name and led them to his regular booth that looked out over the water.

  On the wall behind them was a ten-year-old photograph of Carl with Scott’s father, Ben. They wore their navy blue operational dress uniforms and had their arms slung over each other’s shoulders. Looking like brothers, they grinned for the camera.

  The picture had been snapped just after they’d completed a successful search-and-rescue mission for missing teens who had taken out a sailboat without permission and got caught in a squall.

  It was the last photo ever taken of Scott’s dad. Two weeks later, he was dead, killed in a drug interdiction operation. Psychologists
might have said Scott had gone into the same line of work as his father as a way to avenge his death. They would have been half-right.

  “How you been?” Carl asked.

  The question was more perfunctory than fact finding. He and Carl stayed in touch through email, corresponding at least once a week. “Good, good.”

  “Dating?”

  Scott shook his head and immediately thought of Jackie, but he had no idea why.

  Six months without sex. That’s why.

  Their waitress came over. “The usual?” she asked Carl.

  Carl nodded.

  The young woman turned her eyes on Scott, smiled coyly. “And what will you have?”

  He thought about flirting with her but he wasn’t really in the mood. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jackie Birch and the disdainful look she’d given him. Scott loved a challenge. He preferred to do the chasing instead of being chased.

  “Scrambled eggs, four slices of bacon cooked crisp and a fruit bowl.” He placed his order.

  “Anything else?” She licked her lips.

  “Cup of coffee.”

  The girl looked deflated, picked up their menus and wandered off.

  “I can see why you’re not dating,” Carl said. “She was interested.”

  “I know.”

  Carl watched the departing waitress. “She’s cute.”

  “Too young.”

  “She’s over eighteen.”

  Scott shrugged.

  “What’s up? A year ago you would have been hitting banter shots like tennis balls.”

  “I don’t know.” He paused. “I guess I’m looking for something a bit more demanding.”

  “Picking up a young waitress is too easy?”

  “Something like that.”

  Jackie kept prowling the back of his mind as he remembered the look on her face telling him to buzz off. He’d wanted to convince her that he was a man worth knowing. Why was that? The intensity of his attraction to a woman that should not have attracted him niggled.

  Carl drummed his fingers on the Formica tabletop. For the most part, he was a self-possessed guy. Scott knew his friend. He had something on his mind. “What’s up, Carl?”

  A somber expression crossed the older man’s face. He pressed his lips together, blew out a breath. “Juan DeCristo has resurfaced.”