Sharron McClellan - Breathless

“Come on, honey, I got enough for two,” he wheedled.

“Jeez.” Trust-fund baby.

Trust Fund started whistling at her, and she eyed Zach’s boat. The whistling turned into hooting and catcalls. “Time to barge in,” she muttered. Hoisting her gear onto the deck, Jess stepped over the railing. Ignoring the drunk’s continuing comments, she made her way toward the open door that led below. “Hello? Anyone there?” she shouted down the stairway.

Again, no answer, but from the opposite end of the ship came the distinct sounds of swearing and the clinking of metal.

Walking down the stairs, she made her way to the stern, following the loud clanging noise. Reaching the engine room, she found the origin of the swearing.

Whoever he was, he was on his back, his upper body hidden by the engine. Tools lay scattered at his feet.

“Hello,” Jess said.

He jerked upward at the sudden sound of her voice, banging his head with a resounding clunk.

“That’ll leave a mark,” she said, wincing.

“You think?” the male voice replied. Sliding out, he stared up at her from the ground.

Wearing grimy khaki shorts, a once-green Sex Wax T-shirt, his hands coated with who-knew-what and a greasy red mark on his forehead, he looked like the boat’s mechanic.

She knew better.

Zach Holiday. She’d looked him up on Google before she left her apartment, and he’d come up on a number of pages. An independent computer programmer, he solved problems that others couldn’t. His skill and business savvy had left him wealthier than most self-employed geeks.

Even more interesting was that he wasn’t just a cerebral know-it-all that lived in front of a computer 24/7. He did a lot of physical activities, including extreme sports. Mostly, he used his monies to take time off with his father and hunt for gold in the warm waters off the coast of the Americas.

He presented an intriguing duality of intellectual and adrenaline junkie.

Along with the articles were pictures, which were what gave him away now, despite the grime.

Dark brown hair. Tall, strong body.

And emerald eyes that were so green it was impossible to look away. She stared into them, mesmerized.

He met her steady gaze and raised a brow. “Can I help you, or do you prefer to stare?”

Heat rose in her cheeks, but she blinked, regaining her composure as fast as she’d lost it. “You must be Zach.” She held out her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t expect to see you working on the engine.”

“You’re Jessica?”

“Jess.”

He took her hand, using her as leverage to rise. Once on his feet, he shook her hand. His grip was firm. Warm. He nodded toward the engine. “I like to work with my hands, and it’s not that different from computers,” he said. “Logic and patience will get you what you need.”

She gave a brief nod. Interesting man. “Sorry I just walked on board,” she explained. “I called out but the only person who answered was some drunk across the way.”

“Blond? Invited you on board?”

She nodded. “I guess that’s his modus operandi?”

Zach grinned, his teeth bright against his tanned skin. She couldn’t help but smile back. “That’s Eric. His family has more money than God, but he’s harmless.”

That was her impression, as well. “What’s going on here?” she asked, now that the niceties were complete. She looked past him to the engine.

“Broken belt,” Zach said. “One of those parts that are neither expensive nor difficult to install, but essential if we plan to use the ship. So, since we’re waiting for Liz to return with parts, how about we get a cup of coffee and talk about this project of yours.”

It was a standard request—nothing out of the ordinary— but the shield Jess worked so hard to cultivate rose. Delphi said she’d provided Zach with minimal information. Was he going to try and pump more out of her?

Probably. It was what she’d do under the same circumstances. She remembered Delphi’s words: Need to know. That was her modus operandi.

But Zach didn’t need to know that. She smiled at him. “Sure, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Her gun loaded and on the bunk, Jess unpacked her bags. Her cabin, eight feet in length and ten feet wide, was small compared to her bedroom at home, but she knew it was probably one of the bigger ones on board.

She glanced around, wondering where to put her clothes, and noticed there were drawers beneath the bed. Bending down, she tucked her few items below.

The door squeaked open. Jess rose and grabbed her gun in one fluid motion. By the time she was upright, she was in ready position and staring at the startled face of a blond girl in a one-piece, red Speedo and a pair of cargo shorts.

“Hi. I’m Liz.” The blonde glanced at the gun’s barrel and gave a weak smile.

Liz? That was the girl Zach mentioned. Jess set her gun on the pillow—within her reach but not Liz’s. “Sorry about that, but you startled me. Ever hear of knocking?”

“I didn’t think you were here. I was just dropping off some clean sheets.”

Jess noticed the folded cotton in her arms. “Oh.” She took them, setting them on the bed and feeling like a fool, even if her actions were justified. “Thanks.”

“Anyway,” Liz said, leaning against the doorway and giving Jess a curious glance. “What are you doing for dinner? A bunch of us were heading out in a few minutes. Want to go?”

Jess shook her head. “I’m beat.”

“You might want to rethink that,” Liz said in a singsong voice. “It’s kind of a tradition that we take the P.I. out for drinks before we leave.”

“P.I.? Private Investigator?” Jess asked.

“Primary Investigator,” Liz said with a flip of her waist-length, ponytail. “The crew is waiting, if you want to go. It’s just dinner. At the bar.”

Delivering sheets? Jess didn’t believe it. The invitation was the reason Liz was here. They wanted her to go drinking. In other words, initiation.

She raised a brow as she considered the request. She’d gone through initiation rites in boot camp when she first entered the Marines then later when she trained to become a combatant diver.

As a Marine, it had included testing her endurance and pain threshold.

She couldn’t imagine that initiation to this team was similar, but Liz did make a good point. She should consider going. Part of working with any team was bonding, and it was best to get in good with the crew as opposed to remaining an outsider.

Hell, she might be with these people a few days or a few weeks, there was no way to tell. “I take it this is some kind of tradition?” Jess asked.

Liz smiled, and her face lit up. “Yes.” She nodded at the bunk. “But you might want to leave the gun.”

Jess glanced at the Sig. She’d feel better if it was with her, but under the circumstances, it seemed a bit like overkill. “I’ll see if Zach has a safe.”

“He does. Meet us on deck in ten,” Liz said with a wicked grin as she shut the door behind her.

When Jess emerged onto the deck, sans weapon, Liz was waiting, a sandal-clad foot tapping on the deck. “Hi.” She almost skipped over, took Jess’s arm. “We never have another woman on board,” she whispered as they walked. “You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy this. That’s Nate,” she pointed to an older man. Short and stocky, his head was shaved but his goatee was as blond as Liz’s sun-washed hair.

“And that’s Diego,” Nate said, gesturing at a young Caucasian man with short dreadlocks who walked toward them with Zach.

“Ready for dinner?” Zach asked.

Jess didn’t miss his sly grin or the way each member of the crew caught his eye, and she bit her lip in an effort not to laugh at them. They actually thought they had the upper hand. They believed she didn’t know what they were doing.