Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I shoved the salad bowl away and reached for the small plate of cheese and crackers he’d also brought. “I need you to find me an isolated spot along the Kiel Canal.”
Jett’s fork paused halfway to his mouth with a sprig of greens hanging off it. “The Kiel Canal?”
I nodded. “It’s in Germany.”
“What do you need this spot for?”
“In case one of my ships needs to pull over for an emergency.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Just find me a spot.”
He was quiet for a moment. I looked up to see his eyebrows furrowed.
“Problem?” I asked. “Use Google Maps. Look for areas that aren’t close to population centers. That’s all I need.”
He cleared our dishes away, retrieved his own laptop, and retook his seat across from me.
Within the hour, my contact at Bakker called.
“Locke, what the fuck is happening up there? Just today, I’ve had two ships boarded in Skagerrak Strait!”
We commiserated for a few minutes before trying to determine at what point it would make more sense to use smaller ships in order to use the Kiel Canal instead of the North Sea.
“I will reroute through Kiel,” I insisted. “At least for the time being. Hopefully, the inspectors will lose interest soon.”
When we ended the call, I felt Jett’s eyes on me.
“What’d you find?” I asked. “Anything good?”
“Not yet. What’s this for?” he asked, closing the laptop. “It sounds like something’s going on. Does this have to do with inspections? Like cargo inspections?”
I took a final sip of the coffee he’d brought, realizing my headache was receding. “There’s an increase in NATO agency inspections on maritime traffic in the North Sea. Inspections cost precious time. I’d rather avoid the risk and use an alternate route.”
“The Kiel Canal,” he supplied.
I nodded.
Jett studied me. “But… why are you concerning yourself with the routes your ships are taking? That seems… way below your pay grade. More of a job for operations.”
The man would make a shit soldier. He’d mouth off to his commanding officer before doing a damned thing he was supposed to.
I reminded myself I wasn’t his commanding officer. I wasn’t his anything, really.
“You suddenly know global shipping management? Did you learn that on Duolingo, too?” I huffed and nodded at the laptop. “You said you wanted to help. So help.”
Jett made no attempt to open the laptop. “I know a little bit about a lot of things. I’m smarter than I look. And I do want to help. But I can help better if you tell me what’s actually going on.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say that Jett had already impressed me with his intelligence more than once. But instead, I sat back in my chair and crossed my legs, watching his teasing, bow-shaped lips and trying to read them for the truth.
“Impress me, then, with your knowledge of global movement of goods and the tech that keeps half a million metric tons of cargo moving across the world’s waterways every day.”
Jett’s teeth scraped his lip while he hesitated. I considered how to release him from the small moment of awkwardness and potential embarrassment.
But then he opened his mouth and spoke.
“I went to high school with Hunter Berringer.”
The last name got my attention. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“He’s Cy Berringer’s son. Cy runs Lowcountry Hazard Transport. They handle—”
I barked out a laugh. “I know what they handle, Jett. But being friends with a kid in high school doesn’t give you—”
“He’s my brother’s best friend. I spent half my time at his house growing up. His mom was good friends with one of my dads.”
I stared at him. “One of your dads.”
His eyes opened infinitesimally wider. “Um, yeah. I have two dads. I thought I told you that?”
What was I supposed to say? Your extensive background check revealed a single mother and no siblings, so what the actual fuck?
“So explain what kind of exposure you had to hazmat shipments. As a high schooler.” I folded my arms over my chest.
He sucked in a loud, annoyed breath. “Hypothetically, I was around when he had phone calls about finding creative ways to evade inspections, ducking into unexpected ports to wait out unpleasant traffic, timing certain runs to deliberately hit bad weather. I know that sometimes certain ships pull the fuck over to avoid getting caught doing shady shit. I know that the shipping business sometimes… skates the rules.” His eyes met mine. “A little like privateers.”
I huffed. “I’m not Cy Berringer. Maris doesn’t do ‘shady shit’ anymore.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. You’re no angel. You hired a fucking prostitute, for god’s sake.”
His last sentence was a gut punch that literally stole my breath.
When I’d asked Jett to accompany me, he’d joked about being my whore. The comment had rankled, but I hadn’t rebutted it. In fact, I’d told myself it was better for both of us if we looked at our arrangement that way.