Code Name: Blondie. Christina Skye

we need to ration?”

      “We should have enough, but don’t overdo it.”

      She took the canteen and splashed a little on her hand, then rubbed her face. “I’m sticky from seawater. What I wouldn’t give to clean up.”

      “Afraid I don’t have bath facilities.”

      She squirmed uneasily. “But you must have—I mean, what about the necessities?”

      Max pointed over his shoulder. “When you need to go, you find a quiet spot and do what you have to do. But be sure to bury everything. This is a fragile ecosystem,” he added, pretty sure that this would register.

      “Of course.” She turned and stared pointedly up the steps. “At least I can go back to the waterfall and wash my face. Unless you’re going to lock in me again.”

      “One, I didn’t lock you in. The door was always un-secured. Two, I left the dog so you wouldn’t wander out in the dark and hurt yourself. When I called him off, you went straight out and did just that.”

      For the second time, her eyes said yeah, right. “Well, it’s not dark now, so how about opening that door? I want to get some fresh air and clean up.”

      There was an answer to her question. Max just couldn’t think of it right that second. He could strong-arm her into staying. He could probably frighten her badly. On the other hand, what if she really was an innocent bystander having one nightmare day? Hell, she didn’t look or act like a trained professional. Her blond hair was matted from seawater, she had mascara clotted under her eyes and her legs were scratched up. Max had dumped her sweater outside, some kind of short, clingy thing that barely covered her arms, much less her chest. Now he noticed that stray white hairs covered her Hawaiian shirt.

      He plucked off one of the strands and held it up. “You’re shedding.”

      “It’s from my shrug.”

      “Beg your pardon?”

      “Shrug. A short sweater…the new, new thing.” Her voice was ironic. “Actually, it was my own design. I knitted it between shoots back in Tahiti. Or was it the Marianas? After a while, all beaches start to look alike. Did you find it?”

      “Back on the beach.”

      She seemed relieved, smiling suddenly. The curve of her mouth fascinated him so much he almost didn’t hear her next question.

      “Why the leather gloves?”

      “Chemical sensitivities.”

      Miki frowned, then broke into a hacking cough. “Great. Seawater in the lungs. I think I swallowed some really nasty algae, too.”

      He thumped her hard on the back. “Dulse and sea plants are an excellent source of nutrients. The iodine and mineral salts are invaluable.”

      She stared at him. “Don’t tell me you’re a nutritionist along with knowing field medicine. That’s pretty impressive.”

      Max noticed that she didn’t bat her eyes when she said it. No simpering, either. He needed to decide if she was very innocent—or very clever, carefully trained by Cruz. He had a feeling that either way this woman was going to be big trouble.

      Since he couldn’t give her a good reason to stay underground and out of sight, he decided stalling was the best tactic. Fingering the white piece of thread, he sat down on the steps leading outside. “What do you call this stuff?”

      “Angora. As in rabbits and goats.”

      “And you used it for that…sweater thing you were wearing. How?”

      She stared at him, looking impatient. “I knitted it. Two sticks, one string. You may have heard of it,” she said dryly.

      “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone actually do it.” Max rubbed the back of his neck. “How long does something like that take?”

      “Three or four days, more or less. It depends on how complicated the stitch is and what needle size you’re using.” She put her hands on her hips. “You don’t have the slightest interest in knitting. You’re just trying to keep me in here. Why?” she demanded flatly.

      Max didn’t move. “Actually, I am interested. How does it work?”

      She stalked across the small space, angry and determined like a storm that couldn’t be contained. “Enough of the inquisition, buster. Let me out of here now or I’ll do something you don’t like. And trust me, whatever it is, it will be really loud.”

      CHAPTER SIX

      “HOW ABOUT YOU RELAX?”

      “I can’t relax. I’ve been in a plane wreck, nearly drowned, and now I’m incarcerated with a crazy person. Also, I’ve got to tell you that glove thing of yours is too weird. I don’t buy that sensitivity story, either. You know what I think?”

      Max watched her, fascinated by the color pulsing through her cheeks and the anger in her eyes. Was she always so intense? “No, I can’t even imagine.”

      “I think you’re a criminal who came here to hide out. Probably you’re the kind who uses his brains more than brawn. Maybe you’re a high-tech thief, someone who masterminds money laundering. Not the chump change kind either, but a business that’s huge and far-flung and multinational. Out here you think no one can catch you.”

      “You’ve got quite an imagination.” Max watched, fascinated by her energy as she ran into a crate, stubbed her toe and hopped around awkwardly. “You may want to cool down before you hurt yourself.”

      “That’s very funny. You couldn’t care less about me. First you lock me up here in this…this awful cavelike place while you—”

      She stopped as Max stood up and calmly pushed open the small metal door, revealing a perfect turquoise sky.

      “Go on.”

      She stayed where she was, her face uncertain. “Right now?”

      “Right now.”

      Wind ruffled her hair. “Up there? You won’t stop me, or send that big dog of yours after me?”

      Max reined in his impatience. It was a calculated risk to let her out, but risky moves could yield the best results. He figured she would need to find temporary bathroom facilities soon anyway. “You’ve got four minutes. There’s a place inland with some hibiscus plants to give you privacy. When you’re done, you can scrub your face with sand and a little water from the stream there. Don’t dawdle.”

      She looked at the canteen he was holding out. “You want me to wash with sand?” She caught a shaky breath. “I guess I shouldn’t be complaining. I could be dead right now, half-eaten by fish. What’s a little sand in comparison to that?” She took his canteen of water. “So I have four minutes?”

      Max nodded. Following her moods was like trying to catch minnows in turbid water. One minute she complained, the next she was logical and full of apologies. He moved aside, slanting her a warning look. “Remember the time. It’s important.”

      “So you keep saying.” She raised the canteen against her chest, climbing past him up the stairs, but her bare foot hit an uneven plank and she fell sideways.

      Max caught her quickly, his gloved hand circling her waist. Her hair brushed his face and her body slammed against him, surprising them both by the contact. Beneath the damp clothes her skin radiated a subtle but distinct heat, which he felt through the leather of his gloves. He put her down as soon as he could, dropping his arm and trying not to remember how warm she had felt.

      A sudden wind filled the small space, ruffling her hair. She cleared her throat and pulled away. “That was clumsy of me.”

      “No problem.” Max put more space between them. “No more perfume because it bothers my dog. And no noise.” When Max followed her outside, little