any rate?”
“Without question. You cannot possibly monitor all the points of entry at home, but you certainly can here. Only one airport. The cruise ships arriving in town and out at the Royal Dockyards. And then the private yachts. That’s it. And we’ve got eyes and ears at all of them, all day, every day.”
Hawke smiled down at her. “Thank you for that, Nell.”
“I love him, too, you know.”
“I do know,” Hawke said, gazing at the open water beyond the harbor and the westering sun. He felt a shiver of pleasure ripple down his spine. He was where he wanted to be, the feel of warm teak decks beneath his bare feet, the breeze on his cheek, the sharp spike of salt in the air, a beautiful sailing machine responding to his every command, slicing through the incredibly translucent blue.
“Are you tired, Nell?” Hawke said, stroking her golden thigh.
“A little.”
“I’ve rigged a little hammock forward, slung beneath the bowsprit just above the water, nothing but a sail but quite comfortable for two.”
“And who sails the boat, Captain?”
“The autopilot.”
“So we just climb inside and sail off into the sunset?”
“Exactly.”
“Sounds like something you’d read at the end of a novel.”
“Yes. Or perhaps at the beginning.”
