Free Going Overboard by Christina Skye

made this morning at the pool.” She watched McKay climb out of the water in full, chiseled glory. “Is the man buff or what?”
    “He burns up the screen, just the way I knew he would.” Carly scanned the rest of the crowd. “Everyone else seems to disappear. Okay, move forward.” She sat mutely, savoring the sight of McKay cutting through the pool while the volleyball game raged off to the side. “This is where they started to get rowdy.” Abruptly she sat forward. “Wait. Pause and go back.”
    She watched the crowd morph backward, then repeat their movements. “There,” she said, pointing to a man in a deck chair.
    “The skinny guy with the bad hairpiece?” Daphne
    leaned closer to the screen. “That orange Hawaiian shirt really has to go.”
    “He seems to pop up everywhere I am. He was watching us before, on the opposite side of the deck. Now he's there in the corner, looking right at me. I'm beginning to feel stalked.”
    “The man is just a tourist soaking up some sun. Since we happen to be astoundingly beautiful women, of course he's watching us, too.”
    Carly sank into a chair beside Daphne. “I guess you're right. He's gone in this next pan. I must be suffering from post-treadmill trauma.”
    “The shots from this afternoon are next.” Daphne crossed her legs, smiling smugly. “I have a feeling they'll be phenomenal.”
    Ten minutes later, Carly sank back in her chair, feeling her heart slam.
    The footage was unforgettable. McKay in a tuxedo against the dying sun. McKay holding up a glass of champagne to an unseen companion, cool triumph in his eyes. The man was a glory to behold.
    “He's incredible.” Daphne's eyes crinkled. “Hank says he's never seen anything close in fifteen years of shooting.”
    “I've got a feeling that we 're about to make history,” Carly whispered. But for some reason, the thought left her uneasy.
    Nikolai Vronski hated the Americans. Of course, he hated most Russians, too. Humanity in general was tedious, incompetent, and self-indulgent, and Vronski prided himself on being none of those things.
    He swept past the lone man sweating in the yacht's converted stateroom. With an impatient glance he scanned the long steel worktables. “What developments?”
    The aged Japanese artist turned beneath the bank of bright halogen lights. His hands were scarred from decades of pounding and shredding fibers to make the
    highest quality Japanese brush paper. “It is slow work, as I have explained before.”
    There was little sense of movement below deck. The boat was perfectly stabilized to protect the expensive equipment that filled the shelves and long tables.
    “I did not ask if the work was slow or fast.” Vronski's keen gaze ranged over the gleaming metal trays. “I want results. What have you to show me?”
    The Japanese man bowed, shaking his head. “It is still too soon.” He was sweating heavily.
    One blow from the Russian's fist sent him staggering to the floor.
    Despite the pain, he was wise enough to stay absolutely quiet while Vronski stormed out.

W aves lapped at the white sand beach, while palm trees rustled soothingly. The scene could have been lifted right off a postcard McKay thought.
    Too bad it wasn't a real vacation so he could enjoy it.
    Beside him, Daphne sighed. “Give me a box of Godiva chocolates, an Andrea Bocelli CD, and I'll be in paradise.” She drew in a hearty breath of sea air and jumped down onto the sand. “Barbados is spectacular, isn't it?”
    He vaulted down beside her. “Definitely beats crawling though the mud in an Alabama swamp.”
    “Are you from Alabama?”
    His mouth quirked. “I don't believe I said that.”
    “Secretive, aren't you? Not that it matters. You're rescuing Carly and her shoot. That's all I care about.”
    “I still don't see how she's going to get the film from here to New York in time to help.”
    Daphne slid her huge bag over one shoulder. “The wonderful world of modern electronics. She sent a