Page 23 of Lethal Deceit

“This is serious. The next three hours are do or die.”

Movement at the door makes me spin around.

Samantha.

Blond hair starting to dry, hands loose at her sides. Dressed in nothing but a white toweling robe, in stark contrast to her tanned skin.

“Then why bother?” she says.

I blink. The flatness of her tone is almost as worrying as how normal she looks. Like she just took a shower and we’re here together because we want to be.

“You think I risked my life just tokillyou?”

She shivers, her eyes lingering on the coffee in my hands, but keeps her distance. “Isn’t that what you wanted? To see me dead?”

I take a step closer, extending the coffee and the cookies. “The rescue swimmers’ motto is ‘So others can live.’”

She licks her lips. “You saved me because of amotto?”

“It’s more than a motto. It’s a belief.”

Her chin lifts, her eyes shifting from the coffee to my face. “I saw you on TV. You didn’t seem to be too concerned about my life then.”

Tension makes my muscles coil. I give up waiting for her to accept the coffee and cookies and leave them on the coffee table. “Yeah, well. Wanting someone to die is different than wanting justice.”

She snorts but edges around the coffee table, ignoring the mug and walking to where the pot is. As surreal as this is, it gets even worse when she pours herself a cup and starts to walk in the direction of the bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

Her eyebrow arches. “You’ve seen me. I’m still breathing. Now you can tell your boss you followed orders.”

“He’snotmy boss,” I say, grinding it out.

Her lips twitch into something way too close to a smile. “Uh-huh. Sounded like it to me.”

I eye her as she turns on her heel. “If you go back in there, I’m going to have to come in.”

She freezes and looks over her shoulder at me. Her cheeks flush with annoyance, and her shoulders square.

“What? Were you planning to escape?”

A slight narrowing of her eyes is all I have to go on. “Fine.” She eases into a chair, tucks her legs under her, and brings her coffee cup to her lips.

Following her example, I reach for mine and watch her closely in case she chokes.

When the first swallow goes down easily with no sign of distress, I grab the cookies and rip them open.

I need to keep her talking, so I ask the question that’s been bugging me ever since I saw her in the water. “Can you swim?”

Her eyes meet mine. “What?”

I take a sip. “You can’t have been in the water for more than a few minutes, so why weren’t you swimming toward the jetty?”

She doesn’t answer, but her fingers have tightened around the mug.

“Canyou swim?” I say again.

“Yes, I can swim,” she snaps. A faint flush appears on her cheeks before she shakes it off.

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