Under the Surface

3 (#u3389a914-d813-587f-8694-e0e00dffb06a)

“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 to being caught in the act.

Reaching down, he grasped her arms and hauled her up. Her fingers released the railing and clamped on him, digging into his chest. Finally, she looked up at him. Shadows melted across her face, shielding her eyes and preventing him from reading her expression.

“Why are you on my ship, Loralei?”

She shook her head, moving it back and forth as if in slow motion.

“Hoping to get your hands on the information your daddy missed? Well, too bad, princess. I’ve been more careful in the last few months. There’s nothing useful for you to find.”

A spark kindled in her eyes. He watched her chest rise and hold on a deep breath that she finally released with a whoosh of words. “Let me go.”

“Why should I do that? I think contacting the authorities is a better option.”

Her spine snapped straight. “And tell them what? You found me on the deck of your ship? I came here looking for you so I could talk. Clear up whatever misunderstanding you’re laboring beneath.”

He scoffed. “Why were you huddled in the shadows, then? Sell the lie to someone who might believe it.”

Her gaze slipped sideways before quickly jerking back to his. “I dropped something.”

“What? The hammer you were hoping to brain me with? Or maybe you’re a knife kind of girl, look straight into someone’s eyes as you slip the blade between their ribs.”

She gasped, her eyes going wide before narrowing down to slits.

“What the hell are you talking about? I have no desire to hurt you.”

“Sure, that’s what they all say. I’ve seen plenty of bloodthirsty people in my life—women included—perfectly capable of killing with whatever was handy. Bomb, gun, bare hands. When you’ve watched a ten-year-old boy blow himself up because someone told him to, you learn not to underestimate anyone’s capacity to cause physical harm.”

She blinked at him, her mouth going slack for several moments.

“That’s...awful.”

“Tell me about it.”

Her fingers, which were still dug deep into his chest, uncurled, but she didn’t remove them. Instead, she spread them wide, pressing the warmth of her palm hard against him.

“I’m sorry.” Her words were soft. For the briefest moment, he wanted to believe them.

And then he remembered who she was and why she was standing on the deck of his ship.

The anger he’d been suppressing for months—ever since realizing her father had broken in and stolen his work—roared to life.

Bending, he swept her into his arms.

She was lighter than she looked. Not that she appeared heavy, but she was tall.

“What are you doing?”

“Providing you a quick exit. I hope you aren’t particularly attached to those shoes, princess.”

Turning, Jackson swept the water below them to make sure there was nothing she could hurt herself on. He was happy to provide a quick dunking as a lesson, but he didn’t want her to get injured.

He knew the moment she realized just what he intended because suddenly she grew about three extra arms.

She began squealing, begging, yelling. Her claws dug into his chest again. He managed to pry off one and then the other, holding both wrists tight in a single hand.

“Stop struggling and take your punishment like a good little thief.”

“Jackson, seriously,” she panted. “This is barbaric.”

“Nothing wrong with a little hazing, princess. We’ll call this immersion therapy so maybe the next time you’ll think twice about breaking and entering.”