Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Marliss Melton
the private investigator in her.
"That's not the topic of our conversation," Tristan told her in a firm but friendly voice. "Let's talk about Bullfrog and Emma. Will you help me put them together?"
She considered his suggestion and couldn't see any reason why not. Even if it was only for the duration of the cruise, having Jeremiah Bullfrog around for her sister to play with seemed like a good idea. "Sure. How?"
"It's easy. You let me know what excursions y'all are on, when you're planning to eat or go out, and I'll tell you the same. That way we hit up the same places, and they're thrown together. If it's meant to be, Mother Nature will do the rest."
She considered his plan. "Emma is rather cynical when it comes to romance, so I doubt it'll be that easy. Eddie pretty much saw to that."
"Her ex?" he asked.
"That's the one." She sent him a hard smile.
Leaning an elbow on the table, Tristan regarded her through his gold-tipped eyelashes. "Let me guess. You don't believe in romance, either."
"That's not the topic of our conversation," she stated, repeating his earlier assertion.
Her sass pulled a laugh out of him. "Fine, then. We'll stick to the topic. So you're in?"
Juliet cast her sister a thoughtful glance. Ever since Eddie had bailed on their marriage, Emma had lived like a spinster, hiding in her condo with her daughter and their two cats. She'd stopped watching chick flicks, stopped reading romance novels. At this rate, she would be single the rest of her life.
"Let's do this," she decided. Turning back to Tristan, she held out a hand to seal their agreement.
For the second time that afternoon, his hand engulfed hers. The strength and assurance in his warm grasp conveyed a virility so palpable that her pulse skittered. She panicked and tugged her hand free.
He let it go without comment. "Let me get your next drink," he offered.
But she already had a token in her hand. "Nope. I'll get my own."
Chapter 3
Jeremiah's uneasiness mushroomed as he and Tristan participated in the safety drill.
"This is nuts," Tristan muttered, giving voice to Jeremiah's agitation as they followed fellow passengers down the hallway.
They'd all been sent to their cabins to prepare for the drill they'd been warned about that afternoon. At precisely 8 p.m., a grating alarm blared over the intercom, and they'd joined the throng of people heading toward the stairwell. Most of them appeared thoroughly inebriated. No one seemed to have a clear sense of where to go—themselves included. The clogged corridor backed up, and the line slowed to a crawl. If there'd been a fire, they would have all burned alive.
But then the Dutch-accented voice of the captain interrupted the alarm to offer verbal reassurances and directions. They were to proceed to the aft stairwell and climb two levels to exit the port side of the boat.
Where is that? Jeremiah heard up and down the hall as people asked each other where the port side was. He found himself hunting for Emma and hoping that the drill wasn't causing her undue distress.
Without warning, the flashes of gunfire and spattered blood he'd envisioned that morning barraged his mind again. He reached for the wall, using it to keep himself grounded as the visions panned through him, spiking his adrenaline with their realistic quality. Sweat that had nothing to do with the stuffiness of the hallway breached his pores.
My imagination, he told himself again, only this time he knew that it wasn't.
At the aft stairwell, they encountered a crewmember holding up a sign that directed them to climb two floors. On deck seven, a young Malaysian steward doled out life vests. Jeremiah's fingers brushed the man's hand in the trade off, and shock broke his stride.
The man's hand felt as cold as a corpse's.
His sixth sense had never misled him. It was only a matter of time before his premonitions became reality and this man was dead. But who was going to kill him? And how could terrorists have boarded this ship when
"That's not the topic of our conversation," Tristan told her in a firm but friendly voice. "Let's talk about Bullfrog and Emma. Will you help me put them together?"
She considered his suggestion and couldn't see any reason why not. Even if it was only for the duration of the cruise, having Jeremiah Bullfrog around for her sister to play with seemed like a good idea. "Sure. How?"
"It's easy. You let me know what excursions y'all are on, when you're planning to eat or go out, and I'll tell you the same. That way we hit up the same places, and they're thrown together. If it's meant to be, Mother Nature will do the rest."
She considered his plan. "Emma is rather cynical when it comes to romance, so I doubt it'll be that easy. Eddie pretty much saw to that."
"Her ex?" he asked.
"That's the one." She sent him a hard smile.
Leaning an elbow on the table, Tristan regarded her through his gold-tipped eyelashes. "Let me guess. You don't believe in romance, either."
"That's not the topic of our conversation," she stated, repeating his earlier assertion.
Her sass pulled a laugh out of him. "Fine, then. We'll stick to the topic. So you're in?"
Juliet cast her sister a thoughtful glance. Ever since Eddie had bailed on their marriage, Emma had lived like a spinster, hiding in her condo with her daughter and their two cats. She'd stopped watching chick flicks, stopped reading romance novels. At this rate, she would be single the rest of her life.
"Let's do this," she decided. Turning back to Tristan, she held out a hand to seal their agreement.
For the second time that afternoon, his hand engulfed hers. The strength and assurance in his warm grasp conveyed a virility so palpable that her pulse skittered. She panicked and tugged her hand free.
He let it go without comment. "Let me get your next drink," he offered.
But she already had a token in her hand. "Nope. I'll get my own."
Chapter 3
Jeremiah's uneasiness mushroomed as he and Tristan participated in the safety drill.
"This is nuts," Tristan muttered, giving voice to Jeremiah's agitation as they followed fellow passengers down the hallway.
They'd all been sent to their cabins to prepare for the drill they'd been warned about that afternoon. At precisely 8 p.m., a grating alarm blared over the intercom, and they'd joined the throng of people heading toward the stairwell. Most of them appeared thoroughly inebriated. No one seemed to have a clear sense of where to go—themselves included. The clogged corridor backed up, and the line slowed to a crawl. If there'd been a fire, they would have all burned alive.
But then the Dutch-accented voice of the captain interrupted the alarm to offer verbal reassurances and directions. They were to proceed to the aft stairwell and climb two levels to exit the port side of the boat.
Where is that? Jeremiah heard up and down the hall as people asked each other where the port side was. He found himself hunting for Emma and hoping that the drill wasn't causing her undue distress.
Without warning, the flashes of gunfire and spattered blood he'd envisioned that morning barraged his mind again. He reached for the wall, using it to keep himself grounded as the visions panned through him, spiking his adrenaline with their realistic quality. Sweat that had nothing to do with the stuffiness of the hallway breached his pores.
My imagination, he told himself again, only this time he knew that it wasn't.
At the aft stairwell, they encountered a crewmember holding up a sign that directed them to climb two floors. On deck seven, a young Malaysian steward doled out life vests. Jeremiah's fingers brushed the man's hand in the trade off, and shock broke his stride.
The man's hand felt as cold as a corpse's.
His sixth sense had never misled him. It was only a matter of time before his premonitions became reality and this man was dead. But who was going to kill him? And how could terrorists have boarded this ship when
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