Alias Smith And Jones

“You were right, Pappy is a great cook. I already ate and it was wonderful.” And when she’d finished, she’d offered to relieve the crew member of the plate he’d prepared for Jones, uncaring of the conclusion Pappy had drawn. She was eager for an excuse to approach the other man. Just not for the reason that Pappy and Jones seemed to think.

Setting the tray down on a nearby table, she removed the napkins covering the food and pulled up a chair. Jones watched her carefully. “What are you doing?”

“I thought I’d keep you company while you ate,” she said artlessly. “You’ve been up here all morning alone. I figured you wouldn’t mind a little company.”

He reached for a piece of chicken. “I like being alone.”

She refrained from pointing out that with his personality, he was likely to spend a great deal of time in that state. Despite her efforts, her gaze lingered on the puckered scar on his back. She’d spent more than an hour formulating ways to finesse needed information from him before approaching him with lunch. But instead of the discreet questions she’d settled on, she heard herself say, “What happened to your back?”

“I lowered my guard.”

His stark answer sent a chill through her. She’d be willing to bet that for Jones that particular error had been rare, indeed. Ana wanted to ask who had gotten close enough to him to gain his trust, only to betray it. But she knew intuitively that he’d never tell her. “Tell me about Laconos,” she said instead, forcing her gaze away from him and out at the shatteringly blue water before them. “The State Department has cleared it for U.S. citizens’ travel, but you seem to believe that it’s still unsafe.”

He turned back to the wheel and adjusted its position. “I just think there’s cause for caution there, that’s all.”

“The scandal six months ago was like a Shakespearean tragedy. The crown prince of Laconos must have been desperately in love with his girlfriend to be so devastated by his family’s disapproval of their marriage.” The world had been shocked to learn that the prince, Owahano Bunei, of the royal family, had shot and killed his parents and siblings before turning his weapon on himself one night at dinner. And all because his parents had refused to give him permission to marry the woman he loved. “I’d heard, though, that the transition of power passed easily enough to Owahano’s uncle.”

“That kind of transition is never effortless.” It was his total lack of expression, rather than the words themselves, that alerted her. What Jones wasn’t revealing was of far more interest than what he did say.

She hadn’t asked Sterling about the nature of Sam’s mission on Laconos. It would have been futile. The man made even the taciturn Jones seem verbose. But she’d drawn her own conclusion from the information she’d managed to glean from her brother’s encrypted files. The United States government was taking a keen interest in the island’s new government, especially now that the current king was jockeying for more clout with the Global Trade Organization. Ana thought Sam had been sent on assignment to see, firsthand, if Laconos’s request should be opposed. Given her brother’s disappearance shortly after he arrived there, she wondered if he’d found a reason for that opposition.

“It probably won’t matter much to you and your friends one way or the other.” At Jones’s voice, Ana shifted her attention back to their conversation. “You’re just planning on enjoying the beaches, right? A day or two there, and you’ll be off to another island.”

She steered him away from a discussion of her fictional friends by saying, “I’ve heard that Laconos has a fabulous beach on the north side.”

“You may want to avoid that one.” Was that a tinge of embarrassment she heard in his words? Ana studied his profile searchingly. “There’s a great beach on the southwest side, too.”

“Why? What’s wrong with the north one?”

“It’s topless.”

“Sounds great.” With a provocative air she braced her hands on the table behind her and leaned back. She’d bet that Jones’s knowledge of topless beaches was firsthand. So to speak. “Is that the beach you go to?”

“I have better things to do with my time than to laze around on the sand all day.” He dropped the chicken bone back on the tray and reached for another piece.

“But what do you do when you don’t have a charter?” Not even to herself would she admit that there was a hint of personal interest in his answer.

He gave a shrug of one well-muscled shoulder. “Work on the ship.”

“You don’t ever take it out by yourself?” she prodded. Prying information from the man was like arm wrestling an alligator, but then, she hadn’t expected it to be easy.

“Sometimes.”

“Where are your favorite places to go?”

He slanted her a glance. “You know, you’re wasting valuable sun time in here with me. I’d think you’d want to be working on your tan.”

“I got enough sun this morning.” Let him think that she was in here to change his mind about taking her to bed. It might annoy him, but it would also allay his suspicions about the true reason for her interest. She made a production of crossing her ankles. “Are you going to show them to me? Your favorite spots, I mean?”

“Nope.” He’d polished off the second piece of chicken and exchanged the bones for another piece.

“Why not?” She imbued her voice with a deliberately sultry note. “Maybe they’d become my favorites, too.” As long as she was engaged in the pretense, she may as well pull out all the stops. Ana might not have had near the occasions she’d like to practice her feminine wiles, but she was a world-class observer. She knew the moves—the head toss, the pouty lips, the fluttering eyelids. Jones was given the full treatment, causing him to stare hard at her.

“Do you have something in your eye?”

She stopped fluttering them to glare at him. “No, you dolt.”

He looked unconvinced. “Maybe you should leave your sunglasses on. The sun is pretty bright on the water.”

With jerky movements she grabbed the sunglasses from atop her head and perched them on her nose. Okay, so her wiles were rusty. Come to think of it, they’d never exactly mesmerized any man, with the exception of Billy Ray McIntire, who’d barely qualified as such. But she couldn’t help believing Jones was being deliberately obtuse. Was she really so lacking in appeal?

Steering around the obvious answer to that question, she concentrated again on getting the man to part with a bit of information. “So, where do you go to get away from it all? Beaches? Fishing? Deep-sea diving?”

He rolled his shoulders, clearly impatient with her questions. “I don’t have a lot of free time. A ship this size takes a lot of upkeep.”

So that line of questioning was a dead end. If there was another explanation for the discrepancy in his log other than the one she chose to draw, it certainly wasn’t forthcoming. She changed the subject. “Osawa Bunei, that’s the new king of Laconos, isn’t it? Did he choose to keep the former cabinet or replace it with his own?”

Slanting a glance at her, he took a bite of the piece of chicken he held. After he’d chewed and swallowed he said, “What are you after on the island, a sun tan or a history lesson? From what I’ve heard he’s replaced most of the original cabinet, and no surviving family members were chosen, which led to some dissension.”

Ana frowned. “I thought the family had all been killed with the exception of Osawa.”

“Not all the extended family. There were two other uncles and an aunt, as well as many cousins left. Osawa was just the next in line for the throne.”

The scenario he’d described wouldn’t have raised eyebrows in most countries, but in the small island nation of Laconos, nepotism was a time-honored custom. Osawa had probably had to remove family members from cabinet posts to replace them with his own picks, which didn’t strike Ana as a good way to keep your relatives happy.

“Do you go to Laconos often?” she asked daringly. Heck, subterfuge didn’t seem to work with him, so perhaps the direct route would prove more successful.

“No.” He dropped the chicken bone on the tray and reached for a napkin to wipe his hands. “Most of my charters are for deep-sea fishing, a few families who want to go out for a day, that sort of thing.”

The ship rocked against a particularly large wave, and Ana clutched the edge of the table in an effort to remain upright. Since it was bolted to the deck, it was as stable an anchor as she’d find. Jones merely adjusted his footing and leaned into the pitch of the ship, riding the motion in much the same way as a jockey melded his body with a horse’s moves. His position drew her attention to the muscles that clenched and released in his back, and then lower, where the faded denim of his cutoff jeans clung faithfully to his masculine backside.

Ana tipped her glasses down to better contemplate the sight. The man’s buns were as extraordinary as the rest of him, which really didn’t seem quite fair. There ought to be a physical flaw somewhere. The scar didn’t count, as it only added to his aura of danger. When the gods had been handing out bodies, she thought judiciously, this guy had been at the front of the line. Too bad the same couldn’t be said about his personality.

He glanced her way then, and her gaze jerked upward guiltily. “Thanks for bringing the tray up. You’d better get it back to Pappy so he can wash it.”

As a brush-off, it was offensively transparent. She reached for the pitcher of lemonade and poured some into a glass. “After I finish my lemonade.” Pouring a second glass, she offered it to him. “Want some?”

Grudgingly he took it. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude…”

“It must be an innate response, then.”

“…but entertaining the guests isn’t part of my duties as captain.”

“I think we’ve already covered that.”

“Neither is sleeping with them,” he went on, earning a glare from her.

“Well, I’ve gotten over the disappointment of knowing I’ll never bear your children,” she announced sweetly, restraining an urge to toss the lemonade in his face. “Do you have something against polite conversation?”