Covert Pursuit. Terri Reed

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      “I saw a body bag. If you have access to a boat I can take you to where I witnessed the dump. It was approximately a hundred yards from shore.”

      “You’re staying at Teresa Gambini’s place, right?” Stroking his chin, Decker glanced at the nearly dark sky. “Well, now, by the time I get one of our boats from the other end of the island it’ll be pitch-black out on the water. Even the coast guard wouldn’t be able to get a boat out here any sooner.”

      “And in the meantime the tide carries the body away,” Angie stated as disbelief at the man’s lack of concern and urgency poured through her.

      “That’s certainly a possibility. We’ll make a wide search of the area. If there is a dead body, there’s nothing we can do for the person now. The morning will be soon enough.”

      Deep down she agreed, dusk was rapidly closing in, but it still galled her to wait. “What time tomorrow?”

      Decker shrugged. “Nine, tenish.”

      “Great. I’ll be here at nine,” she said, irritated by his lackadaisical attitude. “In the meantime, you could have the other marina checked for the boat I saw.”

      He gave her a patient smile, showing aged and crooked teeth. “Yes, ma’am, I could do that.” He took a small notepad from the breast pocket of his green uniform. “Details?”

      She described the boat. “It had three words written across the side, but I think they were in a foreign language.”

      “That’s not much to go on. A lot of boats fit that description. If I have any questions, how can I reach you?”

      She rattled off her cell-phone number. “But I’ll see you in the morning.”

      Decker eyed her a long moment. “I think, Detective Carlucci, you should enjoy your vacation on the island and leave the police work to us. If I have anything to tell you, I’ll call.”

      With that he walked back to his truck and drove away. Angie stared after him.

      “Well, that was awfully condescending of him,” a Southern-accented male voice said behind her.

      She whirled around to find herself staring into the smoky-blue eyes of the yachtsman. Up close he was even more appealing. Firm features with strength of character etched in the straight line of his jaw and a confident set to his wide shoulders. Some elemental warning alerted her senses.

      She shouldn’t be noticing his attractiveness, not when he’d been able to move so close without her knowledge. Usually her senses were sharper, more acute to potential danger.

      The tranquility of the island must have dulled her wits, she rationalized and frowned with wariness.

      She backed up a step, creating more space between them. “Do you normally eavesdrop on other people’s conversations?”

      “Only when they’re two feet away and aren’t exactly keeping their voices low,” he said in a tone as smooth as Earl Grey on a brisk New England morning.

      Unexpected little shivers traipsed over her skin. She rubbed her arms and conceded his point with a nod. “Right. Excuse me.”

      She turned to leave. His hand shot out and clasped her right elbow in a tight grip. Alarm flushed through her system. Her heart rammed against her rib cage in a painful cadence. Instinct took over.

      She pivoted right, wrenching her elbow back and away as her stiff left hand thumped hard against his forearm, effectively breaking his hold. Once free, she jumped back to land in a fighter’s stance, weight on right leg, left leg ready to kick if need be. Her right hand gripped the butt of her holstered weapon.

      She’d been wrong. The man posed a threat. She just didn’t know how much of one. Or why.

      Surprise washed over the guy’s face. He jerked his hands up in a show of entreaty, palms out, fingers splayed. “Whoa, whoa! Hey, Detective, I didn’t mean any harm.”

      “Don’t move.”

      “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he drawled in his thick Southern accent.

      “Who are you? And what do you want?”

      “Name’s Jason Bodewell.” He gestured toward the classy boat behind him. “I charter my boat out for the tourist trade.”

      Taking calming breaths, Angie relaxed her stance slightly. “Okay. So…?”

      One side of his well-formed mouth lifted. “So, I was going to offer to take you out.”

      She blinked. Heat crept up her neck. What? “Out?”

      His eyebrows rose. “To look for the body.”

      A little embarrassed groan escaped. “Oh. Right.” So he’d heard everything. What was he? Some sort of crime-scene gawker? Or just a good citizen wanting to help?

      Though her heart rate beat faster than normal, the adrenaline eased. She moved her hand away from her Glock and thought about his offer. She really didn’t want to wait until morning to get out there and prove that she’d seen a body being dumped. She knew what she’d seen.

      Narrowing her gaze, she pinned him with a hard look. “Do you have scuba equipment?”

      He nodded. “Are you certified to dive? At night?”

      Her PADI—Professional Association of Diving Instructors—certification had expired years ago. And she’d never gotten around to getting her night-dive certification. “Are you?” she countered.

      “I am.”

      “Would you be willing to dive down?”

      He flashed a grin. “Would be my pleasure.”

      Now, why did his words give her pause? Why was he so eager to help? “Fine, I’ll take you up on the offer. But keep your hands to yourself. And no sudden movements.”

      “Oh, you can trust me.”

      “I could, but I don’t.”

      His blue eyes twinkled. “I’d be shocked if you did. Considering you’re a cop and all.” He strode to the boat and untied the ropes from the dock. “Come on, I won’t bite,” he coaxed. “I promise.”

      Hoping she wasn’t making a mistake, Angie followed. Glad she’d brought her personal firearm with her, she placed her hand back on her weapon. Just in case Jason decided to renege on his promise.

      Aware that his attractive guest was as nervous as a long-tailed cat on a porch full of rocking chairs, Jason started the engine and smoothly maneuvered the Regina Lee away from the dock.

      Covertly, he glanced over at the detective. He liked the way her brunette hair was pulled back into a wild puff of curls and the way her brown eyes, the color of chicory coffee, observed everything. Her lithe figure moved with grace and agility beneath her denim cropped pants and V-neck T-shirt.

      Her СКАЧАТЬ