A cool spray of salt water misted her face, contrasting with the cozy warmth of the spring sun on her skin. It had been a while since she’d been out on the water, and she was loving every minute of it. Even under these circumstances.“Approaching target vessel,” the voice in her headset comm squawked. “Take your positions, people.”Just ahead, the object of the joint USCG/FBI operation, a small but elegant yacht called Allah’s Paradise, lay anchored in a picturesque inlet on the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay.Rebel’s cell phone suddenly vibrated in her pocket. She did a mental wince, quickly pulling it out to check the screen. And almost groaned aloud. Helena Middleton. Figured. Helena would phone at the worst possible moment.For a nanosecond, Rebel debated turning off the thing. But she was working, and her SAC needed to be able to get ahold of her at all times. He insisted on it. Especially this morning. This op was high profile and he wanted constant updates.The phone vibrated again.On the other hand, Captain Montgomery, the USCG operation commander, and ensigns Chet and Sampson, the two other über-macho Coast Guard mopes who rounded out today’s detail, were already disgusted enough that the FBI had sent a girl to do what they considered a man’s job.
