She'd never not been in control when it came to selecting with whom she slept. Plus, she never got involved with a man she thought might tread on her heart—basically, any man she liked too much. That made things way too sticky.
Concealing her thoughts behind a blank expression, she watched him stride across the stream to mount his ATV. Given the gleam in his eyes as he sprayed through the shallows, all he was thinking about right now was beating everyone else in their group to the finish line.
Juliet swung onto the seat of her own vehicle. When it started up without so much as a sputter, she knew they were definitely going to win this race.
* * *
"Hey, I got your note, brother."
Jeremiah wrested his gaze from the musician fingering the keyboard in the corner of the bar and acknowledged Tristan's arrival. He had left him a note, asking Tristan to meet him in the Lizard Lounge as soon as he returned.
"What's up?" Tristan asked, straddling the stool next to him.
"I want to show you something." Jeremiah cracked open the lightweight laptop he had brought with him and angled it for Tristan to see.
"More research?" Tristan leaned toward the screen to scan the document. "This is a rap sheet," he realized. "Who is Aiden Lawlor?"
Jeremiah hushed him. "The band member on the keyboard," he murmured, tipping his head in the man's direction.
Tristan glanced casually in the Irishman's direction. "Where'd you get this information?"
"Hack," Jeremiah answered, identifying the IT genius in their platoon by his nickname.
Scanning the rap sheet a second time, Tristan gave a low whistle. "You think he's responsible for the hits you got?"
Jeremiah queried his intuition. "I don't know," he admitted. "Just because he has prior connections to the IRA doesn't mean he's plotting something on the ship. Could be he just couldn't get a job in his country of origin." Sensing the bartender's approach, he closed his laptop and looked up.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asked.
As he left with Tristan's order, Jeremiah glimpsed a face in the mirror at the back of the bar that didn't belong there. Sammy Albright stood in the corridor, hiding behind a potted plant, spying on him.
The notes rippling off the keyboard drew his gaze to the musician as he improvised a riff from a Miles Davis jazz piece.
"He sure is good," Tristan commented.
"Versatile," Jeremiah agreed. The man played disco and jazz with equal competence. But versatility implied intelligence, and smart people weren't always content to play for the amusement of others. He might well have a personal agenda—one that involved wreaking havoc on a cruise ship.
Tristan looked away from the band. "Had any more hits lately?" he asked, searching Jeremiah's face.
Jeremiah shook his head. "Nope."
"Good, good." Tristan said, visibly relieved. "Hey, I heard you saved Emma's kid from drowning today."
Jeremiah glanced back at the mirror. Sammy was still watching him. He shrugged, wondering if his being on the tubing expedition instead of riding ATVs had been providential. What if that was the reason his and Emma's paths had crossed again—so he could save her daughter's life, not win her back? If so, then his purpose was fulfilled—even if he didn't feel like it was.
"How about you?" he asked. "Have fun riding ATVs?"
"Hell, yeah. We beat everyone else by taking a shortcut through the jungle. Breaking the course record won us a free beer. But someone reported us cheating, and then we had to pay for everyone's drinks, instead."
Jeremiah chuckled. "Good thing you're independently wealthy."
"Here you are." The bartender set a bottle of Foster's beer in front of Tristan.
He chugged half of it before setting it down with a belch. "So what's the plan with the musician?" he asked, glancing at him briefly.
"We need to befriend him," Jeremiah answered. "He's off at twenty hundred hours. I was thinking we could—" He broke off in mid-sentence as he saw Sammy's reflection striding
Concealing her thoughts behind a blank expression, she watched him stride across the stream to mount his ATV. Given the gleam in his eyes as he sprayed through the shallows, all he was thinking about right now was beating everyone else in their group to the finish line.
Juliet swung onto the seat of her own vehicle. When it started up without so much as a sputter, she knew they were definitely going to win this race.
* * *
"Hey, I got your note, brother."
Jeremiah wrested his gaze from the musician fingering the keyboard in the corner of the bar and acknowledged Tristan's arrival. He had left him a note, asking Tristan to meet him in the Lizard Lounge as soon as he returned.
"What's up?" Tristan asked, straddling the stool next to him.
"I want to show you something." Jeremiah cracked open the lightweight laptop he had brought with him and angled it for Tristan to see.
"More research?" Tristan leaned toward the screen to scan the document. "This is a rap sheet," he realized. "Who is Aiden Lawlor?"
Jeremiah hushed him. "The band member on the keyboard," he murmured, tipping his head in the man's direction.
Tristan glanced casually in the Irishman's direction. "Where'd you get this information?"
"Hack," Jeremiah answered, identifying the IT genius in their platoon by his nickname.
Scanning the rap sheet a second time, Tristan gave a low whistle. "You think he's responsible for the hits you got?"
Jeremiah queried his intuition. "I don't know," he admitted. "Just because he has prior connections to the IRA doesn't mean he's plotting something on the ship. Could be he just couldn't get a job in his country of origin." Sensing the bartender's approach, he closed his laptop and looked up.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asked.
As he left with Tristan's order, Jeremiah glimpsed a face in the mirror at the back of the bar that didn't belong there. Sammy Albright stood in the corridor, hiding behind a potted plant, spying on him.
The notes rippling off the keyboard drew his gaze to the musician as he improvised a riff from a Miles Davis jazz piece.
"He sure is good," Tristan commented.
"Versatile," Jeremiah agreed. The man played disco and jazz with equal competence. But versatility implied intelligence, and smart people weren't always content to play for the amusement of others. He might well have a personal agenda—one that involved wreaking havoc on a cruise ship.
Tristan looked away from the band. "Had any more hits lately?" he asked, searching Jeremiah's face.
Jeremiah shook his head. "Nope."
"Good, good." Tristan said, visibly relieved. "Hey, I heard you saved Emma's kid from drowning today."
Jeremiah glanced back at the mirror. Sammy was still watching him. He shrugged, wondering if his being on the tubing expedition instead of riding ATVs had been providential. What if that was the reason his and Emma's paths had crossed again—so he could save her daughter's life, not win her back? If so, then his purpose was fulfilled—even if he didn't feel like it was.
"How about you?" he asked. "Have fun riding ATVs?"
"Hell, yeah. We beat everyone else by taking a shortcut through the jungle. Breaking the course record won us a free beer. But someone reported us cheating, and then we had to pay for everyone's drinks, instead."
Jeremiah chuckled. "Good thing you're independently wealthy."
"Here you are." The bartender set a bottle of Foster's beer in front of Tristan.
He chugged half of it before setting it down with a belch. "So what's the plan with the musician?" he asked, glancing at him briefly.
"We need to befriend him," Jeremiah answered. "He's off at twenty hundred hours. I was thinking we could—" He broke off in mid-sentence as he saw Sammy's reflection striding
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