Page 68 of Backtrack

“I don’t want to talk about my ex anymore,” she said.

“Fine by me.”

She stood there with him, watching the churning ocean roll by over a hundred feet below. “You think there are sharks?”

“I’m sure of it,” Steve said. “The ship grinds the excess food, then discharges it overboard. The little fish follow along waiting for that. Big fish eat little fish and bigger fish eat those fish. I’m thinking sharks view a cruise ship like we do—a well-stocked buffet.”

Joellen scrunched in close, happy to have Steve’s warmth against her arm. “You must be used to the chill, being from Minnesota.”

“Ha,” he said. “It’s mostly just my fat belly that keeps me warm.”

“Stop it,” she said. “A little dadbod never hurt anybody. You’re definitely not fat.”

Steve shrugged off his blazer. “Here,” he said.

“This looks expensive,” she said, slipping one arm and then another through the wool jacket.

“It is,” he said. “A gift from my sister. Tom Ford. Five thousand dollars, if you can believe the price tag.”

“Five thousand dollars?” She almost choked. “Get this thing off me.”

“Wear it.” He sighed. “It’s probably stolen, knowing my sis.”

“You, sir, are a mystery,” Joellen said.

“And likely to remain so,” he said.

She had no idea what he meant by that. Instead of asking, she stared down at the churning water—frothy and white alongside the ship but pitch-black farther out. It was hard to tell where water stopped and sky began. Deck 17 was one of the few areas on the ship that was a straight drop to the sea. She shivered again. “You know, this night doesn’t have to end.” She turned up her South Florida charm. Surely he could read the hint in her voice.

“Everything ends,” he said.

She shivered again, more from the scrumptious smell of his jacket than the cold. “I need to pee,” she said through gritted teeth.

“C’mon,” he said, “let’s go inside.”

“No time.” She bounced in place now. “I need to go bad. There’s a bathroom there by the stacks.” She started to give him back his jacket, but he held up a hand.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Really. I’ll just take another lap while you go. That’ll keep me warm enough.”

CHAPTER 26

Bart Preston watched the Cutter woman hustle into the darkness at the aft of the ship, probably to the restroom, judging from her frantic gait. Bart knew the feeling. His hooded sweater was way too thin to keep out the wind. He’d been out here in the cold watching her long enough he needed to take a leak as well.

He turned and leaned against the rail, listening to the footsteps coming up behind him.

“Hey!”

Bart turned, startled at the angry growl. It was the guy who’d been walking with Cutter’s old lady. Bart looked fore and aft. The evening chill had chased everyone inside. There were a couple of crew members stacking chairs on the open area around the pool below, but the whole upper deck was deserted.

At six-one and two hundred pounds, Bart Preston was no small fry, but this guy had him by two inches and at least twenty pounds. Fortunately for Bart, he owned a gym, and this guy had to be pushing fifty—twice his age. Still, the man had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt despite the chill. It was clear he meant business.

Bart stepped away from the rail. His right leg dropped back, ready to go.

“You got a problem with something?”

The big guy loomed closer and wagged his head. “Haveyougot a problem with something?”

“Do yourself a favor and move on,” Bart said. “I’m not buyin’—”