The engine sputtered to life with a whine. Oleg spun us around. The boat passed dozens of others, packed close to each pier. He kept us closer to the boats on my side, just in case our guest decided to make a jump for it. Given how uneasy she seemed on the water, I doubted she’d even try. My intelligence report had nothing on her and water. Her fear only helped me. Less likely for her to try and escape if she didn’t like the water.
Once we passed the piers, Oleg gave the throttle a turn. Gianna gripped the sidewall when we accelerated. The mouth of the harbor approached. The Tyrrhenian sea tended to be calm in the spring and summer but would be rougher than the harbor. I watched my guest to see the effect.
Her free hand grabbed the bench seat between us. Our eyes met and her expression schooled. The boat rocked, and her neck tensed but no fear or worry appeared on her face. Smart of her to hide her emotions, keep me guessing, but damn annoying. She really was a worthy opponent.
Oleg aimed toward the yacht. Gianna hid her reactions well once she realized I’d been paying close attention. Still, her eyes widened a tick as we approached. The golden sunlight shimmered off the white sides of the yacht, reflected off the windows.
The engine cut after we’d slowed. I flipped one of the bumpers down and Oleg did the same. As we slowed to a crawl around the stern, he snatched the handrail at the edge of the stern swimming platform.
I sprang to my feet and hopped aboard. Like before, after I extended my hand to help her, Gianna ignored it. Her arm trembled when her white fingers grasped the handrail but once she stood on the dark wooden slats of the swimming platform, a deep breath filled her. The flat mask descended down her face, only cracking when the tender’s engine rattled back to life and Oleg spun it around, puttering back into the harbor.
“Alone at last,” I said, fruitlessly offering my arm to Gianna.
“Welcome aboard, sir,” boomed a familiar enthusiastic voice with a heavy Russian accent. “I’ve prepared a table for you and your guest. The chef is at the ready.”
On the deck above stood Pavel. A wiry man, tall but thin enough to squeeze into the engine room’s tightest spaces when performing maintenance. He always wore a ‘uniform’ of black slacks with a matching black polo shirt even though I explained he wasn’t in the navy anymore, didn’t need a uniform, simple as it was.
Tonight, he’d pressed the slacks and donned a new shirt. He’d worked on cruise ships before. He must have wanted to look his best for the first guest we’d had on board for a long time.
“Thank you, Captain,” I replied. “Shouldn’t you get back to the bridge?”
“Oh, we’re anchored right now, sir…” Pavel began before his jaw dropped. He nodded. “Right away, sir.”
Gianna had watched the exchange with a slight smile on her lips. Those eyes of hers, though. They wouldn’t miss anything. Every intricacy of my interaction with Pavel made their way into her calculations. If only I could see into that head of hers – though that’d ruin the game.
“So you’re not the captain of your own ship?” Gianna teased, but with intent.
“It’s a lot of work, being captain.” I shrugged. “And Pavel takes his work seriously. He’s worth ten men for almost single-handedly running the ship. I’d rather enjoy the ride, and I already have a job.”
I motioned toward the steep staircase that curved up the starboard side. Gianna hesitated. Her eyes scanned the water around us. They remained on the shore a few hundred meters away. If she’d considered swimming for it, she gave the idea up quickly and stepped closer.
“A job in… finance, yes?” she asked. “Now that we’re alone and in private are you going to be straight with me? Tell me who you really are?”
“I guess.” My hand slipped into my pocket. I extended it, business card in hand. “Alexei Lebedev.”
She plucked the card from my fingers, avoiding any contact. Not sure why that had my smile faltering. Her eyes narrowed when she read it, her head tilted.
“Alexei Lebedev, Executive Vice President of the Bank of Sliema, Malta,” she read, not that seeing it in print would have made her believe it any more than if I’d spoken the words. Smart girl. “So what do you do for this ‘bank?’ Break legs? Collect protection money?”
“Nothing so barbaric.” I mocked offense as we reached the next deck of the yacht. I directed her to the steps to the next. “As executive vice president, I handle the issues of the bank’s most selective clientele.”
“A clientele that needs legs broken and protection money collected?” she asked, even more skeptically.
“I’m afraid the confidentiality agreements I’ve signed preclude me from divulging any information on my clientele,” I repeated the rote sentence.
“Yeah, you seem like such a stickler for rules,” she replied. “How many times have you said that verbatim to the cops?”
“Discussing that would break my NDAs,” I said, following her up the next level of stairs, up to the rear sun deck.
Pavel and Oleg moved the usual loungers to the sides, leaving a small table with two chairs right at the railing. A bottle of wine chilled next to the table with the setting sun and endless sky and sea on the far side.
Gianna frowned between me and the table. Her head shook.
“I should be offended, you know,” she said before snorting, “more offended than for the kidnapping, itself. What kind of woman do you think I am? Shuttling me off to your little yacht for a sunset dinner is your big pitch? You trying to buy me?”
“Little yacht?” I shook my head.
“I’ve seen bigger,” she shot back.
