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storage card hidden on Ostrov , all she had to do was figure out what this mysterious “crown” was. Something on the sub. Maybe even part of it. It should be close by. But good grief. She’d had no idea what a chaotic maze of confusing equipment, pipes, wires, and control panels made up the interior of a submarine. Finding the microcard would be like seeking out a particular, small seashell at the bottom of the vast ocean.
    Talk about mission impossible.
    She puffed out a breath and turned her attention back to the cozy cabin she found herself in. At least this part wouldn’t be so bad. The inside of the sub was surprisingly warm and toasty, so she’d finally stopped shivering. But she was still freezing in her wet clothes. And dripping all over the floor.
    Kicking off her heels, she removed her sopping raincoat and hung it up to dry on a hook she found on the back of the door. Thank God she wouldn’t be needing a coat anytime soon. After securing the door lock so Misha wouldn’t accidentally walk in on her when he returned with the hair dryer, she slipped off her skirt and peeled her blouse off, looking around for a clothes hanger. She opened one of the tall lockers, figuring that was what passed for a closet.
    She was right. Several dark uniforms hung neatly from the rod. Okay. That was weird. Had she taken someone’s room?
    Behind her, the door handle rattled. Damn. It must be the kvartirmyeister returning already. “Hang on, Misha,” she called, casting about for a towel, or anything to cover herself with.
    She heard a click, and the door opened. She swung around with a startled gasp. She felt her face go instantly hot. It wasn’t Misha.
    “Nikolai! How did you—?”
    The handsome captain stepped into the compartment, his large frame filling the space. “Miss Severin.” His gaze brushed over her nearly bare body, raising a whole different kind of goose bumps on top of the goose bumps she already had from the cold. He held up a key.
    She jolted out of her inertia, grabbed the first uniform jacket she touched in the locker, and jerked it in front of her body. “What are you doing here? Get out!”
    At the sound of approaching footsteps, he leaned his head backward to check who it was, then shut the door, locked it, and propped a negligent shoulder against the door frame. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see, this is my stateroom.”
    “What?”
    He tossed his large black captain’s hat, along with a small hair dryer, onto the bunk. “And this is my bunk. However”—he lifted a shoulder—“I am happy to share both with you.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up a hand. “It’s called hot-bunking. You sleep while I’m awake, and vice versa. Not together. Unless, of course . . .” This time his brow lifted.
    Her jaw dropped. Was he serious ? Suddenly his easy capitulation last night—and the stir his orders to Misha had caused earlier—made perfect sense. It was obvious what he had in mind.
    Outrage swept through her. “You’re crazy if you think I’ll— Hell , no! Give me a different cabin. Now .”
    “Stateroom,” he corrected, stepping away from the door and opening one of the cupboards above the bunk. “This is not a cruise ship.”
    “Cabin, stateroom, I don’t care what you call it. I need to be somewhere else.” Pronto. She started to shiver again.
    He pulled out a towel and handed it to her, then slid his uniform jacket from her fingers. “Well, we only have half a crew, so there are several empty racks around the boat,” he said, inspecting the jacket and brushing stray drops of water from the front of it.
    The towel was too small to cover her whole body, but she did her best. “Good. Now please leave while I—”
    “In the forward torpedo room, for instance,” he continued as though she hadn’t ordered him out, “since we’re not carrying any live ordnance on this patrol. Of course, you’d have to share the space with two of the male