Juan had given no thought to what Sloane Macintyre would look like until the moment she walked through the door. Her hair was coppery red and in a tangled bush from so much wind and sun, giving her a wild and untamed look. Her mouth was a bit too wide and her nose too long, but she had such an open look to her face that these minor flaws were nearly indistinguishable. With her sunglasses dangling at her throat he could see she didn’t have the green eyes of a romance novel redhead but wide-set gray ones that seemed to take in her surroundings with a quick glance. She carried a little extra weight that made her body more curvy than angular, but the flesh under her arms remained taut, which made Juan think she was a swimmer.

With her were two men, a Namibian who Cabrillo assumed owned the Pinguin, and another Caucasian with a prominent Adam’s apple and a sour look on his face. Juan couldn’t imagine many scenarios that would place an attractive woman like Sloane in his company. And by their body language he could tell that while Sloane might be in charge, her partner was extremely angry with her.

Cabrillo stepped forward, extending a hand. “Juan Cabrillo, captain of the Oregon. Welcome aboard.”

“Sloane Macintyre.” Her grip was sure and firm and her gaze was level. Juan saw no trace of the fear she must have felt when they were being fired on. “This is Tony Reardon and Justus Ulenga, master of the Pinguin.”

“How do you do?” Reardon surprised Juan with a crisp British accent.

“By the looks of you no one appears to need medical attention. Am I right?”

“No,” Sloane said. “We’re all fine, but thank you for asking.”

“Good, I’m relieved,” Juan said, and meant it. “I’d take you to my cabin to talk about what just happened out here but it’s a bit of a mess. Let’s go down to the galley. I think I can get the cook to whip up a little something.” Juan asked Linc to find the steward.

The truth was, the master’s cabin he used to greet inspectors and harbor officials who came aboard was a disaster zone, and had been designed to make visitors want to get off the ship as quickly as possible. The walls and carpet had been chemically infused with a stench of cheap cigarettes that was guaranteed to leave even a chain-smoker gasping; and the sorrowful gaze of the velvet clown paintings made most people extremely uncomfortable, as they were supposed to. It simply wasn’t the proper setting for an interview. Although the topside galley and adjoining mess hall couldn’t be held to a much higher standard, at least they were reasonably clean.