Phantom Prospect - Alex Archer [20]
Her stomach didn’t hurt and Annja felt somewhat secure as she crept along the walkway toward the wheelhouse. The salt air refreshed her. Waves lapped at the sides of the ship and she felt some of the spray wash up on her skin.
Annja felt good. She kept her hands along the railing, however, just in case she felt faint, aware that she was still recovering from the concussion she’d received earlier.
A weak yellow light came from the wheelhouse. Annja moved toward it. Maybe she could have a word with Jax about what happened earlier. Annja didn’t like bad blood if she could avoid it. But if she couldn’t, then she’d just have to deal with it another time.
She took a deep breath and swung the door to the wheelhouse open. But Jax wasn’t there.
Hunter was.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey.” Annja glanced around. “No Jax?”
Hunter smiled. “Even the captain needs sleep sometimes. I gave her the night off so she could crash. She’s been pulling hard since the attack.”
“She close with the victim?”
Hunter shrugged. “Don’t really know. Jax has a way about her. She can get guys if she wants ’em. Or she can turn ’em off like a light switch. I’m not sure how she felt about Jock. Or how he felt about her, for that matter. Not that that would have been an obstacle per se. Jock had a thing for anything with breasts.”
“Nice.”
“Sorry.”
Annja shrugged. “Forget it. I know how guys think. You’re honest and I appreciate that.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Better.” Annja glanced around the wheelhouse. “I thought I’d come topside for a little air.”
“Always clears my head, too,” Hunter said. “You want a drink?”
“What have you got?”
Hunter handed her a flask. “A little whiskey. It’s aged. Got a taste of peat in it, if you like that sort of thing.”
Annja took a sniff and then a sip. The smooth whiskey flowed down her throat and she took a deep breath. “Wow.”
Hunter took the flask back from her. “Don’t tell Cole. He’ll kill me if he finds out how much this stuff runs me. But why waste money on crap if you have a chance to get the good stuff, right?”
“I guess.” Annja felt the whiskey hit her hard. “That’s some potent stuff.”
“Keep you steady, it will,” Hunter said. “And I’ve used it to do just that on some stormy nights at sea.”
“You had many?”
Hunter nodded and took a deep drag on the flask. “Once or twice. We were off the coast of Florida when a gale blew up and knocked us sideways. We were cresting fifty-foot waves, crawling up one side and diving down the other. They were like mountains, you know. Fifty feet doesn’t sound like much until you actually get out in the thick of it in a twenty-foot boat.”
“You were in a twenty-footer?”
Hunter grinned. “First and last time, mind you. I came back and resolved never to sail anything less than a hundred foot.”
“Those waves must have been terrifying.”
“They were. I had to keep the ship on course because any mistake meant we’d have been swamped and gone before anyone knew we were there. A storm like that, they don’t roll up all that often.”
Hunter switched the radio on and Annja heard smooth music roll out of the speakers. He adjusted the volume, then took another sip and offered the flask back to Annja.
Annja shook her head. “I should stop. The booze and my concussion probably won’t get along that well.”
Hunter took the flask back. “Good point. Hang out, though. I can use the company.”
Annja leaned back against the wall and watched him. He had the same type of chiseled face that Cole had. But Hunter had strong limbs that seemed longer than Cole’s. Cole’s upper torso was more compact while Hunter’s reminded her of a languid jungle cat stretched out on a rock in the sun.
“How’d you get into treasure hunting?” she asked.
Hunter shook his head. “Not exactly the type of thing you go to school for, is it?”
“Nope.”
Bars of music filtered out of the speakers, while Hunter closed his eyes in appreciation of it. After a moment he looked at Annja.