She shrugged as if it didn't matter. "You were there."

Ava had recognized him right away, as if her eyes couldn't see anything else but him. Her world was reborn and shattered in an instant. She left immediately.

Her hand drifted along her stomach, soothing her. There was a brief time she was happy. Before Brock's "death" and after. But it was short-lived both times.

"Why is French calling the shots now?" Brock asked, steering the conversation.

"He left right after the attack and contacted me a month later. He's determined to find the attackers and has been able to hack into top-secret networks. I've been helping him through the CID, but only when I'm not knee-deep in an investigation. At first, we worked well together. He'd give me a lead, and I'd check it out. But in the last couple of years, he's changed. He's growing bitter and hateful. We no longer trust each other, but we have no one else to turn to. I think it's become personal for him, but I'm not sure. Why else would he continue?"

"Why do you continue?"

"There are still raids and thefts, but not at the same frequency. Lately, I've been second-guessing myself, wondering if it hasn't been French the whole time and I've been running in circles helping him."

Brock was silent. He looked at the navigation map and then out to the water.

Ava didn't have more to say. He now knew what she knew. How he intended to act on that information was his business. She was done. Whatever lay in front of them, she would deal with, but then she was done-no matter the outcome. She had wasted enough of her life. It was time to start over.

"It's all been about weapons," Brock muttered. "If it's been French this entire time, then he's sending us into a trap. Two birds with one stone."

Alarm filled Ava as she remembered French's words. Didn't he say the same thing?

"Does he normally send you out without a sc.r.a.p of information?"

"Sometimes he doesn't know anything himself. It's normal for him to give me a coordinate and nothing else. I usually poke around undercover, but out on the ocean, we don't have any way to do that. And he's never told me to take anyone else."

"I'm the exception."

"You're the transfer," Ava said, wanting to backpedal as Brock's stormy glare pinned her.

"What do you normally transfer?" he finally asked when he ripped his gaze away, settling back to the water.

"There have been a few times when we've been able to intercept transfers. I've been able to buy the intel for the next hit. But the seller still eludes me."

"How can you buy something without the seller?"

"These guys are third-party thugs and are just the face. It's all done electronically through a secured network. French says he hasn't been able to hack into it yet."

"Do you believe him?"

"I did at first, but now I'm not sure." She flexed her hand. "I'd really like to punch him, actually."

Brock's lip twitched. Did he almost smile? Warmth invaded her belly, but she pushed the feeling away.

"If I'm being traded like currency, then something has changed," Brock said. "Last time I checked, I was flesh and blood, not electronic funds."

"Many things have changed," she said absently. "But if anything happens, I'll find you."

"And I'll find you."

"Will you?" she questioned.

He cleared his throat, evacuating the chair. "I think I'll check . . ."

Brock never finished his sentence. The door snapped shut behind him, leaving Ava alone.

Remy fled. His legs couldn't carry him fast enough, and the boat sure as h.e.l.l wasn't large enough. He held onto the railing at the aft, away from Ava's view. The water churned below him, the motor loud and ripe with fumes. He immediately became lightheaded but didn't care. He was much better out here than in the cabin with Ava.

Ava was CID! Why didn't she just tell him? But he knew the answer. Remy wouldn't have listened. Once his mind was made up, it took a ma.s.sive force to change it. He hated that about himself. He had plenty of faults and would readily admit to them, but his stubbornness was his crux.

His mind floundered with the new information as he tried to come to terms with it. Everything he thought he knew was wrong. All of these years, wasted. And still he was no closer; still, he had no answers.

Except one, and probably the most important. Ava was innocent. It could all still be a lie, but Remy saw in Ava what he felt in himself.

Whether it was from Ava's revelation or the way the boat shifted like a fun house underneath him, Remy needed to lie down. Since Ava was in the wheelhouse, he decided to take refuge below deck where there were hopefully no fumes and no soft brown eyes to observe him at his weakest.

Descending into the dark lower deck, his shoulders brushed the walls on both sides. He felt along the wall, searching for a light switch. Didn't this bucket have portholes? He eventually gave up and used the flashlight on his phone.

The light illuminated the cramped area. A small kitchen area with a tiny table sat in front of him. He couldn't see how anyone could cook in this s.p.a.ce, but it was apparent that someone did since the counters and cupboards were well-worn.

On the opposite side were two open doors. He crossed over to the first door to find a bathroom only slightly bigger than a hall closet. He doubted he'd even fit in there. He sure as h.e.l.l wasn't going to try. He prayed he wouldn't have to. Continuing to the second door, he ducked inside to the bedroom. It was big enough to fit a double-sized bed, but not much else. The worn blue sheets were rumpled from Ava.

Something stirred in him, but he ignored it. There were too many things whirling inside him to know what any of them meant.

With the light, he scanned the room until it glinted on metal. He wedged farther in, inching his way to the object.

You've got to be kidding me!

Remy picked up the antiquated six-shooter from the nightstand and inspected it. No wonder Ava came at him with a knife earlier. She was CID and all she came with was this thing? He set it back on the stand and dropped onto the lumpy bed.

For several minutes, he tried to shove all thoughts out of his head and breathe, giving his body a chance to regroup. But being in a bed vacated by Ava only hours before wasn't helping. In fact, it was derailing his entire mind. Instead of sour memories, he remembered the rest, filling his head with Ava's inquisitive eyes, her soft skin, her boots that always looked so big on her, and the little sausage toes that dwelled in them. She hated her toes, but Remy, never having thought much about toes one way or the other, thought they were perfect. Now her fingers . . . those were magic.

Having not slept the night before, Remy drifted to sleep with Ava at the helm, steering his dreams.

After an hour of sitting, zoning out at the seemingly unmoving water's edge while her mind sped out of control, Ava stood with a well-needed stretch. She expected to see Brock by now. There weren't too many places to go on the boat. And a person could only sit outside for so long with the sun and wind, chapping the skin and dehydrating the body.

Slowing the boat, Ava decided to look for him. It was nearing lunchtime anyway, and she hadn't even had breakfast, which was a rarity. Her body loudly protested missed meals.

She knew he wasn't at the bow; she would've had something much more interesting than water to stare at if he had been. Ava peered at the back and couldn't see him there, either. He must be below deck, she surmised. Bringing the boat to a near stop, she headed down the short steps and flipped on the lights. She didn't have to call Brock's name to know he was down there. His sleeping breath came from the bedroom a few feet away. Tiptoeing over, Ava peeked into the room to find Brock sprawled across the bed, hogging the entirety. Well, at least one thing about Brock didn't change. She remembered a few times sleeping on top of him because he had sucked up all the room. But he never would claim the blanket. That was always kicked off immediately.

Sleeping with Brock was an adventure in itself.

She ducked back into the galley, happy that he was resting. Knowing him, he'd wake up starving. And she'd already heard the first rumblings of her stomach.

As quietly as possible, she prepared a simple lunch. Not knowing how much time they'd spend at sea, she'd packed sandwich fixings and plenty of potato chips to keep them alive. She had wanted to bring some fruits and vegetables, but there wasn't a refrigerator and it seemed like more fuss than what she wanted to deal with. A small cooler was enough to keep the meats and cheeses from turning.

"What are you doing?"

Ava jumped at the sound of Brock's voice right next to her. How did he do that? He was sleeping soundly just a moment ago.

"I'm making sandwiches. I thought you might be hungry when you woke up."

Remy maneuvered Ava out of his way with a simple step forward. Not wanting to be caught between him and the counter, she was quick to move.

"You never put enough in the sandwiches," he said, picking up the start of her creation and adding several more layers of meat. "It's supposed to be two inches thick."

The seriousness in his voice, stating the desired sandwich thickness, had Ava pressing her lips together to keep from smiling. "I forgot."

"What else have you forgotten?" he asked softly.

The words, while they marked a challenge, also hinted at something more intimate. What would he do if she told him she forgot how his hands felt as they caressed? Or how she melted when he'd kiss the back of her knees, his tongue hinting at the spot? Did she dare tell him? Would she even want to dare?

"It's just a sandwich," she said instead, her voice a little higher than normal.

He raised his brows. "Here," he said, handing her the finished sandwich. "I can hear your stomach."

Not able to deny the loud grumblings, Ava took the offered sandwich and bit in, admitting Brock did make an excellent sandwich. "What about you?" she asked when he began putting things away.

"I'm not hungry."

"Feeling a little queasy?" she asked.

"A little, but I'll get over it. I'll head up to the wheel," he said.

"I'll go up with you."

It looked as if Brock was going to stop her, but he merely grunted instead. Well, at least that was normal. He motioned for her to go ahead of him. She took that as a good sign. Brock seemed as if he was coming around and starting to warm up to her again.

On the steps, she glanced back at him and smiled, noticing where his eyes were pointed.

Yes, he was warming up.

Chapter 9.

Remy closed his eyes. Whatever Ava-inspired dreams he'd had, had carried over into his waking thoughts. They were all of Ava. Underneath. On top. Against the wall.

G.o.d, how he loved her against the wall.

And now, he couldn't seem to keep it together. Just watching her climb the steps had him clenching his fist to keep from reaching out. And then she glanced back and smiled. She knew. The little savage knew.

Remy paused, remembering when he'd first called her that. She was frustrated then, never coming close to taking him down no matter how hard she fought. Hoping to use the element of surprise to her advantage, she waited for him outside his barracks. But he spotted her and swung around, just as she was ready to strike. Catching her wrist, he twisted it behind her, bringing him close enough feel the warmth of her exposed neck. "Little savage," he had whispered. From that day on, he called her that with an amount of affection he wasn't prepared for. And while she could never beat him with strength, she conquered every bit of his mind, soul, and heart.

And now she knew she had the power to do it all over again. And he wanted it. He wanted it all. His muddled mind had given away and now he saw Ava clearly again. Whatever scars were left were not from her. They'd heal better with her than without. If she was willing to give him another chance, then he would take it. Gladly.

But a smile meant nothing without words or actions. A smile could mean anything. He wanted more than a smile.

Now was not the time, however; not with so many uncertainties. Although, when would be a better time? He could be dead tomorrow-not that he wanted to think in those dark terms. Not being able to touch Ava when she smiled at him was its own form of death. While half of his mind whirled as to what was waiting ahead of them and possible outcomes, the other half pondered possible s.e.x positions on a boat.

It was a no-brainer then that Ava would win the battle raging in his mind. He wanted her. Now.

He followed her up on deck, thankful to leave the suffocating enclosed s.p.a.ce below. Before she could reach the door to the pilothouse, Remy caught her.

With her mouth stuffed with sandwich, she asked, "What?"

Grimacing at his school-boy impatience, he let her go. Remy had been about to pounce on Ava, but she was quite content with her meal. Maybe the smile had meant nothing. He was determined to find out either way.

However, he'd let her finish lunch first since he knew her stomach was a little savage as well. And then he'd test the water.

Ava took the last bite of the stacked sandwich and wondered if she should make another. She must be hungrier than she originally thought. And the way Brock stared at her made her wonder just how hungry he was.

Warmth pooled and spread as she shifted under his watchful gaze. He sat next to her in the cabin, his finger restlessly tapping his knee as he caressed her body with his eyes.

Ava was impatient for Brock to make a move. She had wished for this day, dreamed of this day, repeatedly reminding herself that she had a fool's heart. It would never happen, because he had moved on.

But she never could. Ava had tried, but no one had ever made her feel like Brock did. There was no replacing him or subst.i.tuting him. He was the one.

Suddenly, the chill from that realization seeped into her again, slamming the door on the warmth she had just bathed happily in. He had moved on. He no longer loved her. Brock . . . no, she had to think of him as Remy from now on. She loved Brock, but Remy was a different man who was amped up on nervous adrenaline. He only wanted her for quick and easy relief.

Ava wasn't a girl that any man could crook his finger at and she'd come running.

But for Remy?

What if this was all she had? This one last stroke of intimacy from her love's ghost. Would it be worth it? Would it sustain her or make her an even greater fool?

Needing fresh air, Ava stood and hurried to the door. Remy's arm shot out, capturing her.

"Stay," he said. "We need to talk."

"I need a few minutes on the deck."

"I'll come with you."

"No, I need to be alone," she said.

"We've both been alone long enough," Remy said. "I'm sorry for that. I wish I could change the past, but I can only apologize for it. But, so should you."

"Me?" Ava gasped. "Why should I apologize?"