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side of the boat. “Is that what you are?”
    “Apparently.” It was something she was neither proud nor ashamed of. “This is Luis—he works for me. You gave him a jolt just now.”
    “Sorry.” Jonas glanced at the slim man hovering by Liz’s side. There was sweat beading on his lip. “You knew my brother?”
    “We worked together,” Luis answered in his slow, precise English. “With the divers. Jerry, he liked best to take out the dive boat. I’ll cast off.” Giving Jonas a wide berth, Luis jumped onto the dock.
    “I seem to affect everyone the same way,” Jonas observed. “How about you?” He turned dark, direct eyes to her. Though he no longer made her think of Jerry, he unnerved her just the same. “Still want to keep me at arm’s length?”
    “We pride ourselves in being friendly to all our clients. You’ve hired the Expatriate for the day, Mr. Sharpe. Make yourself comfortable.” She gestured toward a deck chair before climbing the steps to the bridge and calling out to Luis. “TellMiguel he gets paid only if he finishes out the day.” With a final wave to Luis, she started the engine, then cruised sedately toward the open sea.
    The wind was calm, barely stirring the water. Liz could see the dark patches that meant reefs and kept the speed easy. Once they were in deeper water, she’d open it up a bit. By midday the sun would be stunningly hot. She wanted Jonas strapped in his chair and fighting two hundred pounds of fish by then.
    “You handle a wheel as smoothly as you do a customer.”
    A shadow of annoyance moved in her eyes, but she kept them straight ahead. “It’s my business. You’d be more comfortable on the deck in a chair, Mr. Sharpe.”
    “Jonas. And I’m perfectly comfortable here.” He gave her a casual study as he stood beside her. She wore a fielder’s cap over her hair with white lettering promoting her shop. On her T-shirt, the same lettering was faded from the sun and frequent washings. He wondered, idly, what she wore under it. “How long have you had this boat?”
    “Almost eight years. She’s sound.” Liz pushed the throttle forward. “The waters are warm, so you’ll find tuna, marlin, swordfish. Once we’re out you can start chumming.”
    “Chumming?”
    She sent him a quick look. So she’d been right—he didn’t know a line from a pole. “Bait the water,” she began. “I’ll keep the speed slow and you bait the water, attract the fish.”
    “Seems like taking unfair advantage. Isn’t fishing supposed to be luck and skill?”
    “For some people it’s a matter of whether they’ll eat or not.” She turned the wheel a fraction, scanning the water for unwary snorkelers. “For others, it’s a matter of another trophy for the wall.”
    “I’m not interested in trophies.”
    She shifted to face him. No, he wouldn’t be, she decided, not in trophies or in anything else without a purpose. “What are you interested in?”
    “At the moment, you.” He put his hand over hers and let off the throttle. “I’m in no hurry.”
    “You paid to fish.” She flexed her hand under his.
    “I paid for your time,” he corrected.
    He was close enough that she could see his eyes beyond the tinted lenses. They were steady, always steady, as if he knew he could afford to wait. The hand still over hers wasn’t smooth as she’d expected, but hard and worked. No, he wouldn’t play bridge, she thought again. Tennis, perhaps, or hand ball, or something else that took sweat and effort. For the first time in years she felt a quick thrill race through her—a thrill she’d been certain she was immune to. The wind tossed the hair back from her face as she studied him.
    “Then you wasted your money.”
    Her hand moved under his again. Strong, he thought, though her looks were fragile. Stubborn. He could judge that by the way the slightly pointed chin stayed up. But there was a look in her eyes that said I’ve been hurt, I won’t be hurt again. That alone was