Alias Smith And Jones. Kylie Brant
that any other details would have to be pried from Jones himself.
Despite the heat, her skin prickled. The thought of having to play along with his egotistical belief that she was hot for him, in return for stray tidbits she might glean, was about as appealing as having surgery without benefit of anesthesia. But finding Sam was worth the sacrifice, wasn’t it?
Jones would be less likely to be suspicious of her questions if he thought she was using conversation as an excuse to get close to him. She scowled at the thought, but the truth of it couldn’t be denied. He’d handed her a perfect opportunity, and she’d be a fool not to use it.
She could always, Ana thought, consolingly, consider the exercise as practice. God knew she needed the experience at flirting, and since Jones had said in so many words that he was immune, he was a safe enough target. And besides learning information about her brother’s disappearance, maybe before this trip was over, she’d have Jones eating his rejection of her, word by demoralizing word.
She smiled, stretched more languorously on the deck chair and raised her face to the sun. The idea was one to relish.
“Brought you something to eat,” Ana said, strolling toward Jones with a tray Pappy had prepared.
His gaze flicked from her face to the food, then back again. “Is it poisoned?”
“Do you trust your cook so little?”
“It’s not Pappy I don’t trust.” His meaning wasn’t lost on her, but she chose to ignore it. Although earlier in the day she would have given a great deal to see him choke on a chicken bone, she was beyond those feelings now. Almost.
“You were right, Pappy is a great cook. I already ate and it was wonderful.” And when she’d finished, she’d offered to relieve the crew member of the plate he’d prepared for Jones, uncaring of the conclusion Pappy had drawn. She was eager for an excuse to approach the other man. Just not for the reason that Pappy and Jones seemed to think.
Setting the tray down on a nearby table, she removed the napkins covering the food and pulled up a chair. Jones watched her carefully. “What are you doing?”
“I thought I’d keep you company while you ate,” she said artlessly. “You’ve been up here all morning alone. I figured you wouldn’t mind a little company.”
He reached for a piece of chicken. “I like being alone.”
She refrained from pointing out that with his personality, he was likely to spend a great deal of time in that state. Despite her efforts, her gaze lingered on the puckered scar on his back. She’d spent more than an hour formulating ways to finesse needed information from him before approaching him with lunch. But instead of the discreet questions she’d settled on, she heard herself say, “What happened to your back?”
“I lowered my guard.”
His stark answer sent a chill through her. She’d be willing to bet that for Jones that particular error had been rare, indeed. Ana wanted to ask who had gotten close enough to him to gain his trust, only to betray it. But she knew intuitively that he’d never tell her. “Tell me about Laconos,” she said instead, forcing her gaze away from him and out at the shatteringly blue water before them. “The State Department has cleared it for U.S. citizens’ travel, but you seem to believe that it’s still unsafe.”
He turned back to the wheel and adjusted its position. “I just think there’s cause for caution there, that’s all.”
“The scandal six months ago was like a Shakespearean tragedy. The crown prince of Laconos must have been desperately in love with his girlfriend to be so devastated by his family’s disapproval of their marriage.” The world had been shocked to learn that the prince, Owahano Bunei, of the royal family, had shot and killed his parents and siblings before turning his weapon on himself one night at dinner. And all because his parents had refused to give him permission to marry the woman he loved. “I’d heard, though, that the transition of power passed easily enough to Owahano’s uncle.”
“That kind of transition is never effortless.” It was his total lack of expression, rather than the words themselves, that alerted her. What Jones wasn’t revealing was of far more interest than what he did say.
She hadn’t asked Sterling about the nature of Sam’s mission on Laconos. It would have been futile. The man made even the taciturn Jones seem verbose. But she’d drawn her own conclusion from the information she’d managed to glean from her brother’s encrypted files. The United States government was taking a keen interest in the island’s new government, especially now that the current king was jockeying for more clout with the Global Trade Organization. Ana thought Sam had been sent on assignment to see, firsthand, if Laconos’s request should be opposed. Given her brother’s disappearance shortly after he arrived there, she wondered if he’d found a reason for that opposition.
“It probably won’t matter much to you and your friends one way or the other.” At Jones’s voice, Ana shifted her attention back to their conversation. “You’re just planning on enjoying the beaches, right? A day or two there, and you’ll be off to another island.”
She steered him away from a discussion of her fictional friends by saying, “I’ve heard that Laconos has a fabulous beach on the north side.”
“You may want to avoid that one.” Was that a tinge of embarrassment she heard in his words? Ana studied his profile searchingly. “There’s a great beach on the southwest side, too.”
“Why? What’s wrong with the north one?”
“It’s topless.”
“Sounds great.” With a provocative air she braced her hands on the table behind her and leaned back. She’d bet that Jones’s knowledge of topless beaches was firsthand. So to speak. “Is that the beach you go to?”
“I have better things to do with my time than to laze around on the sand all day.” He dropped the chicken bone back on the tray and reached for another piece.
“But what do you do when you don’t have a charter?” Not even to herself would she admit that there was a hint of personal interest in his answer.
He gave a shrug of one well-muscled shoulder. “Work on the ship.”
“You don’t ever take it out by yourself?” she prodded. Prying information from the man was like arm wrestling an alligator, but then, she hadn’t expected it to be easy.
“Sometimes.”
“Where are your favorite places to go?”
He slanted her a glance. “You know, you’re wasting valuable sun time in here with me. I’d think you’d want to be working on your tan.”
“I got enough sun this morning.” Let him think that she was in here to change his mind about taking her to bed. It might annoy him, but it would also allay his suspicions about the true reason for her interest. She made a production of crossing her ankles. “Are you going to show them to me? Your favorite spots, I mean?”
“Nope.” He’d polished off the second piece of chicken and exchanged the bones for another piece.
“Why not?” She imbued her voice with a deliberately sultry note. “Maybe they’d become my favorites, too.” As long as she was engaged in the pretense, she may as well pull out all the stops. Ana might not have had near the occasions she’d like to practice her feminine wiles, but she was a world-class observer. She knew the moves—the head toss, the pouty lips, the fluttering eyelids. Jones was given the full treatment, causing him to stare hard at her.
“Do you have something in your eye?”
She stopped fluttering them to glare at him. “No, you dolt.”
He looked unconvinced. “Maybe you should leave your sunglasses on. The sun is pretty bright on the water.”
With jerky movements she grabbed the sunglasses from atop her head and perched them on