style="font-size:15px;"> She swiped at her face. “I must look like a bad clown.”
He handed her a discreetly monogrammed handkerchief. “I think I like you better without makeup.”
She smiled gratefully. “You’re a gentleman for saying so, but it’s not necessary with me.”
“Why not? Don’t you deserve to be treated with respect? Like a lady?”
That made her laugh. “A lady? Me?” She was a hippie environmentalist wannabe following somewhat pathetically and entirely unsuccessfully in her family’s footsteps.
He looked her up and down in a way that stole her breath away. “Yes, you, a lady.”
“Brain’s a little waterlogged from all that swimming, huh?”
One corner of his mouth twitched up wryly. “I’ve been told that before.”
“By whom?”
“Gemma says so frequently.”
“Why is she out here helping you guys nab pirates? She doesn’t strike me as the type.”
“She’s a scientist,” Aiden answered cryptically.
She got the distinct feeling he didn’t want to say any more on the subject. “What’s she studying?” Sunny persisted.
“Aquatic stuff.”
Wow. That was descriptive. Was there some big secret around the doctor’s research? Maybe he was worried she’d film Gemma’s work or something. She was trying to figure out a delicate way to ask him if that was his concern when a male voice intruded sharply over a loudspeaker.
“Incoming pirate vessel. All hands on deck. Prepare for combat.”
Chapter 3
Sunny started as the man across from her transformed from an urbane, sophisticated host who wore this yacht with the same ease he wore his suit into … she wasn’t quite sure what. His face went hard, his eyes glittering with violent satisfaction.
“Go to your cabin,” he ordered her tersely. “Lock yourself in and don’t come out until Steig or I come for you.”
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
He shoved away from the table, already unbuttoning his shirt. What the heck? He ripped the fabric off shoulders that made her gulp as he kicked off his shoes and reached for his fly. Was he going to strip in front of her? Here? Now? Confused, she sat unmoving and stared at him. He peeled down his trousers, revealing powerful thighs. Thankfully, he was wearing some sort of compression briefs like a biker might wear.
“What are you waiting for?” he bit out. “Get out of here!”
“Where are you going?”
He reached into the pocket of his discarded pants and came up with, of all things, a pair of goggles like swimmers would wear. “I’m going fishing.” He moved across the room to a desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a round disk about the size and shape of a smoke detector and stuck it inside the waistband of his shorts. Its circular outline poked out on his hip.
“What on earth are you talking about?” she demanded.
“Go.” He turned and raced for the door. He dashed out onto the walkway around the salon as he snapped the rubber strap of the goggles around his head. She heard someone shout—it sounded as if they were telling Aiden to wait for something—and then he jumped. Or dived, to be more precise. He soared out into space in a graceful swan dive reminiscent of a cliff diver. Or a complete nut job.
She didn’t hear the splash as he hit the water, for more shouting erupted. And then gunshots. A massive, noisy fusillade of them that sent her diving for the floor in panic. An overwhelming urge to run for her life made her tremble from head to foot. But where to go? No power on earth was convincing her to follow Aiden’s example and jump into the ocean. Cabin. Hide. Lock the door.
She jumped up on legs that felt too weak to hold her weight and too fast to belong to her. She bolted for the salon door, but skidded to a stop as gunfire exploded down the passageway. A man in white sprinted into view then ducked down a side passage. A second man, this one dark-skinned and dressed in green fatigues, barged around the corner and into view.
For the first time in her life, she froze. Her entire body refused to move. Not a single muscle would respond to her command to take cover. She just stared at the man’s ginormous gun and the wild look in his eyes. His weapon came up in front of him. The barrel swung toward her. An evil grin spread across his face. He took aim.
And then the entire right side of his body exploded in a fountain of blood and flesh as a barrage of automatic-weapon fire raked him from head to toe. The sweep of nausea through her gut, her stomach retching against the combination of rich food and incomprehensible gore, finally unfroze her.
Stumbling, she turned and ran back into the salon looking around frantically. She had to hide. But it wasn’t as if ships were rife with unused nooks and crannies that would conceal an adult. More gunfire erupted somewhere close and she dived for the oak bar, careening around its bulk and ducking down. She curled up in a little ball, hugging her knees like she hadn’t since she was a child. She rocked back and forth, more or less incoherent with fear.
Where was Aiden? Was he all right? What had he meant by going fishing? She prayed urgently that the Sea Nymph’s crew would win the fight. That they would be safe. That no one would die. But from the amount of gunfire out there, wholesale slaughter sounded more likely.
Did pirates still take female prisoners? Make them clean their cabins and warm their beds? Or force her to walk the plank? The very idea of plunging off a board into the ocean made her quake with terror.
Footsteps pounded nearby. It sounded as if someone was running down the hall in this direction. She swore under her breath and prayed they’d go away. But someone entered the room moving stealthily.
She had to find something to defend herself with. A weapon. She was not getting kidnapped by pirates, and that was all there was to it. She glanced around for something likely. Unopened bottles of liquor were stored on a shelf under the bar. She grabbed two with long necks. Then, tucking herself as far under the bar as she could, she cocked her arm back and waited grimly for the bastards to come.
Aiden sliced through the water cleanly, exhilarated that his plan was finally coming to fruition. He had faith Steig and his crew would have no trouble fighting off the pirates. Most of them in this part of the world were abjectly poor Somali with little to no education, ancient weapons and barely seaworthy boats.
But because of their small vessels and familiarity with the local coast, the pirates were slippery and hard to track. Various navies of the world had failed to find and eradicate their highly mobile and secret bases of operation. And that’s why he was out here. Several private shipping companies, fed up with government failures, had hired Winston Security to kick a little pirate ass.
He swam deep enough that he wouldn’t be readily visible from the surface but not so deep that he couldn’t see his target. There. Just ahead. The curving hull of a wooden boat. If the ramshackle underside was any
