Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Not nefarious enough to shoot at a woman in the water,” I point out. I throw my hands wide. “Seriously… do I look like someone who would cause trouble?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’m not sure what smugglers look like. Tonight was my first experience with those Russians.”
I bark out a laugh. “Smugglers? That’s a tall tale.”
“Not so tall,” she replies, eyeing me up and down. “The Salish Sea and all the islands, straits and channels have been a smuggling mecca for over a hundred and fifty years.”
“You don’t say,” I drawl.
She nods. “This is the most trafficked smuggling corridor in North America. It started out in the 1850s with wool, opium and Chinese laborers. Prohibition saw liquor running through here. Now it’s women and antiquities. Take your pick, but I suspect with your smug smile that you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Yeah, she’s too smart for her own good. Had she said that to Voronin, he’d have slit her throat.
But me? I’m still quite amused by her bold proclamation, especially since she’s nailed my occupation with only a few observations.
“So, were you investigating Voronin? Happen to stumble upon one of his off-loads?”
Josie’s expression remains aloof. “It’s none of your business what I was doing.”
“What exactly do you do for Jameson?” I ask, trying a different tack.
She stares at me for a long time, and I can see the wheels turning. Trying to figure out whether to trust me, and she really shouldn’t.
“I’m the lead intelligence specialist,” she says.
“And you gather intelligence by crawling through bushes with a camera?”
“Yes, exactly,” she snaps. “Now, how about telling me what you were doing out there with your lights off and a gun on your leg, Mr. Marlowe?”
“I was minding my own business. Until I heard gunshots.”
She raises a well-arched eyebrow even higher.
I offer my most charming smile. “Again, I ask, do I look like a man who causes trouble?”
She gives me a slow up-and-down. “Honestly? Yeah.”
“I’m wounded.”
“You don’t look wounded.”
“It’s an internal wound.” I tap my fist against my chest. “It’s deep inside here.”
And to my utter delight, Josie ducks her head to hide the smile forming on her mouth. I’m enjoying this woman—this very dangerous woman because she’s clearly working on a case to bring down Voronin, who’s still, at his basic core, a smuggler same as me.
Our only difference is that I specialize in high-end art and antiquities. He traffics women.
I’m prompted by another full-body shiver running through Josie and cross over to the galley to start the kettle.
“Tell me one thing honestly, Josie McAdams.” I find the tea tin without looking. “You were there for Voronin tonight? Yes or no.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is when you’re on my boat.”
“I don’t know whose boat I’m on. I don’t even know what kind of boat this is.”
“It’s a fishing boat.”
“It’s not a fishing boat.”
“Why not?”
“You have a frequency scanner mounted to the bulkhead and pencil notations on a chart of Coast Guard patrol windows. Coupled with the way you were drifting dark and the gun on your thigh, you’re not fishing, Mr. Marlowe.”
The kettle begins to whistle.
“You have a very vivid imagination,” I say as I pour the boiling water into a mug.
I bring it to her and she gratefully wraps both hands around it, holding it up to her face as if the steam could chase away the chill.
She stares at me over the rim. “What now?” she asks.
And I understand the real question without her even asking it. Deep down, she’s concerned she really knows too much about what I do, even though she doesn’t have any real proof. While I might have fired on Voronin’s men and fished her out of the water, thereby putting myself in peril, she senses I’m not on the up-and-up.
“Now,” I say with a roguish smile, “I’ll get you somewhere warm and dry and then I suggest we go our separate ways.”
Josie nods at me.
I thumb toward the steps to the pilot deck. “I’m going to talk to my mate, Marcus, and we’ll find a populated area to drop you off.”
She nods again but then stops me with just one word. “Finn?”
I glance over my shoulder at her.
“I don’t care what you do for a living. I’m grateful you saved me.”
CHAPTER 3
Josie
The coffee is not helping.
I’m at my desk on the Jameson operations floor at seven forty-five in the morning, which is forty-five minutes later than when I usually start. The coffee in my hand is the second one I’ve made since I sat down, and I expect I’ll need another after that before I feel human.
I’m operating on less than two hours of sleep for the night and those hours were disjointed at best.
The mysterious Finn Marlowe and his captain, who he only introduced as Marcus, did me a solid and took me all the way to Mukilteo on the mainland rather than Whidbey Island.