Chapter 5 – Everly

“Fuck it!” Lance kicks the control panel hard, then slams his palm against the wheel. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck!”

“Er, is there anything I can do to help?” I offer, forcing a thin smile onto my face.

We’ve been here in the cockpit—bridge? I don’t know what you call it—for nearly half an hour now, but it’s becoming pretty clear there’s something seriously wrong. And I’m not just saying that because of the foul language that’s started to fill the air. There’s also not a single noise coming from the boat’s engine, not even an attempt to start up. There are also no lights on any of the controls.

“I don’t fucking know... Do you know how to fix a million-dollar yacht? No? Didn’t fucking think so.”

“Hey! I was just trying to help!”

“Yeah, well, go do it somewhere else. The last thing I need is some know-it-all posh bitch trying to tell me what I’m doing wrong. There’s no fucking power.”

I was already annoyed by his screaming and swearing, but aiming his anger at me is definitely not okay. Without another word, I turn around and head down onto the deck.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going? We’ve got an arrangement.”

“Not anymore, we haven’t.”

I climb out onto the pier and stand there, wondering what I’m going to do. My equipment is already loaded aboard The Beachcomber, and the university has already paid for the charter up front. They won’t be happy that I stormed out of there, but there’s no way I’m going to spend another moment in that man’s company.

Looking along the pier, I decide the only thing to do is head back to my bed-and-breakfast and phone my head of department. I’ll have to beg him to make alternative arrangements if I don’t want to lose my research funding altogether, but I can’t see that I have any other choice.

As I walk back toward the dock, I hear a male voice from my left.

“Hey, is everything all right?”

I ignore it, not interested in having a conversation with any more sailors today.

“Hey, what’s-you’re-name, Evelyn? I heard shouting. I just want to know you’re okay.”

Reluctantly, I turn, shading my eyes with a hand as I look up at the deck of an old, but well-kept fishing vessel. And there he is. Oh my golly. He looks even better shirtless than he did last night. The sun catching on his shoulders gives him a kind of sheen, the sweat already beading on his skin. Muscle ripples along his stomach, leading my eyes down, down to where a delta of muscle points beneath his torn-off denim shorts. For a moment, I’m speechless, unable to think of anything except my own name.

“Everly.”

“Everly?” He saunters over to the side of his boat, hips swinging a little with his sea-legs.

Oh no, please, not right now. If only I hadn’t forgotten to pack my underwear.

“That’s my name,” I squeak, squeezing my thighs together in the vain hope that I might be able to escape with my dignity.

“It’s a beautiful name. Is everything all right, Everly?”

“No, not really.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “But I doubt there’s anything you can do to help. Thank you, though,” I add, feeling guilty about the way I acted last night. After all, I wouldn’t normally have given him so much attitude. As usual, that part of my personality is Trevor’s fault. “And, er, sorry about last night. I was tired from my journey,” I lie.

He waves a hand dismissively. “Water off a duck’s backside.”

I snort a laugh at the twist to the old proverb, a cartoon image suddenly catapulted into my head.

“Tell me what’s up. Maybe I can help if you give me a chance.”

“I really doubt that. The boat my department chartered...The Beachcomber... It seems there’s some sort of technical problem. It won’t start. Won’t even make a noise.”

He glances off in the direction of the yacht, and I see a flash of amusement, but then it’s gone and he’s all seriousness. “I’m sure the engineer will have it running again in an hour or two. These modern boats have a lot to go wrong, but it’s not usually anything serious.”

“Hmmm. Well, I’m afraid I don’t think I can spend another moment in Mr. Pollack’s company anyway. Do you know of any other yachts around here that my university might charter? Preferably one with a friendlier captain?”

He purses his lips for a moment, then rests his hands on his hips. “I could take you out on the water.”

“You?” I don’t mean the word to sound so incredulous, but his boat is clearly meant for fishing, not for diving from. It’s well-maintained, but I can only imagine the smell, and as for modern equipment to find the dive site...

“Sure, why not? I know these waters better than anyone else. Where is it that you need to go?”

Say yes, Everly, say yes please, please, please let me spend time alone with you, Mister James. Mister James? What exactly is his last name, anyway?

“I don’t actually have coordinates or anything. We were going to use the sonar on board The Beachcomber. I mean, I know the general area, but I need to find the breeding site for Port Hope’s hammerhead population.”

He’s silent for a moment, and his eyes go distant. Once again, he purses his lips, deep in thought, but I know that there’s no way that he can help with this. We’ll need scientific equipment, stuff that The Beachcomber has, but his fishing boat is obviously going to be lacking.

“Thanks for your help anyway. I’m staying at the Merryfield Bed and Breakfast if you have any thoughts about who might have the kind of vessel I need.”

I turn to leave, but he speaks from behind me.

“I know the place.”

My head feels like it’s going to fall off, I whip it around so fast. “You know it?”

“The breeding ground for the sharks. Yep. I’ve been there a hundred times. I’ll take you, Everly.”