“Ready?” he asked, catching the rope the deckhand threw at him and tucking it away.
Nodding, she perched on the edge of the aluminum seat, paralyzed by self-consciousness. She was so far out of her element here. The past two years, she’d been in virtual seclusion, working from her desk at home and putting in late hours at the research facility. She’d interacted with more spreadsheets than animals. This trip was, in part, an attempt to get her life back. A return to her roots.
She hadn’t chosen conservation biology to spend all her time indoors.
Rubbing elbows with other scientists, most of whom were men, was nothing new, and she was no stranger to roughing it, but she hadn’t socialized, much less dated, in ages. The close proximity of a hot guy rattled her more than she’d like to admit.
And she couldn’t stop comparing him to Sean.
The two men probably knew each other. There weren’t that many shark experts in the world, let alone the West Coast, and Jason was from San Diego. They were close in age, although Sean was about five years older. Both of them were tall and fit and remarkably good-looking. They were also consummate outdoorsmen and staunch environmentalists, more comfortable on a surfboard than in a boardroom.
Upon closer inspection, Jason was the more striking of the two, with his dark eyes and sensual mouth. But Sean’s all-American ruggedness had always hit her in the right spot.
Daniela turned her gaze back to the calm-inducing horizon. She hadn’t seen Sean in over a year, but he still managed to monopolize her thoughts.
Jason maneuvered the whaler into position beneath the boom, a task that required concentration and dexterity. When he found the right place, he stood and hitched the heavy metal hook to the hull with no assistance from Daniela.
She did her best to hang on to her seat and stay out of his way.
Once connected, the whaler was lifted high into the air by the crane, and this ride was no less nerve-wracking than the two-hour boat trip to the islands or the precarious jump she’d taken a few moments ago. She gripped the aluminum bench until her knuckles went white. When the boat shuddered to a stop over dry land, she breathed a sigh of relief and flexed her icy hands.
She couldn’t believe she was actually here. Southeast Farallon Island was an odd place, like no other on earth, and the first thing that struck her was the noise. It was nature in chaos. The sound of crashing surf and cawing birds reverberated in her ears, and wind whipped at her clothes, like children vying for attention.
Jason grinned at the boom operator, clearly at home in this wild place. “Thanks, Liz,” he shouted, raising his voice to be heard above the cacophony.
The woman at the controls watched while Jason helped Daniela climb from the dangling boat, her expression cool.
Daniela stepped forward to introduce herself. “Liz? I’m Daniela Flores.”
“Elizabeth Winters,” she said, extending a slender, black-gloved hand.
Daniela accepted her handshake with an uncertain smile.
“I’m the only one allowed to call her Liz,” Jason explained, hefting the duffel bag over his shoulder. “Because we’re special friends.”
Elizabeth regarded him like he was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Daniela didn’t know what to make of her. She was tall and slim, dressed in weatherproof fabric from head to toe, with a gray-blue windbreaker that matched the color of her eyes. A thick auburn braid trailed over one shoulder, and she had the delicate skin of a redhead. Her face was pale and freckled and very lovely.
“I’ll refrain from sharing my pet name for you,” she said drily.
He laughed, delighted to have irked her. Elizabeth seemed more annoyed than amused. Perhaps she was immune to charming men.
Daniela decided that she liked her. “How is your conservation project coming along?” she asked as they followed Jason down the steep, pebble-strewn path toward the house. “I was fascinated by the study you published recently on the black-feathered cormorant.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Thank you. The islands get so much attention for their sharks.” She made a face at Jason’s well-formed back, as if he were responsible for the Farallones’ notoriety. “Many of the birds here are more unique, and in far greater need of protection, but the majority of funding is spent on shark research. Investors with deep pockets love to see red water and flashing teeth.”
“Watch your step,” Jason reminded, turning toward Elizabeth and placing his hand on her slim waist.
She tensed at his touch. “I’m fine.”
Nodding, he released her and continued on.
Daniela traversed the slope with caution, feeling rocks crumble and roll like ball bearings beneath her booted feet.
“Where was I?” Elizabeth asked.
“‘Flashing teeth,’” Daniela supplied, eyes cast downward.
“Oh, right. The tourists come for the sharks as well. Boatloads of gawkers cruise by every weekend. I mean, this is supposed to be an animal sanctuary. Last Sunday they all but ruined my chances at seeing two blue-crested warblers mate—”
Her rising voice shut off like a switch as she lost her footing. Quick as lightning, Jason caught her by both arms and hauled her against him, saving her from a nasty tumble down the side of the cliff.
She stared up at him, wide-eyed and short of breath.
“Like I said,” he murmured, letting her go. “Watch your step.”
“Sorry.” With a trilling laugh, she glanced back at Daniela. “I tend to get overexcited, talking about my causes.”
“No need to apologize for being passionate,” Daniela said, intrigued by the subject matter. Not to mention the byplay between Elizabeth and Jason. “How close do the tourists get?” she asked as they started down the hill again. “I thought the waters here were too treacherous for recreational boaters.”
“Oh, they are,” Jason replied. “But a cage-diving operation comes during shark season. They dock a couple of hundred feet offshore, drop the cages and throw out chum.”
Daniela was shocked. “They chum? Near the islands?” The practice of throwing out shark bait, a noxious mixture of blood and fish parts, was looked down on by scientists. It changed the animals’ natural behavior and made them less wary of humans.
“Yeah. It’s not illegal.”
She arrived at the base of the slope, where the ground was more stable. “I can’t imagine getting in the water here. Even with a steel cage for protection.”
“Crazy thrill seekers,” Jason said, winking at Elizabeth. Obviously, his profession as a shark researcher put him in the same category. “Daniela is here to observe the Steller sea lion. She’s from the Scripps Institute in San Diego.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Excellent. That’s a top-notch organization.”
“Oh, yes,” Daniela said, unable to
