Ivan pushed up his captain’s cap and was clearly trying to channel the group’s attention. “Okay, everyone, Hans here is my first mate.” He motioned at a spectacled, gray-haired man who looked like a quiet grandfather type. “Cate’s our chef this trip. You’ll meet her shortly. Hans, in the meantime, will take you below, help stow your gear and then give you a tour of the ship. The only place off-limits is the crew’s quarters. Otherwise, you’re free to go anywhere, and explore all you want. I’ll be topside for a few minutes, calling the harbormaster. We’ll lunch in the dining room at twelve-thirty and do some Q & A, fill you in on the schedule, safety features and all that. A-OK?”

Cate? Harm’s head whipped around again. There’d been no woman’s name on the crew roster. He was positive.

And then he saw her.

Actually, what he precisely noticed was her shrugging off the captain’s attempt to cup her fanny as she hiked past him into the main salon.

She dodged the captain’s move, smooth as silk, but Harm’s gaze still narrowed. Since she was female, she was inherently a problem. The captain’s behavior hinted there could be an additional awkward problems between employer and employee. Yet, determining how much difficulty she was likely to add to the trip was confounding because her looks didn’t remotely fit the picture.

Her hair was blond, paler than wheat, and she wore it razor short, spiked up every which way. Maybe she’d gotten around to brushing it last year. Her clothes revealed the flat figure of a kid-skinny jeans, mocs, a long-sleeved T-shirt with the slogan Forget Love! I’d Rather Fall In Chocolate! If she reached five-three, Harm would be surprised. With no makeup and a patch of freckles on her nose and a downright stubborn chin, she looked young. twenty-four, twenty-five? And far more like a scrapper than a siren.