Born Ready. Lori Wilde

to lift up the passenger seat. He then dug in the compartment where he kept boating supplies, found a snorkel mask and underwater lamp. Too bad he didn’t have a diving tank with him.

      Mosquitoes buzzed around his bare skin as he strapped on the mask and leashed the lamp around his wrist. A second later, he was in the water.

      Silence engulfed him. It wasn’t until he was underneath the surface that he realized just how noisy it was topside—birds calling, insects singing, trees whispering in the breeze. Down here, quiet reigned.

      Mangrove roots stuck out every which way, snatching at his hair, scraping against his skin. Scott flicked on the light. Fish darted past him. He examined the metal platform. It was mounted on a pole securely buried in the floor of the estuary and attached to the platform was a long black cord that stretched down as far as he could see.

      He wrapped his fingers around the cord. Kevlar. He yanked. The cord did not give, but a heavy object moved, banged against the pole, vibrated the cord against his palm. Something was attached to it.

      Fueled by the rumors Carl had told him about Juan DeCristo’s stealth submarine drone, Scott’s imagination ran wild. It could be a transmitting beacon. To elude detection, Birch could have hidden the beacon here and stopped back to attach it to her boat before each of her drug missions.

      He didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to give her every benefit of the doubt, mainly because he’d been dumbly smitten, but the evidence was pretty damning so far.

       Don’t be a chump. Let the evidence speak for itself.

      He needed to dive deeper.

      But first, he had to go to the surface for air.

      When he reached the top he saw that heavy darkness had engulfed the sun, leaving only whisper traces of daylight lingering in the evening sky. In the distance, he heard a loud splash and tried to convince himself it was an alligator or a bull shark, and not an armed drug dealer. Precisely what was Jackie capable of?

       Don’t spook yourself.

      He took a deep breath and dived again. With one hand on the Kevlar cord, he followed it down.

      The beam of his light found the first cylindrical tube at eight feet. It was secured through the cord. He flashed the beam over the tube. It was some kind of sensor device, but what? He was not familiar enough with stealth technology to make a guess.

      Air hunger drove him back to the surface. This time when he came up he saw the headlights of an approaching boat. Small craft from the sound of the engine.

      Who was it? His gut roiled and he felt vulnerable, defenseless. His gun was in the boat.

      The nearing craft moved at a rapid clip, coming up on him fast. There was no way he could get into his boat, get to his gun before the intruder was upon him, but he had to try.

      He swam to the ladder, pulled himself up on his boat, and he was just yanking up the anchor when the headlights from the oncoming vessel caught him dead on. Now he knew how deer felt.

      His soaking-wet underwear clung to his thighs. Water rolled off his body. He couldn’t see against the glare, had no idea how many people were in the boat. He was an open target. He raised an arm to shield his eyes.

      The engine of the other boat died.

      “You there!” a tart, sharp female voice hollered. “Stop whatever you’re doing. I have a gun and I won’t hesitate to use it.”

      JACKIE WAS LYING about the gun, but she hoped the nearly naked guy poised on the back of his boat with his arm, shielding his eyes would buy her bluff. Instead of a weapon, she held a spotlight clutched tightly in her hand.

      He turned directly into her spotlight, raised both arms over his head. “Don’t shoot.”

      That’s when she saw that it was Scott Everly.

      The anger that had sent her running from her apartment to the boat docks and propelled her here as fast as she could drive, flared high and hot.

      “You!” she spat. “I should have known. Who sent you?”

      “Put away the gun,” he said, his voice calm but steely.

      “Who are you working for?” she demanded. “My father?”

      “I’m going to put my arms down now.” He started to lower his arms.

      “Keep your hands up!” she barked.

      Slowly, he raised his arms back up, squinted against the glare of the light. “Is that you, Jackie Birch?”

      She didn’t know what to do. She moistened her lips, hesitated.

      It was all the time he needed. He dropped to the floor of his boat.

      Startled, she moved the light to track him, but when her beam caught him again, he was back on his feet, a real gun in his hand.

      Pointed straight at her.

      She immediately switched off the light. It was her turn to dive to the floor of her boat.

      “You don’t have a gun, do you?” he taunted. “You’re all bluster.”

      Crap! How was she going to get out of this? From her spot on the bottom of the boat, she eyed the keys dangling in the ignition. If she stood up, she’d be in his line of direct fire, but maybe she could ease over, start the engine and—

      “It’s over, Birch,” he said. “Give it up.”

      What the hell was he talking about? Give what up? He was the one stealing her equipment.

      Anger warred with fear. She wanted to confront him, demand to know who he was and what he was doing, but he had a gun. She had no idea what he was capable of. Gone was the affable guy she’d met that morning. In his place was a man hard-core enough to pull a gun on an unarmed woman.

       You started it. You told him that you had a gun.

      And she was going to end it.

      She scooted on her butt until she was close enough to reach the keys, never mind the Astro Turf on the floor of the boat burning her thighs. She heard the sound of heavy footsteps but didn’t dare look up. She had to get out of here before he tried to board her boat.

      With one hand she started the engine. With the other, she slammed the boat into Reverse. The craft dizzily spun backward.

      Jackie pulled herself up onto the seat but kept her head down.

      Everly uttered a curse and a split second later the sound of his boat engine churned the night air.

      Heart pounding in her throat, she goosed the accelerator and took off down the channel. She would have preferred the ocean as an escape route but she would have had to go past him in order to get there. Clearly, he would have no compunction about ramming her boat or shooting her for that matter.

      Who was he and what did he want? He couldn’t simply be a competing researcher. Not even her father’s assistants would take things this far.

      What if he was a smuggler and she’d accidentally staked a claim near his port of operation? She’d heard colorful stories about drug smugglers, had dismissed them as urban legends. Now she wished she had not been so cavalier.

      Boone had told her that her single-mindedness would get her into trouble one day. She should have listened. Wistfully, she wondered if she’d ever see her brother again. She didn’t know him well, but he was the only sibling she had, the only connection to her mother.

      She pushed down on the throttle, running her skiff full-out, but the bigger pursuit boat was gaining on her. The moon had started to rise, blazing a silver light over the water. Speed-generated wind blew her hair out behind her, whipping over her ears.

      His engine revved, whining high and hot. In the rearview mirror she saw him move to the left. He was going to overtake her.