Page 26 of Hot Intent

The debris burned hard for maybe thirty minutes. Here and there, where the pile had been mostly small brush and dead vegetation, the fire started to blow out.

Katie spied a small shape well out on the water. “Is that a boat?”

Alex pulled out binoculars to have a look. “That’s our ride,” he announced. “Time to head down to the water. Keep your feet moving and your shoes won’t burn as we cross over the embers.”

She stared at the remnants of the fire in front of her, maybe fifty feet wide. Whoa, whoa, whoa. “I don’t walk across beds of coals, Alex.”

“Walk lightly and quickly on your entire foot. Don’t run. You’ll be fine.”

She scowled ferociously at him, but he only shrugged back. “Hey. You’ve got shoes. The first time I did it, I was barefoot.”

Barefoot? Was he serious? She opened her mouth to ask him when and where he’d tried something like that, but he said briskly, “Follow me.” He turned and started walking smoothly across the smoldering debris field.

This was how life was always going to be with him, wasn’t it? He would blithely lead her into danger, and she’d follow along like a lamb for the slaughter. She sighed and headed out across the coals, distributing her weight across her entire foot with each step.

Heat rose around her, and the soles of her shoes felt uncomfortably warm, but in a few seconds, she stood on the other side of the glowing ember field. Her heart was racing like a runaway horse, and one spot on her leather hiking boots smoldered a bit, but otherwise, she was intact.

That hadn’t been so bad, after all. Darn it. She hated it when he was right.

A dark-skinned man angled a crappy little fishing boat toward them. It barely looked seaworthy and was in desperateneed of barnacle scraping and a paint job. He stopped about a hundred feet shy of shore and gestured for them to come out to him.

“How are we supposed to get out there?” Katie asked blankly from the edge of the beach.

“Swim. Why do you think I had you put your gear in a waterproof bag?”

She scowled at him again. “I thought it was for rain.”

“C’mon.” Alex was already stripping off his shirt, pants, and shoes, and stowing them in his rubber bag.

“I don’t have a bathing suit!” she cried in sudden horror.

“You have underwear. Same difference.”

“Not the same, thank you very much.”

“I’m sure Pedro won’t mind if you swim out there naked. God knows, I’ll enjoy the view.”

Thinking homicidal thoughts about Alex, she stripped down to her underwear and stuffed her clothes in her bag. “You’re such a jerk, sometimes,” she muttered.

“You knew what you were getting into when you insisted on coming with me,” he said stonily.

He was right. But that didn’t make her any happier to be swimming out to a total stranger’s boat in lingerie, darn it. She wassogetting even with Alex for this.

To make matters worse, the water was freaking cold. Apparently, the hurricane had stirred the ocean, pushing shallow, warm water ahead of its path and pulling cold, deep water up to the surface in its wake.

Her teeth chattered like a high-speed typewriter by the time she climbed the rickety ladder into the back of the boat.

The driver’s gaze raked down her nearly naked body once and then, blessedly, the man turned away to face the wheel. The boat engine started with a cough. She took the towel Alex passed her.

Swear to God, the scrap of terry cloth was covered with grease stains. But it was that or freeze to death. She threw Alex a long-suffering look and wiped herself down with the disgusting towel.

He was doing this on purpose, punishing her for not staying at home like he’d wanted her to. Tough. She might not like the whole idea of him going to Cuba one bit, but if he did insist on going, no way was she letting him go alone. He was her man, and she was protective.

After a few frigid minutes of the brisk breeze drying her skin, she shivered her way back into her jeans and t-shirt. She added a sweatshirt from her bag and gradually began to feel her fingers and toes once more.

The boat bumped along over waist-high waves that Pedro assured them were wonderfully calm seas after the recent storm. She failed to convince her stomach of that, however, and ended up barfing ignominiously off the back of the boat. She felt better afterward, but the whole experience sucked.

Pedro said something about it being about seventy miles from Inagua to Baracoa, and Alex said something about the trip taking about four or five hours. She didn’t think she was ever going to get off that bobbing little boat and see solid land again. Clearly, she was not Navy material like her brother, Ian.

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