Death Echo

dock fingers until they reached Blackbird . When the wind had begun to ease shortly after eight this morning, they had divided chores and gone different ways. She had picked up some quick supplies while he went to the chandlery on some mysterious captain’s errand.
    Emma waited until she was certain they were alone before she asked, “Your cart looks like a fishing line factory threw up.”
    Mac looked at the pale green, unruly mound of plastic netting that was trying to crawl out of his dock cart. “Close.”
    â€œAnyone we know get hurt?” she asked drily.
    â€œSo far so good.”
    â€œMac, what the hell is in your cart?”
    â€œPlan B,” he said. “Or maybe I just missed my yowie suit.”
    â€œYour what?”
    â€œYou probably know it as a ghillie suit,” Mac said.
    Emma wondered what a sniper’s camouflage outfit had to do with the mess in Mac’s cart.
    â€œPartner,” she said, “you should know that I make chowder out of clams.”
    â€œMmmm, clam chowder” was all he said.
    She ignored him and concentrated on loading supplies aboard Blackbird. She kept on pretending he didn’t exist until he reappeared in the cabin after stowing the explosion of net in one of the yacht’s many lockers. He took a last bite of something that smelled like a septic tank, then stuffed greasy fast food wrappers into the trash.
    Buzzers told Emma that he was getting ready to fire up the big diesels. One engine turned over and began to purr. The second followed. The muscular throb of power vibrated through her in a wave of sensation she could get addicted to.
    â€œWant anything more to eat than whatever it was you stuffed in here?” she asked, opening the trash drawer.
    â€œYou.”
    â€œYou had me last night, and then some. Dawn was…a whole new experience.”
    â€œSame here. A woman like you gives a man a real appetite.”
    â€œFor grease?” she asked, dangling a food wrapper between two fingers.
    â€œFor more. And then more.”
    Emma dropped the greasy paper and looked into Mac’s dark eyes. She knew that honesty was dangerous.
    She pulled the trigger anyway. “You’re the only civilian I’ve ever been in bed with who knew what I was and what I was doing,” she said. “No lies, no games. Truly naked. Incredible.”
    â€œLike sex without a party hat.”
    She laughed briefly, almost sadly. “Never done that.”
    â€œNeither have I.”
    Silence stretched, a sensual tension that was as tempting as it was hazardous. They didn’t have time for what both of them wanted to try.
    Dangerous sex.
    She forced herself to turn away and check the engine temperatures. “Getting warm down there.”
    Mac blinked. “You didn’t just say that.”
    â€œSay what?” she asked absently, wondering why one engine warmed up a bit more quickly than the other.
    He tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t involve getting naked. A cell phone rang, saving him from having to think.
    â€œMine,” she said, patting the pockets of her cargo pants.
    â€œYours,” he agreed huskily.
    â€œGood morning, St. Kilda,” she said into the phone.
    â€œWhat’s happening?” Faroe demanded.
    â€œThe wind is down to fourteen knots and supposed to continue dropping to five. Or ten, depending on your weather guesser.”
    â€œAnything new?”
    Emma doubted that Faroe wanted a roundup of who did what and with which and to whom last night. Much less how many times.
    â€œWe’re leaving Discovery Harbor,” she said. “Other than that, nothing new.”
    Faroe cursed. “Wish they’d pull their finger out and get on with it. Our clock isn’t getting any longer.”
    â€œWe’re aware of that.”
    And she wished she wasn’t. Wished she was Jill Normal getting up with Jack Normal for some Normal daily life.
    No such luck. “We found out through back channels that Temuri crossed into Canada at Blaine, Washington,” Faroe said. “They lost him. Haven’t found him yet.”
    â€œThat you know of,” Emma said crisply.
    â€œI hear you five by five, but Alara is the only card in our hole right now.”
    â€œNow that’s a visual.”
    Faroe ignored her. “Our system didn’t detect any calls to you or Mac last night,” he said.
    â€œCorrect.”
    â€œChatty, aren’t