Born Ready. Lori Wilde
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she spat through clenched teeth. “You’ve messed up everything. I’m going to have to start all over.”
“What is it?” he pressured.
“The ADVOcean-Hydra.”
“What does it do?”
She rolled her eyes. “It uses Doppler technology to measure 3-D water velocity in a wide range of environments including surf zone, open ocean, rivers, lakes and estuaries. Know any more than you did before you asked?”
Scott studied her in the light from his boat’s headlamps. Either she was telling the truth or she was a superb liar. “Just who are you, Jackie Birch?”
She pulled herself up straight. She glowered as if she wanted to deck him. He was glad he’d tied her hands. “I’m a college student.”
“You seem a little old to be a college student. Slow learner?” Okay, so he was baiting her.
“PhD candidate, Skippee.”
Skippee? He suppressed a smile. He had no right being intrigued by her. For all he knew she was DeCristo’s drug mule. “PhD in what?”
“Marine biology. Not that it’s any of your business.” She wriggled against her restraints. “What am I being charged with? I have a right to know.”
“I’m the one asking the questions.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket.
“Who are you calling?”
“Running a background check. Got your driver’s license on you?”
She pressed her lips into a thin line. “No.”
He clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. You should carry ID on you at all times. Do you know your license number off the top of your head?”
She huffed out a breath. “I’ve got a confession.”
Confession? His gut tightened. She was going to admit she was working for DeCristo. “Let me guess, you’re not really a marine biologist wannabe.”
“My name’s not really Birch.”
“Aha, now we’re getting somewhere.” An exquisite sadness washed over him thinking that this woman had gotten entangled with scum like DeCristo. Don’t cut her any slack. She’s old enough to know what she’s doing.
“Yeah, down a freakin’ rabbit hole, Alice,” she snapped.
“Not really proficient in people skills, are you?”
“As if you’re a regular Benjamin Franklin.”
“Cacti have friendlier personalities than you.”
“Ouch,” she said sarcastically. “You are so mean. How will I ever survive a cut like that? There’s a reason people give cactus a wide birth.”
Scott leaned forward. This was bad. He liked her spunk. “What’s your real name?”
“Jacqueline Birchard.”
“What?”
She repeated her name.
An odd relief pushed out his sadness. She wasn’t working for DeCristo? Why did he so want to believe that was the case?
“Any kin to Jack Birchard?” he asked hopefully.
She sighed. “He’s my father.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup. Happy now? You’ve discovered my big dark secret.” Her nostrils flared.
This was the renowned oceanographer’s daughter? Chagrin poked at Scott. His desire to stop DeCristo had led to a grave error in judgment.
“Wow,” he said, “I’m a big admirer of your father’s work.”
Her sigh deepened. “Yes, yes, he hung the moon and milked the stars. Your fan worship is adorable.”
“Don’t get along with the old man?”
“My, you are astute. The Coast Guard must be so proud.”
“It’s gotta be tough living in Jack Birchard’s shadow.”
“You know just how to make a girl feel special. I bet women fall all over themselves to see you in your BVDs.”
Scott ran a palm over his head, blew out his breath. “We got off on the wrong foot.”
“Through no fault of mine.”
He let the sarcasm pass. He deserved it. He’d jumped to conclusions. He wasn’t normally so trigger-happy, but DeCristo’s latest exploits had hot-wired his emotions. “What are you doing out here alone?”
“I was trying to find out who was messing around with my data recording instruments. Imagine my surprise to find a vacationing Coast Guard in his underwear who then chased me down and tied me up. It might be sexy if I was into bondage, but since I’m not …” She stood up, turned around. “Untie me.”
Feeling foolish but not wanting her to know it, Scott tugged on the rope and it fell free, but in the process, his hand brushed lightly against her fanny and triggered another unwanted physical reaction in him. Pathetic.
He sat back, placed her monitoring device in his lap to cover what popped up.
She pivoted to face him again, brought her hands up to rub her wrists.
“So,” she said, standing over him. “Who did you think I was?”
He wasn’t at liberty to discuss DeCristo, but he wanted her warned. “We’ve had reports that drug smugglers have been using the mangrove channels to transport contraband with attractive young women as drug mules.”
“You thought I was a drug mule?” She sounded amused.
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