Free Surrender at Dawn by Laura Griffin Page B

changed since last night. The hostility was still there, but he’d come back, which could only mean one thing.
    “So… will you help me?”
    His gaze drifted down, and she adjusted the sheet again. Then his gray eyes met hers, and they were hard as stones. She wondered how many men had looked into those eyes and hadn’t lived to see another day.
    “What’s on Ko Aroon?” he asked. “And don’t give me some bullshit about the coral.”
    Charlotte paused a moment, trying to remember how she’d planned to explain herself. Jack was a straightforward man, so she decided to go with simplicity.
    “I’m looking for my brother.”
    “How’d your brother get mixed in with a bunch of two-bit mercenaries?”
    “I don’t know. He’s a reporter. I can only assume he’s following a story.”
    He let out a stream of curses. But with every word that spewed from his mouth, Charlotte relaxed a little because she knew it meant he was going to help her.
    He grabbed the terrycloth robe off the chair beside him and tossed it at her. “Get dressed,” he said. “Meet me at the marina across from the hotel in ten minutes.”
    He moved for the door.
    “But where are we--”
    “Pack light,” he added, as he jerked shut the door.
    She stared after him in shock. They were going somewhere in his plane. He was taking her to Ko Aroon.
    Charlotte scrambled out of bed and pulled on the robe. She went to the safe in the closet and, with shaky fingers, entered the code. It was her brother’s birthday. Tears stung her eyes as she punched the numbers.
    Hang in there, Davey. I’m on my way.
    She grabbed the stacks of bills--all the money she’d been able to withdraw on a Wednesday afternoon on short notice--and shoved them into the small black backpack she’d bought at DFW Airport. She’d chosen the bag because it was sturdy and came with a padlock.
    Charlotte glanced around her room, feeling the adrenaline coursing through her system now. They were going. Finally. She was doing something, and action was always better than inaction.
    She spent about five seconds in the bathroom, barely taking time to splash water on her face. She dressed quickly in khaki shorts and the white button-down she’d worn yesterday. It was wrinkled, but it was made of linen and she needed an airy fabric in the stifling tropical heat. She shoved her feet into sandals, dropped a change of clothes and a few toiletry items into the backpack, and rushed across the street to the marina. There, she saw fishing boats and dive boats and tour operators milling about, but no six-foot-three former SEALs.
    She did , however, see a seaplane. It was a small and silver, and as she neared it, she discerned the words BRENNER AVIATION stenciled across the side.
    “You’re late.”
    She jumped at the voice and turned around. Jack brushed past her on the dock, his arms loaded down with wooden crates. She trailed him down a rickety pier to his plane. He wore cargo shorts, sport sandals, and a drab olive T-shirt that stretched taut across the muscles of his back. He ducked through the doorway of the tiny aircraft, and Charlotte stood on the dock as he loaded the crates. He reappeared and held a hand out for her backpack.
    “That can go in with the cargo.”
    Her fingers tightened on the shoulder straps. “I’ll hang onto it, thanks.”
    His expression darkened, but he didn’t comment. She moved closer to the plane and took a tentative step up the ladder. Jack clamped a hand around her elbow and practically lifted her aboard. Charlotte glanced around. There were several jump seats in back, but they were folded up to make room for crates of produce and cases of wine from New Zealand.
    Charlotte lowered herself into the only available seat, which was up in the cockpit. Defying the laws of physics, Jack squeezed his immense body into the seat beside her. He reached over to fasten her harness. His knuckles brushed the tops of her thighs as he yanked the strap, and she flinched.