He passed what he thought might be her houseboat twice. There weren’t a lot of moorings on the east side. At least, not that fit her description of a third-story deck and a glass wall that overlooked the water. Colt had narrowed it down to three possibilities when he spotted a light flicking on in his top choice, the houseboat moored at the end of the northernmost dock.

A sliver of light through the blinds arrowed out onto the water and drew him to her dock.

Someone was lighting up a little reefer from the scent in the air. He tied up his motorboat, having cut the motor well away from the dock, letting the momentum draw him in. Then he waited in the shadows until Reefer Man went inside, turning off his deck light.

Colt sneaked aboard her boat. Security was a joke, and another good reason for him packing his duffel—not much to pack, really—and talking Dodge into flying him to Anchorage to catch the late afternoon flight. Would have gotten here earlier, but his flight had routed to Portland because of the storm. Instead of waiting for the hopper back to Seattle, he’d rented a car and driven the one hundred and seventy-five miles north.

He’d rented a boat off an app on his phone as he drove north, met the owner at a private dock, and paid extra to have it overnight. If he didn’t find her by morning, he would call in his brothers. Maybe even Fraser and the guys from Jones, Inc.

Colt climbed her spiral staircase, then stepped out onto the upper deck, nearly knocking over one of many plants in huge containers that outlined the deck area.

She hadn’t been kidding. Nice boat. And the view—sure, he could get used to this. If he wasn’t a guy who lived out of a duffel.

Movement had him slipping into the shadows, and then Tae walked out onto the deck wearing—oh, she had to be kidding—a bathrobe?

It stunned him for so long that she’d sat down and pulled off her head towel before he’d realized that he was going to really scare her.

And across the way, Reefer Man had stepped back out onto his deck.

So, no cops.

Colt crouched, crept over to her, and she still hadn’t turned around so—sorry, Tae—he put his hand over her mouth, pulled her against him and leaned down to her ear. “Don’t scream.”

It didn’t work. She pulled his thumb, down and out, twisting his wrist, turning. Then she swung at him with everything inside her.

He dodged it but, “Okay, I’m impressed.”

She backed away, stumbled, and fell over the lounger.

“Oh.” He reached out for her. “Are you—”

“Get away from me!” She slapped at his outstretched hand.

“Tae. It’s me. Colt.”