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he’d make sure she remained in Miami when his boat headed back out to sea, probably on tomorrow morning’s tide. But he was somehow reluctant to abandon her.
    She had very likely been on the same yacht with Lisa; she had gone through much the same thing as Lisa; she was a link to Lisa. And that was all there was to it, he firmly told himself, and it accounted for his feeling that he couldn’t abandon her.
    She turned her head suddenly to look at him, green eyes vivid but shuttered against the creamy pale complexion of a true redhead, and he knew he was lying to himself. He wanted Robin, and that had nothing to do with Lisa. This was inside himself, a heavy ache that intensified with every passing hour. And he didn’t know how long he would be able to ignore it.
    “How long have you been there?” she asked, sounding rattled.
    “Just got here.” He stepped inside to take the wheel, consciously trying to avoid touching her—and in consequence touching her all too firmly. She moved a bit awkwardly to get hastily past him, and he heard a muttered “dammit” as she passed with her head bent.
    She felt it too, he realized, and that understanding made it more difficult than ever for him to control his desire.
    Michael took the wheel and said suddenly, “Look, Robin, this isn’t just a fun game you seem willing to play, and if you’re with me, you’re as much a target as I am. If Sutton gets one look at me, we’re both probably dead.”
    Robin ignored that. She had taken in his change of clothing, noting the faded jeans and the T-shirt he now wore under his windbreaker. With forced calm she said, “If we’re going ashore in Miami, I haven’t any shoes.”
    He hesitated, then shrugged with a resigned sigh. “Go below and look in the locker by the cabin door. I think Lisa left a pair of runningshoes and a windbreaker the last time she was aboard during her school vacation.”
    Robin escaped, thankful on two counts: that he wasn’t, apparently, going to order her to stay aboard once they were in the marina, and that she’d managed to utter a coherent sentence while her heart was still pounding from an unexpected and somewhat shocking physical reaction to him.
    She stood out on deck for a few moments to allow the breeze to cool her hot cheeks, urging herself to overcome this idiotic obsession with strong men before it destroyed her. Then she squared her shoulders and went below, emerging a little while later wearing a black windbreaker and running shoes.
    As she returned to the bridge, she spoke instantly, reluctant to allow any silence in which to think idiotic thoughts. “Did you say there was someone you needed to see in the city?”
    Michael didn’t look at her, but he nodded. “I’ve changed my mind about who, though,” he told her. “If Sutton’s still playing high-stakespoker, I know someone who just might have played against him.”
    “How could that help us?”
    “The name of Sutton’s yacht, if we’re lucky.”
    Robin frowned, trying to think. “But if you have contacts with any law enforcement officials, they could get the name of the yacht.” Then, before he could respond, she added, “Oh—no police. Right?”
    “Partly right. No police. But anyway, it’s doubtful Sutton registered the yacht in his own name. Extremely doubtful. Chances are, the police have no idea it’s his. Sutton’s a wanted man, and he wouldn’t take a risk that stupid.”
    “So the police couldn’t help. But how would this friend of yours know the yacht’s name?”
    Michael smiled slightly. “If I know Dane, he probably lost the yacht to Sutton in a poker game.”
    Robin blinked. “Really? I thought things like that only happened in the movies.”
    “With Dane, things like that happen every Saturday night. It’s not always yachts, of course.”He looked reflective. “I haven’t seen him in a couple of years. The count must be up to three or four by now.”
    “What are we counting?”
    “Fortunes.