Instinct by Nick Oldham Page A

reduce the relentless glare of the African sun in his eyes, squinted and did a dreamy double-take just to make sure. But there was no doubt about it, even from this distance. The young woman was something special.
    Flynn was in the cockpit of the sportfishing boat Faye2 , carefully manoeuvring her backwards into the tight mooring space alongside Ray Boone’s boat, Shell , when the woman appeared on the shaky wooden quayside, walking from the direction of Boone’s houseboat tethered in the next creek. Just for a moment Flynn lost concentration and almost scraped Boone’s older boat, a mistake that would have left him more red-faced than he already was. Flynn was proud of the way he handled boats.
    Boone himself emerged from the galley and glanced sideways at Flynn as he passed him at the wheel. Boone winked smugly and said, ‘Spotted her, huh?’ and continued out on to the rear deck. Flynn’s eyebrows arched. He reversed the last few inches into position and Boone stepped ashore with the mooring ropes, looping them over two wooden stanchions. He then walked towards the beautiful woman, said a couple of words into her ear and embraced her gently. Her face widened into a wonderful smile, and she then gazed lovingly at the old hound dog that was Ray Boone. She said something softly to him, her green eyes sparkling shyly.
    Flynn killed Faye2 ’sVolvo engines and the boat he’d come to love over the past eighteen months became silent, rocking gently in the river current. He slid off the pilot’s seat, walked out on to the deck and rolled the narrow gangplank across to the quayside. He then stood there with his hands on his hips waiting for Boone to tear his attention away from this stunning woman and remember he had a guest to attend to.
    Finally Boone looked at Flynn, a broad, proud smile across his weather-ravaged features, an expression that knocked about ten years off his grizzled face.
    â€˜Hey, pal – permission to come ashore,’ he called, and gestured to Flynn.
    Flynn shot across eagerly to meet Boone’s lady, the one he’d had an earful about over the last six hours. He had started to believe she was actually either a figment of Boone’s tropical-sunshine-addled imagination or something far worse – a wizened old hag who Flynn would have to pretend was as beautiful as described.
    But no. Boone, the old time crim, had come up trumps and was not fantasizing, as evidenced by the slender female who now stood alongside him with one arm draped intimately around the older man’s thickening waist.
    Boone beamed and announced, ‘Flynn – meet Michelle, love of my sordid life and saviour of my soul, after whom my boat is named and who is also a great sportfisher and sailor.’
    Flynn’s right hand extended and she shook it with a soft hand of her own, blessing Flynn with a magical welcoming smile that gripped his heart then slam-dunked it right down through the hoop.
    â€˜Welcome to the Gambia, Steve,’ she said in a lilting West African accent, the words almost singing from her lips. ‘Boone has told me all about you. He called you a complete bastard,’ she said innocently. Boone’s crooked smile stayed firm as Flynn gave him a sardonic glance. ‘But,’ she laughed and added, ‘as honest as the day, fair and firm. At least that’s what he wanted me to say.’
    Flynn chuckled. ‘He’s been too generous in his praise.’
    Michelle extracted her long fingers from Flynn’s over-tight grip and said, ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’
    â€˜Likewise,’ Flynn said. ‘Ray’s told me all about you – but being a man who can’t string too many words together, he has completely and inadequately failed to describe how lovely you are.’
    â€˜Thank you.’ Michelle lowered her eyes demurely at the compliment and looked slightly discomfited by it. Flynn also felt a bit awkward. He