Page 7 of Code Name: Harbor

“Get us out of here,” I tell Marcus, but he’s already at the wheel and firing the engine to life. I glance back at the dock and the men have their vessel untied, scrambling to push off.

Marcus guns the engine, and I hold on to the rail as the bow lifts and the propellers dig down into the current. We shoot into the night, heading south.

I glance back over my shoulder as the dock and Voronin’s men recede. I’m confident they couldn’t see us at all, but I’m not so confident they can’t fathom a guess as to who might have shot at them. They know it’s not law enforcement because they don’t shoot and run.

They will take a guess it’s another criminal, taking advantage of the complex water passages, fog, fast tides and countless natural hiding places that make this a smuggler’s paradise.

The one thing I know for sure is that they won’t catch us. The Quartermaster is a faster boat and there’s no one more adept at navigating these waters in the dark than Marcus.

Except for maybe me, but I have another problem to deal with.

I turn to the woman, who’s pushed up to one elbow and wiping water from her face.

“Come on,” I say, offering her a hand. “Let’s get you warm.”

She stares up at me, skin pale, blond hair plastered to her cheeks. She’s got big blue eyes and long lashes still wet with salt water.

There’s only a moment’s hesitation, but her cold hand slaps against mine and I haul her up. To her credit, she barely wobbles, but I can feel her entire body trembling just from her grip.

I don’t touch her in any other way and lead her belowdecks, down the companionway and into the salon. I release her hand and move to a chest where I pull out a wool blanket.

“Here you go,” I say, turning to face her. She’s spinning in a slow circle, taking in the surroundings, then stops to face me. I step into her and wrap the blanket around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she says through clenched teeth and lips tinged blue.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

Despite the fact that I just pulled her from frigid waters, her eyes are clear and her focus sharp. She’s cataloging me, the boat, our opportune rescue. “Sarah Klein,” she finally says.

I almost laugh. I would have respected the lie if she had told it better. “Try again.”

“Why do you have a gun strapped to your leg?” she asks, her eyes drifting down to the weapon, clearly changing the subject. “And why did you shoot at the other boat?”

I stare at her a moment, amused by her bluntness. “I would have thought your first words would’ve been ‘Thank you, Finn, for pulling me out of the water.’” I hold my hand out to her. “My name’s Finn Marlowe, by the way.”

She ignores the offer of a shake, but I can tell she’s chagrined. “Thank you, really… for pulling me out. Had you not…” A full shudder runs the length of her body and I’m guessing that’s an expelling of fear in addition to the cold. “Are they chasing us?”

I shake my head. “They can’t catch us. We got too much of a head start and could have taken a hundred different routes out of there.” I sweep my hand toward a settee, encouraging her to sit. “Want to tell me what you were doing there? I saw you had a camera around your neck when you jumped in the water but don’t have it now.”

“It was weighing me down,” she murmurs, gingerly perching on the edge of the padded bench. She gathers the blanket around her tighter and shivers.

“Want to get out of those wet clothes? I have some you could wear.”

“No,” she exclaims, then looks abashed. “I mean… no thank you. Perhaps you could drop me off somewhere on Whidbey Island. We have to be close, right?”

I ignore the request. “What were you doing out there?” I ask again.

“Photography… nighttime, long exposures.”

“All right, Sarah Klein.” I chuckle. “If that’s your story… but you should know, Voronin’s men will be looking for you.”

She looks alarmed by that, and she should be. They’ll kill her if they find her. “My jacket,” she murmurs in contemplation. “My ID was in there, but I took it off in the water.”

“That’s probably gone for good. Did you have a vehicle nearby?” Her pretty blue eyes snap to mine, and I take a moment to realize the rest of her is quite pretty too. Heart-shaped face, full lips. “If your car was close by, Voronin’s men might have stopped to go through it.”

“Fuck,” she mutters, leaning back and letting her head thunk against the wall. “The registration.”

“I’m guessing it won’t say Sarah Klein.”