Death Echo

know her even without her ponytail and Mustang gear. His dark eyes had gone blank the instant she asked how long he’d owned Blackbird.
    He enjoyed her crop top, but it didn’t affect his IQ. A hard man in every way that counted.
    Time for Plan B: Honesty.
    Yeah. Right.
    â€œSo much for light conversation,” she said clearly. “I’m Emma Cross and I’ve got a qualified buyer for Blackbird .”
    â€œShe’s not mine,” he said without looking up from the diesel nozzle. “I’m just delivering her.”
    â€œSo the owner is in Seattle.”
    Mac didn’t answer.
    â€œNews flash,” Emma said crisply. “Being rude will just make me more pushy. I have a job to do and I’m going to do it, with or without your charming help.”
    Mac almost smiled. “Charming, huh?”
    â€œYeah. Bet no one has ever accused you of that.”
    This time Mac did smile. “No bet.”
    Emma almost stepped back. The difference between this man with and without a smile was enough to make a woman think about doing whatever it took to keep the smile in place.
    â€œWow. You should try smiling more often, Mr. Whoever.”
    He shook his head and decided he was going to find out just what kind of trouble this woman was. Give her enough rope and she might just tie herself up.
    Now that was an intriguing thought. “MacKenzie Durand,” he said. “If you want me to answer, call me Mac.”
    â€œOne hundred!” called out the dockhand.
    Mac loosened his grip on the nozzle, replaced the tank cover, and walked around the stern to the tank on the other side. The dockhand leaped forward to feed more hose aboard.
    Emma looked at the thick hose, stepped behind the dockhand, lifted a few coils to help, and almost staggered.
    Heavy. Who knew yachting was hard work?
    Silently she revised her estimate of the captain’s physical strength. He was handling the stuff like it was garden hose. That rangy frame of his was deceptive.
    â€œHey, no need to get that cool top dirty,” the dockhand said. “I can handle it.”
    â€œThat’s what washing machines are for,” Emma said. “Do you do this all day?”
    â€œEvery day. The other dockhand quit. But I’m making a lot of money toward my degree.”
    â€œIn what?”
    â€œEngineering.”
    â€œThat’s a lot of hose hauling,” Emma said.
    â€œBeats waiting tables. I love being outside with boats.”
    â€œReady,” Mac called from the other side of the yacht.
    â€œComing on,” the dockhand said as she flipped a lever on one of the pumps. The dial began to spin, fast.
    Another smaller yacht nosed in behind Blackbird. The dockhand went quickly to catch the lines.
    Emma watched the dial on the fuel pump for a time. She was just reaching for the shutoff lever when the dockhand appeared,turned off the pump, and went back to feeding hose to the second boat.
    â€œOne hundred,” Emma called to Mac.
    Moments later he appeared with the nozzle and heavy hose trailing. “New job?” he asked Emma.
    The dockhand teleported into place, took the nozzle, then began dragging hose back and coiling it out of the way.
    â€œJust a helping hand,” Emma said. “Poor kid has her work cut out for her.” She rubbed her hands on her jeans. “Permission to come aboard?”
    â€œI’m on a short clock, but I can spare a few minutes.” He called out to the dockhand. “Go ahead and take care of the other boat. I can wait for the fuel ticket.”
    She waved and looked grateful. The other customers were fishermen, eager to get out on the water.
    Short clock.
    Emma noted the military phrase as she headed for the stern of the boat. She grabbed the yacht’s stainless-steel rail, felt the grainy residue of salt spray, and lowered herself to the swim step. Her weight was nothing compared to that of Blackbird; the boat didn’t bounce or jerk as it accepted her.
    Yet she sensed immediately the difference between dock and deck. Blackbird was alive with subtle motion.
    Years peeled away and she was ten again, fishing with her father on the Great Lakes. She shook it off and concentrated on the mission.
    â€œYou aren’t staying in the marina?” she asked Mac.
    He’d already decided to tell her the truth, because she could easily find it out anyway. Nothing like appearing helpful to catch someone off guard.
    â€œI’m a