Page 45 of Rekindle My Heart

He pulled off his shirt, swaggered over to her, and took the lotion. “Only if you will do mine.”

She could almost see Ryan’s eyes bugging out.

Erica dropped her top, and Ryan shot to stand. Whoa! He wobbled, then recovered. The skimpy bikini top barely covered her assets—definitely no place to hide a listening device.

He wanted to ram the guy’s fancy boat and storm the decks. Not the best way to stay incognito. Slipping back a tenth of a mile, he plunked a line in the water. He cast and reeled like a pro but was unlikely to catch anything since he hadn’t baited the hook. He had bigger fish to catch—like the billionaire tech kind who was currently rubbing suntan lotion on Erica.

He snarled as he casted again. At least it wouldn’t be obvious that he was watching their every move.

“Here, fishy, fishy.” He wiggled his line. Where were those jumping carp when he needed one? Just one to flip out of the water and smack Travis Stevens on his smirking face.

Erica threw her head back. Damn, he wished he had sound.

Did she just flip her hair?

Ryan turned the other way. His heart couldn’t take the stress of watching her flirt with this doofus. The man could be a criminal for all they knew. Ryan had done some more digging on Stevens. The guy had some interesting connections. Not all of them were aboveboard.

He pulled up his camera and angled it at the eagle in the tree, but his focus was all on the cabin cruiser and the woman currently applying sunscreen to Travis’s back. Still. How much sun protection did the guy need? Ryan growled.

By the looks of it, Randall and Stevens would be staying in this location for a while.

Ryan motored his cousin’s boat to the shallow river’s edge, far enough away from the cabin cruiser that it didn’t look like he was following them but close enough he still had a prime view of Erica and the handsy tech guy.

He dropped anchor and pulled a soft drink from his cooler. The white Styrofoam container in the corner with the word “minnows” in black Sharpie snagged his attention. He could do some fishing while he was waiting, since he had a license thanks to the family fishing trip on opening weekend.

Ryan eyed the wiggling minnows as they swam in the cup. “Sorry, guys.” He closed his eyes and scooped one out. The tiny fins brushed against his palm. He gulped and opened his eyes. Fish. Yuck. If it wasn’t for the family trip every year, Ryan would happily never touch a fish again.

“Suck it up, Daniels.” His man card was in jeopardy. His gaze locked with beady, dark eyes. Seconds passed as he stared at the fish, the hook in his other hand.

Screw the man card.He lowered his hand over the edge of the boat. Cold water rushed over his fingers. The fish squirmed and swam in his hand.

Don’t do it. Don’t.The law was clear.

He held his breath, and his fingers relaxed. The little guy swam away.

Yeah, yeah. He knew he shouldn’t release it into the river. He peeked into the cup—five more. No sense letting only the one free. He did a quick scan for the DNR officer, and with the coast clear, he popped the top on the container and dumped its buddies into the water. “Free Willy.”

An engine roared. Bubbles stirred behind Stevens’s boat.

Crap! They were moving in the direction of the dock. Ryan checked his watch. An hour had passed.

He waited a few more minutes as he reeled up his empty line before steering his borrowed boat back out to the center of the river.

“What the…?” The larger boat circled back, cutting across its own wake.

“No!” By the time Ryan shifted, it was too late. A massive wave crashed down on him and filled his boat.

Not only was he drenched, but the boat had eighteen inches of standing water in it. He grabbed his cooler and started scooping out the water. On the second throw, his weight shifted.

“Fuck. Fuck… Fuck!” The word floated in the air as he hit the river. Cold September water sucked him under. His jeans pulled him down. Kicking, he reached the surface, spitting. Shivers racked his body as he clung to the side of the boat.

Worst surveillance ever. Nothing was going as planned.

With a broken cooler, he shoveled out as much water out of the boat as he could before climbing back in. He cranked the outboard motor and blew on his cold, prunie fingers as he maneuvered back to the landing.

He’d have to detail the Lund before he returned it to his cousin, Cal. And buy some new fishing gear to replace the stuff that was at the bottom of the St. Croix.

On the drive across the cities, Ryan tried to figure out where he went wrong. He’d done other surveillance and never ended up in the river. Then again, he’d been on dry land for those.