“I didn’t mean any of it!” Fred shouted, but the lovebirds ignored her.

Stifling the urge to kick something, she stomped the rest of the way up the ramp.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Captain O’Donnell was not at all happy to see her.

“Get this nautical menace off my ship,” he said by way of greeting to Thomas.

“Calm down, O’Donnell. This is official NEA business.”

“And my father’s,” Artur piped up, interrupting his conversation with a dazed-looking first mate.

“Low profile, dumbass,” Thomas snarked.

“That goes for you, too, dumbass,” Fred said. She turned back to the captain and gave him her nicest smile. He recoiled. “Now, captain, all that stuff is behind us, right? I was a completely different person back then… ignorant, willful—”

“It was two months ago, Dr. Bimm.”

“But we’ve both aged decades since then in wisdom, haven’t we.” At his look of disbelief, she added crossly, “Well, I have!”

O’Donnell turned to his first mate. “When was the last time we had a VSC?”

Artur sidled over to her. “The king of the ship seems agitated.”

“It’s a long story, Artur.”

“What is a VSC?”

“Vessel Safety Check.”

The first mate checked a chart and said helpfully, “Two weeks ago yesterday, cap’n.”

“Hmm. I guess that might be all right.” He shot Fred a distrustful look. “Possibly.”

Now Thomas was on her left. “Why is the crew treating you like you’ve brought the plague on board?”

Fred waved away his concern. “A silly misunderstanding that led to, uh, the sinking of his last boat.” At Thomas’s incredulous stare, she added, “But this one is much nicer than the Fiona. Bigger, prettier. Insurance paid for the whole thing, too.”

“Dr. Bimm.” O’Donnell had approached her carefully, like she was a rattlesnake. “Please go over there. Sit in that chair. Do not move from that chair until you need to throw up. Those are the circumstances that will allow me to overlook the fact that your name was nowhere on my paperwork for today’s runs.”

“No problem at all, Captain!” she said with a heartiness she didn’t feel. She was getting off lightly, and she knew it. He had the power to order anyone—even Dr. Barb—off his ship.

“Little Rika, what did you do?”

“A trifle. I swear!” She started to head to the chair, tripped over a coil of rope, and went sprawling. She would have skinned her nose on the deck if Artur hadn’t moved like lightning and caught her. “Uh, I hate to trouble you, but if you could carry me over to my assigned chair?”

“It would be my pleasure, Rika.” He set her down in the chair from which she wouldn’t move until the puking started. “There you are.”

“Thanks.” To Thomas: “Stop staring and close your mouth.”

“But—you’re a marine biologist.”

“I’m aware, Thomas.”

“But we’re only in the harbor.”

“I’m aware, Thomas!” She leaned over the railing and tossed the rest of her breakfast into the waves.

“Little Rika, how is it that you’re ill?”