Page 2 of Poison Evidence

A sign on the dock indicated the man’s boat,Liberty, was available for charter, but she’d ruled out hiring him for portions of the water survey because the gorgeous yacht would no doubt exceed her government budget.

Of course, she’d noticed the man as much as she noticed the yacht. WhileLibertywas sleek and luxurious, her captain was hot. Death-Valley-in-July hot. And it’d been forever since Ivy had thought along those lines about any man.

Tall and tan, with sun-kissed blond hair, he had thick brows, one of which was bisected with a scar, a wide nose, and a hard jawline. His receding hairline gave him maturity she found even more attractive. Unlike Frost, his features were distinct, imperfect, and memorable. He’d been scruffy the other day as he scrubbed his deck wearing nothing but low-slung shorts. Now he’d shaved and put on the requisite pants and shirt for this formal event. It didn’t matter; he was scorching hot either with or without a beard, dressed or half-naked.

Frankly, she preferred half-naked.

She offered her hand. “Ivy MacLeod,” she said with her first genuine smile since Frost had cornered her.

His warm blue eyes held hers as he lifted her knuckles to his lips. “Jack Keaton. It’s nice to finally meet. Ulai said you’re keeping him on his toes.”

She laughed as she extracted her fingers, feeling strangely fluttery from the press of his lips. She’d been kissed on the hand before and never thought twice about it. Perhaps Jack Keaton had the power to resuscitate her long-dead libido.

It was an intriguing thought.

“Highly unlikely. I have a hard time keeping up with him, and I’m half his age.”

It was his turn to laugh. “So do I.”

She doubted that, given what she’d viewed of his physique.

She eyed the open double doors to the garden, seeking a breeze. Despite her light silk evening gown, she sweltered in the heat of the room. The air-conditioning in the new grand resort’s ballroom couldn’t keep up with the press of bodies.

She turned toward the governor, embassy employee, and…she wasn’t sure what Frost was—he’d never offered up a reason for being in Palau or at this event. “I’m afraid I’m overheating. I’m going to escape into the garden.” She turned to Death Valley. “Join me, Mr. Keaton?”

“Jack, please,” he said and presented his arm.

She gripped his bicep, knowing it would be rock hard and thick. She’d been a shameless voyeur whenever he worked on his boat sans shirt.

The soft breeze hit her as she stepped outside, fragrant with tropical blossoms. The quiet, empty garden was a relief after the full-to-bursting ballroom.

The night was lit with tiki torches and moonlight, which reflected off the sea that stretched out beyond the low-walled garden. A mangrove swamp bordered the manicured grounds to the right, while a path to the beach curved around the garden to the left.

How tempting it would be to follow that path and escape the party. Pay homage to the turquoise Pacific that embraced the archipelago. The water here was exquisite, a scuba diver’s paradise. She’d have to ground-truth several underwater wrecks to make sure CAM was as accurate as she believed. Maybe Jack was a diver?

She discarded the ridiculous notion before it could take root. He’d done nothing more than help extract her from an awkward conversation. She’d charter a legitimate dive boat and partner when the time came.

Waves splashed below, the soothing sounds faint. She had the insane urge to lean against the stranger at her side. He was tall, slightly taller than her in her three-inch heels, and she was five-nine without them.

Between his height and broad shoulders, he made her feel downright dainty, when nothing about her was petite. She probably should stop cataloguing his attributes, but this was the most fun she’d had all night.

She’d known he was American at first glance, even though his features hinted at a northern European background. He wore his American-ness like he wore the dress shirt. His posture, the tilt of his head, even the way he smiled. He had Montana bearing—and as a cartographer and anthropologist, she fully believed there was such a thing. She was endlessly fascinated by the connection of people to place, even, at times like this, when far removed from their birthplace.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” she said, breaking the quiet.

“Shiro was being a prick.”

“He’s not alone in his beliefs. He was just drunk enough to express them. A blogger for a well-known online scientific journal recently said—to my face—‘Hard to believe a woman designed something so technical by herself.’When I complained to his boss, he all but said I was reading too much into the statement and being overly emotional. You know, because I was a woman and called the guy on his condescension.”

“If you were a man,” Death Valley said, “you’d have been called ‘forceful in your beliefs,’ and your strength in not backing down would have been lauded.”

Her grip on his bicep tightened. He smelled good and said the right things. The party was becoming less of a chore by the minute. “Exactly. The president of Harvard once made a statement that men outperform women in math and science due to biological differences. The president.Of Harvard. And he was surprised by the backlash. Sexism is rampant in the sciences. It’s not even a dirty little secret. It’s blatant.”

One reason she loved her new job with Naval History and Heritage Command: she worked with several damn smart and strong women.

Jack paused when they reached the overlook, but instead of looking out toward the sea, he gazed at the mangrove swamp that abutted the garden. “I read your paper inScientific American, detailing your use of Lidar to calculate the loss of mangroves in Indonesia due to rising sea levels. If anyone bothered to look at the research you’ve published, they’d know you’re the real deal and were the brains at the institute.”

If Jack hadn’t woken her libido before, he did now. Was there anything better than having a hot man call her brainy?

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