Under the Surface. Kira Sinclair
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fun than she’d ever expected when she’d boarded the plane for a damn island.
* * *
JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH, what had she been thinking?
Loralei crept across the deck of Jackson Duchane’s ship. She hadn’t intended to board the ship when she’d come to the marina but...
Honestly, she had no idea what she’d intended. Opportunity had presented itself. She’d been watching the ship, trying to get a feel for Jackson’s setup and crew. One thing was for sure, his equipment was better than theirs.
Loralei tamped down a brief spurt of jealousy mixed with anger. Of course his equipment was better. He was taking all of their work and money.
As she’d loitered, the entire crew had left the ship. She wasn’t certain where they were going at twenty minutes before midnight, but she honestly didn’t care.
The ship was empty.
And it was a chance she couldn’t pass up.
So she was standing on Jackson’s ship, the deck rolling beneath her feet as she attempted to gain control of the panic welling up in her chest.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
Loralei pulled her gaze from the water. Her legs were stiff, knees refusing to bend as she shuffled toward the doorway that led down into even more darkness.
But at least she was inside.
The ship was huge, much bigger than hers. Amphitrite had been painted along the side in bold, curling letters. The boat clearly had been named for the Greek goddess of the sea and wife of Poseidon. She was definitely more modern, though, with a high-tech bridge and sonar system.
Since Loralei didn’t know enough about either, she steered clear of both, creeping farther down the darkened hallway. She passed several closed doors, paused to open a few. They appeared to be sleeping berths. The last room opened to an office of sorts.
Papers were spread across a large table that was bolted to the floor. Moving forward, Loralei sifted through them. It took her several moments to realize they were maps of islands. Not Turks and Caicos, but possibly the smaller islands dotting the water around?
She flipped through several, unsure what she was looking at. For the first time, she wished she’d paid more attention when her dad had tried to teach her about some of this stuff. But considering her phobia, it had seemed a waste of time.
And Loralei hated wasting time.
The small room was too dark for her to make out the tiny lettering. And she didn’t want to risk turning on a light and catching someone’s attention.
Grabbing a handful, she moved toward the porthole cut high on the wall. Moonlight filtered through, giving her something to see by.
Holding the papers higher, she read the name of an inlet that she recognized. Her crew was heading there first thing in the morning. There was some speculation that the Chimera had sought shelter there before the storm hit. But, according to statements gathered from another ship that had been close, the ship’s anchors had snapped in the high winds and it had been dragged out to open sea.
Which made the inlet a good place to start.
Apparently, Jackson Duchane had the same intention.
Unease and guilt crept up Loralei’s spine. What was she doing? She shouldn’t be here. This felt wrong.
Dropping the papers back on the table, she tried to remember how they’d been arranged. Probably something she should have paid attention to before touching them. Dammit, she couldn’t even break and enter without screwing up something.
Above her, a sound rang through the ship.
Loralei instinctively dropped into a crouch.
Gripping the edge of a chair, she shook her head. Probably just some rigging clanging with the sway of the ship. No one was onboard. But her frantic heartbeat urged her to go. Deciding to listen, Loralei cracked open the door and slipped back into the dark hallway.
The doorway was three feet away when she heard the low murmur of a voice.
“No, having you and Knox here wouldn’t be helpful just yet. Let me and the crew handle the preliminary dives. We need you on the Prescott job right now, and someone has to stay at the office to run things.”
Loralei froze. Even the breath in her lungs stilled. A shadow drifted across a rectangle of light in the hallway a few feet away. Every muscle in her body tensed to fight or run, but the shadow passed. The low murmur of Jackson’s voice faded and her lungs released the breath she’d been holding in a shaky stream.
It would not look good for Jackson to find her here right now. Maybe she should have thought of that before creeping on board.
Based on his shadow and sound, Jackson had gone left. So it should be safe for her to go right, which was also the fastest route off this rocking torture chamber.
Loralei carefully poked her head out and swept her gaze across what little of the ship she could see. The coast appeared to be clear. It was now or never.
She kept low and stuck to the shadows as much as possible. She was out of the hold and nearly home free when her shoulder collided with something. A metallic clank echoed into the night.
Her stomach rolled. The ship pitched. She stared at the midnight blue expanse of water spread out beneath her.
Bile rose into her throat, burning a path and stinging her nose.
God, she was going to throw up.
“WHAT THE HELL was that?”
Jackson spun on his heel and looked toward the stern.
“What was what?” Asher asked in his ear.
“I have to call you back. I think someone’s on the ship.”
“God, I hope so, Jack. We have several crew.”
“I sent them in to town for a last hurrah before I crack the whip.”
“So, one of the guys struck out and came back early.”
“Maybe.” But something was off. Jackson’s senses were tingling. He hadn’t heard anyone approach.
“You’re not in a war zone anymore, man. Time to let that shit go.”
He wanted to argue the point, but Jackson had bigger things to deal with, so let his friend’s comment slide.
Asher might be a prick on occasion, but there was no one Jackson would rather have at his back in a shit storm. They’d been assigned to the same platoon when he’d first come out of BUD/S training with the SEALs. Asher had taken a bullet for him. That was a debt not easily or quickly repaid.
“Whatever. I’ll check in tomorrow.” Jackson didn’t bother saying goodbye before ending the call and pocketing his cell.
He was already striding across the deck on feet that didn’t make a single sound. His body was tense, prepared for whatever might spring out at him.
What he wasn’t prepared for was finding Loralei Lancaster crouched down beside the railing, her fingers gripping the metal so hard the veins across the back of her hands threatened to pop through the skin.
He shouldn’t be surprised, but he was.
Arms crossed over his chest, Jackson changed his stride, no longer concerned with concealing his approach. The soles of his shoes squeaked across the deck, but she didn’t flinch. Her gaze, trained on the water, never wavered.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She didn’t respond.
Her breath was quick and shallow, probably a reaction