Castillo's Bride. Anne Duquette Marie

for me. It’s my office.” Donna pulled her cell phone from her purse and hurried over to an empty table to conduct her business in private.

      “Nice lady,” Jordan said, politely waiting for Donna to return despite her suggestion that they go ahead and eat. “I’m surprised she left the Navy. Intelligence billets are hard to fill. You have to be the best of the best to get in.”

      “She was, and still is. Unfortunately, she’s in love with Neil. He made life difficult for her, so she quit.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Remember the man who helped me save your life? Neil Harris is a former Navy captain. He wanted Donna to leave the military to become his wife. She wanted to be her own boss and decided to make a clean break, so she left him and the Navy. No sense marrying someone who’s never home, she said. Neil retired—he’s about ten years older than we are—and after that he got the job of cruise-ship captain. A job he has no intention of quitting. He’s away just as much as when he was in the Navy. He and Donna are still crazy about each other, but there’s no real way they can be together. A shame.”

      “I never got a chance to thank him.”

      “You will. Those two use me as an excuse to see each other, since we’re mutual friends. I’m always the third wheel.”

      “Does that bother you?”

      Aurora shook out a paper napkin and placed it on her lap. “No, but it worries me.”

      Jordan noticed that Donna had finished her call, and had risen from the empty table to rejoin them. “Why?” he asked bluntly.

      “I tend to have an unpredictable effect on the lives of those who know me. And judging by your near-death experience, so do you. Until the police catch your attackers, we need to watch our backs carefully, and keep Donna and Neil out of this as much as we can. We’re on our own here.”

      Jordan’s jaw tightened. “Don’t you worry about me or your friend. I’ll be looking out for all of us.” Especially you.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      Oceanside Harbor, California

      Same day, 6:45 p.m.

      IN HIS CABIN aboard Neptune’s Bride, Jordan unpacked. As a man who lived his life in small cabins, he traveled light, even on land. His few possessions were quickly stowed away, along with Aurora’s partnership contract, which he’d study later tonight. A faint scent of sandal-wood remained in his nostrils as he made his way above deck, to be replaced by the smell of the lobster traps. Sounds of live jazz suddenly filled his ears, and he looked around for the source.

      “Starboard and up, the other side of the lobster cages,” Aurora said, already on deck. “We get live music in the evenings from the Chart House and the Nautical Bean.”

      “Good food, too,” Jordan guessed, sniffing the air. “Do we have to dress to go out for dinner?”

      “No. A shirt and sandals is all it takes. If you eat outside, you don’t even need that. Hungry?”

      “I am. If you want to go to one of the restaurants, I’ll buy. Otherwise I’ll fix dinner, if you’ll let me use your galley,” Jordan said.

      Aurora grinned from her perch on the bow, where she stood with a long brush and hose washing the droppings from passing seagulls and pelicans off Bride’s gleaming white paint. “It’s torture being on someone else’s ship, isn’t it? Having to ask permission all the time…”

      “I can deal with it. I’m not the pampered type. Need help?”

      “You can turn off the hose.”

      Jordan nimbly hopped down to the slip and walked over to the dock box, which made water, electricity, and phones and cable TV available to slip-holders. He saw that Aurora’s vessel was only hooked up to the first two.

      “No phone?” he asked.

      “I have my cell phone. And there’s a pay phone up by the private showers and laundry rooms. Oh, here.”

      She pulled a key ring from the pockets of her cutoff jeans and tossed it to him. Jordan caught it effortlessly.

      “One of the keys is to Bride’s hatch. The other fits the gates and the men’s room. When docked, please use only the galley sink. The head plumbing’s off limits. Bride’s a woodie—and too old to have an accessible sewage tank for the potty-pumpers. That means I have to go three miles outside the harbor to legally dump. So keep all waste to a minimum. I ask my crew to sort trash for the recycle bins. Also, we’re required by law to keep our water clean. Nothing’s allowed in the harbor water, not dust sweepings, not paint scrapings, nothing.”

      “Except for fish guts and old bait,” Jordan said, noticing all the pelicans on the roof of the closest restaurant. The shellfish boats were directly between the restaurant and Aurora’s slip.

      “Not for long. You should see the size of the lobsters here. We have a sea lion population that frequents the harbor, too. Between them and the birds, the port stays pretty clean.” Aurora tossed him the hose, and Jordan neatly coiled it as she stowed the scrubbing broom.

      “Thanks for offering to cook—nice trait in a man,” she teased. “But why don’t we do that another day? There’s a little fish-and-chip place across the harbor. Let’s take the dinghy and keep the galley clean. We can review those contracts over dinner.”

      JORDAN FINISHED rereading the papers for the second time just as the sun’s corona touched the sharp, flat line where sky meets sea.

      “Have a pen?” he asked, enjoying the sunset.

      “I do.” She passed him one from her fanny pack, then shoved aside the wrappers from their fish and chips, his beer bottle, and another one of her citrus drinks—tangerine, this time—so he had more room.

      Jordan signed both copies, waited as she signed hers, and slid both sets back toward her. He carefully slipped both contracts back into their protective envelope.

      “Where’s my galleon?” he immediately asked.

      Aurora pointedly lifted one eyebrow. “Your galleon?”

      “Our galleon,” he corrected. “Where is it?”

      “We’ll be working out of San Diego Harbor.”

      “I want the coordinates of the San Rafael—and don’t tell me you haven’t memorized them.”

      “I have, and I’ll give them to you as soon as these papers are filed.”

      Jordan’s lips set in a thin line of disappointment and frustration. Aurora reached for his hand. Despite the rough calluses on her palm and fingertips, her touch felt surprisingly soft.

      “Sorry to do this,” she said kindly, “but I have my sister to think about. I know you’ve waited a long time. Please try to be patient just a little longer.”

      Jordan continued to let her hold his hand. A moment later, she removed her fingers from his. “Are there any other questions I could answer for you?” Aurora asked.

      “I’m concerned about the security of the location—for both our sakes. Do you have the coordinates written down anywhere? Are they stored in your GPS?”

      “No and no.”.

      “Okay.” Jordan nodded with satisfaction. Global Positioning Systems were satellite-based navigational aids. Once activated, they tracked three coordinates—latitude, longitude and altitude, both above and below sea level—and made navigation simple for anyone who understood the numbers.

      “Who else has them? Your dive crew?”

      “Not even them. I went out alone, and I dived alone.”

      Jordan blinked. “Alone? That’s dangerous.”

      “So