Code Name: Blondie. Christina Skye

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СКАЧАТЬ creative juices flowing. I saw you staring at Miss Finland and the hunk. All that noise got you excited, didn’t it? You want it.”

      “Excuse me?”

      Vance’s belt hit the sand. “You’re wasting time. Get naked.”

      “You’re nuts as well as a creep. The only thing I’m doing is boarding that plane. You handle the sex by yourself. I figure you usually do that anyway,” she added grimly.

      “In that case, you’re fired.” Vance made the little Donald Trump hand gesture, his voice icy. “Take your choice.”

      Did he always get away with this, Miki wondered? Didn’t people file lawsuits for this kind of behavior? As the tropical wind ruffled her hair, she saw her career going up in smoke and was too angry to be diplomatic. Enough was enough. What she did next was for her and all the other women Vance had suckered over the years.

      She kicked sand toward him, pleased when he yelped with surprise. While he was distracted, she followed with a roundhouse kick from one of her many hours of classes. She wasn’t coordinated, but her blow to his ribs got the job done, making Vance gulp, caught in midcurse. He lurched sideways and landed face down in the sand.

      A noise drew Miki’s gaze. She saw the first Cessna circle high, dipping its trim wing once before heading east. The plane’s receding outline left her with the cold feeling that she was cut off from civilization, stranded forever.

      And this wasn’t a reality show. This was her life.

      Grabbing her camera bag, she sprinted for the remaining plane, ignoring Vance’s threats. Get in line, she thought. She had car payments due, credit card bills to pay and now she’d blown her best job in months.

      Sand hissed behind her. The millionaire producer huffed over the sloping crest of the beach, red-faced. There was a fresh bruise on his flabby right shoulder.

      “You’re through, Fortune. There’s no city small enough for you to hide. Forget about taking pictures for a living. Forget about portraits or calendars or greeting cards. You’re over, honey. I’m going to see to it personally as soon as I get back to L.A.”

      Miki resisted an urge to hit him again, instead dredging up a cloyingly sweet smile. “If I’m over, then it won’t hurt me to file a nice sexual harassment suit against you, will it? Won’t that look lovely when it hits the papers? You sell a lot of calendars in college bookstores, don’t you? I’d say your sales are going to tank when the female students hear about your problem keeping your pants zipped.”

      Vance’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. “You little bitch. You are dead as far as new photographic work is concerned.”

      Miki returned his cold stare. “Try it, Vance. If you do, my agent will enjoy contacting every female photographer in America so they hear about your little scam,” she blustered.

      Meanwhile, her teeth were chattering. Fired and now blacklisted. Could her life get any worse?

      At least she had new photos for her portfolio, taken on her free time during this trip. Several freelance sales should help make up a month’s lost salary and the cost of her new camera equipment.

      Vance puffed past her, smiling. “You didn’t read the last page of our contract, did you?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Stupid move, babe. I mean you can forget having anything for your portfolio. It’s all mine—every print and digital image. Your film agent wanted to reject the clause, but it was nonnegotiable if you wanted the assignment. That means you get no use of anything without my approval—and trust me, you won’t ever be getting that.” His lips curved. “Unless you want to reconsider my offer.”

      “You mean the quickie in the sand?” Miki squeezed her hands together to keep them from lunging at him. She’d purchased a new camera and lenses, slaved for three weeks, and now the weasel had cut her out of rights to her own work.

      Stupid move.

      Vance was right about that. She should have listened to her photo agent and negotiated harder, but she had been too afraid of losing the job. She had decided to stop coasting or being casual about her life plans. That meant no more whining.

      And look where that had gotten her.

      She knocked Vance’s sweaty fingers from her shoulder. “I’d rather suck glass chips through a straw.” She stalked to the Cessna and climbed abroad. The pilot barely noticed her, too busy staring at the dark line of clouds covering the horizon.

      Miki turned, following his gaze. “Is something wrong?”

      “Not really. We’ve got a little weather moving in, that’s all. Where’s Vance?”

      “Back up the beach. Probably grabbing his gear.”

      “He’d better hurry up.” The pilot rubbed his neck. “Once we’re up in the air, you should check that your cameras are stowed. That storm is moving in faster than I thought.”

      16°58’ south latitude

      152°12’ west longitude

      MIKI COULDN’T DRAG HER eyes away from the wall of gray clouds. Slouched beside her, Vance muttered crossly, avoiding eye contact. Dutch, the pilot, hadn’t spoken since they’d lifted off, but he’d consulted his watch twice and his fingers were tight on the controls.

      A pilot with white knuckles was never a good sign.

      “What the hell’s going on out there?” Vance snapped. “You said that tropical depression was moving to the south. You said—”

      “I was wrong.” The pilot didn’t glance up. “And if you’re asking why I didn’t know sooner, it’s because you insisted on renting the oldest plane you could find. I told you the nav and comm equipment was out of date.”

      Miki squirmed uneasily. Old equipment and a cheap-skate boss. How could her fantasy job get any worse?

      She peered at a dark wedge of clouds to the south. “Shouldn’t we be halfway to Bora Bora already? We can outrun the storm.”

      “A Category Five storm can pack crosswinds above 160 miles per hour. If we’d left when I wanted to, instead of waiting for you two to do the dirty in the dunes, this storm wouldn’t be a problem.”

      “That wasn’t my idea,” Miki said angrily.

      “You wanted it,” Vance snapped. “Don’t give me that bullshit.”

      The engine sputtered, cutting off Miki’s angry response. Dutch pumped a control beside his knee, his mouth a flat line.

      “What’s wrong?” Vance swung around. “What was that noise?’

      The grizzled pilot didn’t answer, fiddling with a row of controls.

      “Damn it, I asked you a question, Dutch.”

      “Trust me, you don’t want to hear the answer.” The pilot leveled a cold look at his employer. Miki realized that Dutch wasn’t looking bored and lazy any longer. “Get your СКАЧАТЬ