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Great.
He continued walking along the passage. “That’s Indiana’s room. If you value your balls, don’t go in there.”
I peered through the cracked door to a single bed. The sheets were made, and a pale pink T-shirt was neatly folded on the pillow.
“Here’s my room,” he said from farther down the passage. “Excuse the mess.”
As he waved me forward, nasty aromas of sweat and something I couldn’t pinpoint laced the air.
The passage walls and floor shuddered, and a deep rumble groaned from the floor.
I turned to Old Smithy.
He grinned. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks.”
He grabbed his pillow and a book with curling edges and yellow pages from the side table and exited the room.
I sat on the bed, and the springs twanged beneath my ass. During my undercover mission, I’d slept in some rough places. This was going to be up there with the worst of them, but at least I didn’t need to worry about being murdered in my sleep.
Then again, that was exactly what I had to worry about with Nikki Bolton still out for revenge against me.
Old Smithy’s cabin contained the bed, a side table, and a battered leather seat in the corner that was just about concealed by discarded clothes. The tiny round window was caked with sea salt, obscuring the view outside. I strode to it, desperate to let some fresh air in, but gave up wrestling with the rusted latch when it wouldn’t budge.
Maybe sleeping on the deck would have been a better option.
When the engine noise increased to a thumping beat that made it impossible to think, I lifted my two cases from the floor onto the bed and removed my laptop. I pulled on my sunglasses and cap, and carrying my computer and phone, I climbed up to the top deck.
We were out of the marina, heading toward open waters. A couple of boats flanked us on either side, each going in the opposite direction, and both were much faster than Rhino.
Maybe most of our time will be getting out to the sunken yacht.
The midday sun was stifling hot, but thankfully, a slight breeze took off the edge.
At the covered area, I placed my computer on the ring-stained coffee table and went in search of Indiana. I found her in the bridge, and my breath caught. She’d removed her T-shirt and wore a plain black bikini top, and with her denim shorts and ankle-high boots, she looked damn hot.
“Hey.” I stepped onto the bridge with her.
She nodded.
I smiled.
She turned her attention back to the front windshield which stretched the full length of the bridge, and her knuckles bulged as she strangled the large stainless steel steering wheel in the center of the counter.
The air was heavy with scents of salt and metal, and thankfully, the engine noise was barely a hum in this room. Beneath the windshield, the bench was covered in marine equipment, monitors, and gadgets that I had no hope of understanding.
Sunlight streamed in through the open doorway, casting a golden strip across the well-worn wooden floor. Along the rear of the room, charts and navigation instruments adorned the wooden bench with a surface that was smooth with age and use.
Through the front windshield, Old Smithy was bending over a machine, bashing it with a spanner. I had a feeling that was standard practice on this boat.
“How long will it take to get there?” I asked.
“As long as it takes.” Indiana turned the steering wheel.
Waiting for her to elaborate, I rested my hip against the counter at the back of the room, where the wall was covered in maps, yellowing newspaper clippings, and a couple of bills that had ‘overdue’ stamps on the top of them.
She had no idea who she was messing with. I’d learned how to be patient during Operation Vivid.
