Page 76 of Raine Out (Grand Slam 2)

I scrunch up my face as I push him away from me.

He shakes his head. “Oh good Lord, you had sex in the ocean last night, didn’t you?”

“No!”

“You definitely did something in the ocean.” When I start swimming away from him, he grabs my foot and pulls me back. “Why are you still so bad at lying? I thought you were working on that. I don’t know how you do your job.”

“I’m an analyst. I’m not undercover.” I start breathing harder as I continue to dog paddle. “I don’t need to be a good liar.”

“Would you quit paddling? You’re going to drown in about a minute.” He grabs me and holds me to his stomach as he starts doing a hybrid backstroke toward the boat. “Relax, Raine. I promise I’m not going to try to have ocean sex with you. I’ll leave that to Alex.”

“Shut up,” I say, relaxing back on his chest as I try to get my breathing back to normal. “Now tell me about the boat. It’s been sitting there—unoccupied—the entire time they’ve been here?”

“That’s what Seb said. Suspicious as fuck, right?”

“It is. Is Seb suspicious?”

“I don’t think so, but your boy toy and Roman might be.”

“Yeah, I showed Alex the note this morning, so he’s probably got his antenna up. And I think Roman’s freaky perceptive. I’ve got a feeling he could do my job better than me.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t miss much.” Butch swims us up to the boarding ladder. “Hang on here until I check it out.”

After a minute, he signals me from the top. “You’re good. We’re alone.”

As I get to the top of the ladder, he’s already broken into the lockbox and is reviewing the captain’s log.

“It doesn’t look like the boat’s moved for almost two weeks. That was well before Seb and Sophie got down here.”

“Or maybe they just haven’t logged. Check the gas tank.”

“Yes, Master Chief,” he says, saluting me. “It’s not my first day on the job, sister. Uh, yeah, the gas has settled in. I don’t think it’s been moved for a while. And it doesn’t look like anyone’s living here. Let me check the toilet.”

While he’s below deck, I get into the lockbox. There are registration papers, binoculars, and a professional camera.

“The compost container’s completely clean,” Butch says, coming up the stairs. “There’s no one living here. Maybe it’s just abandoned.”

I hold up the camera and the binoculars. “Surveillance?”

“Or whale watching. Anything on the memory card?”

“A few sunset pictures.”

“Yeah,” he says, sitting down on one of the benches. “I think this is a dry hole.”

“It probably is,” I say, sighing. “Why do our minds always go to the worst-case scenario first? Do you think the suspicion from our jobs will ever leave us?”

“Naw, I don’t think it ever will. Shit, I’ve been doing this job for twenty years. That’s just the way my mind’s programmed now.”

“Alex guessed that I worked for the CIA.”

“What?” he says, his head jerking back. “You’re not that bad of a liar. Did you yell it out when you were having sex or something?”

“I did not. He’s just smart and very observant.”

“Did you confirm it?”

“No. Of course not. You know I can’t do that.”

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