He was just a handsome charmer with an easy line, and she’d known men like him before. Her ex-husband, for one. Women had always dropped at Sean’s feet, and he’d done little to discourage them.
Feeling her smile slip, she pulled her hand away.
If he noticed her change of mood, he didn’t remark upon it. “Ready?” he asked, catching the rope the deckhand threw at him and tucking it away.
Nodding, she perched on the edge of the aluminum seat, paralyzed by self-consciousness. She was so far out of her element here. The past two years, she’d been in virtual seclusion, working from her desk at home and putting in late hours at the research facility. She’d interacted with more spreadsheets than animals. This trip was, in part, an attempt to get her life back. A return to her roots.
She hadn’t chosen conservation biology to spend all her time indoors.
Rubbing elbows with other scientists, most of whom were men, was nothing new, and she was no stranger to roughing it, but she hadn’t socialized, much less dated, in ages. The close proximity of a hot guy rattled her more than she’d like to admit.
And she couldn’t stop comparing him to Sean.
The two men probably knew each other. There weren’t that many shark experts in the world, let alone the West Coast, and Jason was from San Diego. They were close in age, although Sean was about five years older. Both of them were tall and fit and remarkably good-looking. They were also consummate outdoors-men and staunch environmentalists, more comfortable on a surfboard than in a boardroom.
Upon closer inspection, Jason was the more striking of the two, with his exotic eyes and sensual mouth. But Sean’s all-American ruggedness had always hit her in the right spot.
Daniela turned her gaze back to the calm-inducing horizon. She hadn’t seen Sean in over a year, and he still managed to monopolize her thoughts.
Maneuvering the whaler back into position beneath the boom was a task that required concentration and dexterity. When Jason found the proper place, he stood and hitched the heavy metal hook to the hull with no assistance from her. She did her best to hang onto her seat and stay out of his way.
Once connected, the whaler was lifted high into the air by the crane, and this ride was no less nerve-wracking than the two-hour boat trip to the islands or the precarious jump she’d taken a few moments ago. Heart racing with anxiety, she gripped the aluminum bench until her knuckles went white. When the boat shuddered to a stop over dry land, she breathed a sigh of relief and flexed her icy hands.
She couldn’t believe she was actually here. Southeast Farallon Island was an odd place, like no other on earth, and the first thing that struck her was the noise. It was nature in chaos. The sound of crashing surf and cawing birds reverberated in her ears, and wind whipped at her clothes like children vying for attention.
Jason grinned at the boom operator, clearly at home in this wild place. “Thanks, Liz,” he shouted, raising his voice to be heard above the cacophony.
The woman at the controls watched while Jason helped Daniela climb from the dangling boat, her expression cool.
Daniela stepped forward to introduce herself. “Liz? I’m Daniela Flores.”
“Elizabeth Winters,” she said, extending a slender, black-gloved hand.
Daniela accepted her handshake with an uncertain smile.
“I’m the only one allowed to call her Liz,” Jason explained, hefting her duffel bag over his shoulder. “Because we’re special friends.”
Elizabeth regarded him like he was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Daniela didn’t know what to make of her. She was tall and slim, dressed in Gore-Tex from head to toe, with a gray-blue windbreaker that matched the color of her eyes. A thick auburn braid trailed over one shoulder, and she had the delicate skin of a redhead. Her face was pale and freckled and very lovely.
“I’ll refrain from sharing my pet name for you,” she said dryly.
He laughed, delighted to have irked her. Elizabeth seemed more annoyed than amused. Perhaps she was immune to charming men.
Daniela decided that she liked her. “How is your conservation project coming along?” she asked as they followed Jason down the steep, pebble-strewn path toward the houses. “I was fascinated by the study you published recently on the black-feathered cormorant.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Thank you. The islands get so much attention for their sharks.” She made a face at Jason’s well-formed back, as if he were responsible for the Farallones’ notoriety. “Many of the birds here are in far greater need of protection, but the majority of funds are spent on shark research. Investors with deep pockets love to see red water and flashing teeth.”
“Watch your step,” Jason warned them, turning toward Elizabeth and placing his hand on her slim waist.
She tensed at his touch. “I’m fine.”
Nodding, he released her and continued on.
Daniela traversed the slope with caution, feeling rocks crumble and roll like ball bearings beneath her booted feet.
“Where was I?” Elizabeth asked.
“‘Flashing teeth,’” Daniela supplied, eyes cast downward.
“Oh, right. The tourists come for the sharks as well. Boatloads of gawkers cruise by every weekend. I mean, this is supposed to be an animal sanctuary. Last Sunday they all but ruined my chances at seeing two blue-crested warblers mate—”
Her rising voice shut off like a switch as she lost her footing. Quick as lightning, Jason caught her by both arms and hauled her against him, saving her from a nasty tumble down the side of the cliff.
She stared up at him, wide-eyed and short of breath.
“Like I said,” he murmured, letting her go. “Watch your step.”
“Sorry.” With a trilling laugh, she glanced back at Daniela. “I tend to get overexcited, talking about my causes.”
“No need to apologize for being passionate,” Daniela said, intrigued by the subject matter. Not to mention the byplay between Elizabeth and Jason. “How close do the tourists get?” she asked as they started down the hill again. “I thought the waters here were too treacherous for recreational boaters.”
“Oh, they are,” Jason replied. “But a cage-diving operation comes during shark season. They dock a couple of hundred feet offshore, drop the cages, and throw out chum.”
Daniela was shocked. “They chum? Near the islands?” The practice of luring sharks with chum, a noxious mixture of blood and fish parts, was looked down on by scientists. It changed the animals’ natural behavior and made them less wary of humans.
“Yeah. Unfortunately, it’s not illegal.”
She arrived at the base of the slope, where the ground was more stable. “I can’t imagine getting in the water here. Even with a steel cage for protection.”
“Crazy thrill seekers,” Jason said, winking at Elizabeth. Obviously, his profession as a shark researcher put him in the same category. “Daniela is here to observe the Steller sea lion. She’s from the Scripps Institute in San Diego.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Excellent. That’s a top-notch organization.”
“Oh, yes,” Daniela said, unable to contain her own excitement. “We’re collecting the necessary data to keep the Steller on the endangered list. I hope my work here makes a difference.”
“So do I,” Elizabeth said kindly.
“We’ve got an awesome crew this season.” Jason shifted the weight of her duffel as he approached the front door of the house. “Brent Masterson is here, filming some footage for his documentary. Taryn is one of the most enthusiastic interns I’ve ever met. And although Dr. Fitzwilliam had to back out at the last minute, his replacement is a name I’m sure you’ll recognize. We’ve nabbed the leading shark expert in the Western Hemisphere—”
Daniela’s stomach dropped as soon as he opened the door. For standing behind it was a man she recognized very well, indeed. The leading shark expert of the Western Hemisphere had his hands all over a gorgeous blonde, laughing as he tri
ed to wrestle her to the ground.
“—Sean Carmichael,” Jason finished, gazing upon Daniela’s ex-husband with hero-worship in his eyes.
Set the Dark on Fire is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Bantam Books Mass Market Original
Copyright © 2009 by Jill Sorenson
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BANTAM BOOKS and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-553-90686-8
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