Once Beka was in the water, he and Tito did some fishing off the opposite side of the boat. Unfortunately, as with so many other occasions of late, the fish just weren’t there. It was as if something unseen had driven them all away. Marcus took it as a personal slight, especially on a day when he had promised a seriously ill boy a treat.
Tito didn’t seem to mind, but Marcus nearly bit Beka’s head off when she finished up and came over to ask them cheerfully, “So, how was the fishing?”
“Lousy,” he growled, then tried to paste a less disgruntled look on his face when Tito blinked up at him in surprise. “How was the treasure hunting?”
Beka shrugged one tanned shoulder, revealed now that she’d unzipped her wet suit down to her slim waist. The simple white one-piece suit underneath was as alluring on her as a more provocative bikini might be on any other woman, and he had to force himself to drag his eyes back up to her face. Where he was fairly sure he saw a twinkle in the azure depths as she caught him staring.
“Nothing very interesting, I’m afraid. Too bad about the fishing though.” She got a thoughtful look. “Why don’t you keep at it for a few minutes?” she suggested. “I think Fergus wanted to take a quick dive before we go, anyway.”
“Please, Marcus, just a little while longer,” Tito begged. Marcus didn’t have the heart to say no, although he didn’t see what difference another half an hour would make. Still, the boy had more animation than Marcus had ever seen before, and the ashy undertone to his skin was less obvious than usual. Clearly, being out on the water agreed with him.
Marcus had a sudden yearning to make this kind of outing possible for other sick kids; a morning out in the fresh air in the midst of the soothing waters of the bay, with dolphins occasionally coming to frolic alongside the boat, far from the acrid medicinal scents and bleak beige realities of the all-too-necessary hospital.
He snorted under his breath at his own foolishness; he was getting as bad as Beka. It wasn’t as though he was going to stick around long enough to get involved with something like that, even if he wanted to take on the responsibility. Which he didn’t. Just thinking about all the things that could go wrong made his gut clench, like back when he had men to protect from flying bullets and roadside ambushes.
A glance toward the port side of the boat showed him an unwanted glimpse of Beka and Fergus, their blond and red heads close together as they whispered about something that made Beka flash that sunshine smile that was so rarely aimed at him. He turned back to answer one of Tito’s never-ending questions, and a splash told him that Fergus must have gone into the water.
“Be right back,” he said to the kid, and wandered casually over to where Beka was standing, looking over the side of the boat.
“Thanks,” he said, gruffly, not used to having any conversation with her that wasn’t an argument of some kind. “For being so nice to Tito, I mean. I know he was probably annoying you with all the ‘How come you have to wear a special outfit?’ and ‘Do the fish nibble on your toes?’”
Beka laughed, a sound as silvery as a salmon’s flashing belly. “He’s great, Marcus. And I think you’re really sweet for bringing him out here. All those questions just mean he’s thinking, and that’s never a bad thing. I didn’t mind at all.”
Sweet. Nobody had called him sweet in . . . well, maybe never. He was a lot of things: loyal, tough, dependable—but sweet? Hardly. Marcus could feel a flush spread over his cheekbones. She thought he was sweet. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or appalled.
He was about to answer, probably with a sentence that was both stupid and clumsily polite, when he noticed something odd: Fergus’s gear, including his neatly folded wet suit and carefully checked air tanks, sitting next to Beka’s tanks on the damp deck. Marcus glanced around; no Fergus. What the hell?
His mouth was opened to ask her about it when a panicked yell from Tito had him sprinting across the boat instead, his heart beating almost as rapidly as his pounding footsteps.
“Marcus! Marcus!” Tito yelled as he wrestled with a fishing pole that was suddenly bent almost double as it dipped down toward the water. “I think I caught a fish! What do I do now?”
Beka had followed him over at a slightly more sedate pace. “Way to go, Tito!” She gave a tiny shake of her head as Marcus moved to grab the pole away from the boy. “You can do it!”
Taking the hint, Marcus stood behind Tito and put one hand on the pole to take some of the pressure off, and used his other hand to steady Tito as he hauled mightily on the rod.