On Fire by Carla Neggers Page B

died, Emile wanted someone new who’d tend the ship and leave the science to him. The Encounter was old.” She swallowed, her gaze locked straight ahead, as if she couldn’t turn her head. “The center had already commissioned a new research ship. It’s costing a fortune, but it’ll have all the latest ecological and technological advances. We’re calling it the Encounter II. ”
    “Who’s in charge of it now that Emile’s out of the picture?”
    “My father.”
    Straker took Storrow Drive along the Charles River, then cut over to the waterfront. More construction. No room for the five million other cars on the road. The center was located in a renovated nineteenth-century warehouse on its own wharf. A huge, whimsical stone fountain out front featured various marine mammals.
    “You can just drop me off on the curb,” Riley said.
    He hated the idea of dumping her and retreating. Cassain’s body had been found in Maine, and Emilehad exiled himself to Maine. But the two men’s relationship had begun here, in Boston.
    “I think you should hire me to feed the penguins or something,” he told her.
    She blanched. “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “I’m not in a position to hire you, and I don’t want you underfoot.” Now that he’d seen her in her boxers, underfoot probably sounded less threatening to her than in her hip pocket. “And you wouldn’t fit in.”
    “I’d fit in. I grew up on the ocean. I probably have more practical knowledge about the ocean than most people who work here.”
    She managed to peel one hand off her tote and place it on the door handle. “For God’s sake, Straker, you haven’t been around people in six months. Even on a good day you’re not volunteer material. Please. Just let me go to work and put this all into perspective.”
    While she talked, he formed a plan. She didn’t need to know it. It would just upset her, and she was upset enough. He said, “Okay. See you around.”
    Her brows drew together. She’d put on a little bit of makeup, but not enough to hide how pale she was. Her lips were plum. They were also well shaped. He had a feeling she didn’t have a man in her life. She made a face, obviously having no idea what he was thinking. “I don’t know if I like the idea of you running around out here by yourself.”
    He grinned. “I’m a big boy.”
    “I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about me. ”
    “Think I’d do something to embarrass you?”
    She didn’t answer. “You aren’t on this thing officially, are you?”
    “Nope. Sleeping on a futon in your apartment isn’t part of my job description.”
    “What if I promise to call you if I hear from Emile?”
    “Okay.”
    “Do you have a cell phone in this car?”
    He gave her the number.
    “Thank you.” He assumed she meant for not pressing his case about the penguins, which was a misreading of the situation on her part. “This’ll work out. I know it will. Emile’s probably just checking out puffin nests.”
    Straker gave her an hour to get settled. He parked in her spot in the garage, bought a cup of coffee from a sidewalk vendor and sat by the stone fountain. The coffee was hot and strong, and he sipped it slowly as he avoided pigeons and tried not to let his thoughts run full speed ahead of him. One thought came to him crystal clear, impossible to ignore.
    Riley St. Joe was trouble. She always had been. He had the scar on his forehead to prove it.

Four
    R iley holed up in her small, cluttered office and worked all morning. After her long weekend, she had plenty to do. She tried not to think about Emile or Straker. Emile worried her. Straker simply annoyed her. He always had. He took pleasure in it. The shock of having him roll off her couch that morning had nearly done her in. The dark stubble on his jaw, the unbuttoned shirt. He was earthy, masculine and relentless.
    Forewarned, she told herself, is forearmed. She needed to remember that nothing ever penetrated John Straker’s hard shell