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“How’d it go?” he asked.
“Tell me about her boat,” I said, ignoring his goading. “What can I expect?”
He chuckled. “Rhino is no luxury yacht. She and Old Smithy live there, but from what I’ve seen on the top deck, it’s a rusty dump heap.”
I groaned. “So, no coffee machine, huh?”
Cooper burst out laughing. “You’re a funny guy, Kingsley.”
I packed my laptop and two notepads into my case. As I walked toward the exit, I felt everyone staring at me.
I couldn’t decide if their ogling was because I was about to spend time with hotheaded Indiana, or because they didn’t trust me. Now, Watts had given me a reason not to trust them, either.
When I was undercover working for Albert Bonebreaker Bolton, I had to fly solo and couldn’t trust a single person I worked with during those three years.
I was about to head into uncharted waters but again, I had no backup.
CHAPTER 5
Tyler
Salt air filled my lungs as I stepped off the gangplank and onto the Rhino’s weathered deck. The gray timber creaked beneath my sneakers as I followed Indiana across the top of her massive salvage boat. Her ass looked mighty fine in her tiny denim shorts, and I didn’t think I had ever followed a woman with longer legs than the one in front of me.
I hadn’t had the pleasure of a woman’s company in a long time, and even longer with a woman who knew my real name.
Indiana had barely said a word since I let her out of the holding cell. As Lacey had driven us down to the wharf where Rhino had been moored overnight, Indiana made it clear that social chit-chat with cops was not her thing. Her body language told me just how pissed off she was about this arrangement.
It was going to be a long couple of days.
“Dad,” Indiana yelled as she stomped her Dr. Martens across the deck, dodging pieces of equipment that looked decades old. They probably were.
“Lazy bastard is probably still asleep.” She stopped at a ladder that disappeared into a dark, square hole. “Follow me.”
“Do I bring these with me?” I indicated to my bags.
“Yep. Unless you plan on sleeping up here.”
Across the deck, a couple of battered leather sofas were positioned facing each other with a coffee table between them. Behind the seating was a kitchenette with a sink, kettle, toaster, and microwave. “Is that the only kitchen?”
“Yep.” She tilted her head, and the sun caught in her hair, turning brown strands to gold. “Were you expecting the Hilton?”
“Nope.” I strode toward the covered area, lowered my heavy duffle bag to the floor, and as I offloaded my backpack onto the nearest sofa, Indiana marched into the shaded area.
“What are you doing?” She stood with her feet apart and her hands on her hips, like she was getting ready to wrestle me.
“Just making myself at home.” I unzipped the duffle bag and lifted out my coffee machine.
She burst into laughter. “Are you for real?”
“Life’s better with good coffee.” I grinned, trying to lighten the mood.
She pointed at a jar of instant coffee. “We’re not Neanderthals, Kingsley. We have caffeine.”
“I said good coffee.”
“Instant coffee is faster.” Her eyes danced with the challenge.
“Well,” I said as I nudged the kettle aside to fit my Nespresso machine on the bench, “some things are much better done slowly.”
