"I'm going to murder you." Hannah grimaced over her shoulder as she started down the steps. "Or better yet, I'll work you to death checking those schematics." She waved as she moved down the walk. "I don't know when I'll be back. But I'll see you tomorrow. Say hello to Cathy and the kids for me."

The sun was going down when Hannah reached the pier. The twilight softened and masked the age-worn hull of the sub, and Silent Thunder seemed young again. Good God, that thought had come out of nowhere and was sickeningly maudlin. Conner would have laughed at her as he'd laughed at her returning to the pier tonight. She couldn't blame him. What the hell was she doing here? She wasn't going to accomplish anything, and she certainly hadn't felt the empathy Conner had teased her about. She was proud of her cool analytical approach to her work.

So the fact that she'd been drawn back here this evening must have been because she wanted to get the right mind-set to start the job.

Maybe.

Oh, screw it. She was tired of questioning her every thought and motive. She was tired, period. It could be that Conner's talk about the sub had sparked her imagination. Or it could be that she hadn't wanted to stick around the inn when she knew Conner would be too busy with his phone calls to keep her company. The first night away from his family was always difficult for them, and he was usually on the phone most of the evening.

Jesus, that sounded selfish. It wasn't as if she begrudged him either the loving relationship or his family. She had no right when she'd deliberately chosen the single life for herself after her divorce from Ken. It was just that sometimes she felt a twinge of wistfulness and loneliness.

Okay, stay here for an hour or so and glance over the crew dossier, then stroll back to the inn. By then it would be time to get ready for bed, and tomorrow she could dive in and start work. That would be exciting and satisfying, and she'd rid herself of this strange emotional jag.

Now think about the sub. Think about the problems of taking the craft's interior apart, inspecting each piece for possible tourist hazards, then putting it seamlessly back together again. This deadly attack sub would soon be hosting scores of curious elementaryschoolers on class field trips. She'd have to make subtle modifications that wouldn't clash with a spartan environment designed for battle-tested sailors. It had sounded a hell of a lot easier when Bradworth had proposed it to her in Boston.

She glanced at the maritime museum that bordered the site. It was a white two-story building fronted by a massive anchor-shaped monument with the names of dozens of seamen who had died in the waters off this port. Mostly fishermen trying to earn a living for their families, Hannah thought. An artificial lagoon was being constructed around the Silent Thunder, with suspended concrete ramps that would one day hold the lines of visitors. A pair of large, ugly gates now separated the craft from the ocean, structures Hannah assumed would be replaced with more aesthetically pleasing barriers.

She sat down on the pier and pulled the folder out of her satchel. Captain Sergai Vladzar's dossier was on top. He was bearded and white-haired, had a hook nose and a stern expression. His blue eyes were staring out of the photo with a boldness that was a little intimidating. He definitely looked like a commander of a lethal submarine, she thought. His first mate, Valentin Gregor, appeared to be in his forties, with a round face and an expression that was much less intimidating. Of course, the photos were at least fifteen years old, and the first mate evidently was both older and more dangerous than he looked these days. It seemed strange to think that these two men had lived and worked on this ship when it had been a queen of the seas. It was a little like the feeling she'd had when she was at the Titanic site.

It's like they're all ghost ships.

Nonsense. Silent Thunder had been a state-of-the-art warship, and tragedies happened to many well-built craft. Just because that horror had occurred didn't have anything to do with this sub.

Yet she had felt a chill when Conner had said those words.

And she was feeling a chill now.

It was as if someone on that sub were staring at her.

No, not the sub. Somewhere else…

Her head quickly lifted, and her gaze flew to the cliffs across the harbor.

Nothing.

No, someone was there.

Don't panic. She was being stupid. It was probably one of the guards stationed around the area by Bradworth. No reason to be afraid.

If it wasn't her imagination.

It didn't matter. She still wanted to jump to her feet and run back to the dock.

She drew deep breaths, and in a moment her heart steadied. She deliberately focused her gaze on the captain's dossier and tried to concentrate. She was in no mood to scan them now, but she would not give in and leave here until she decided to go back to the inn, dammit. That would be both foolish and a surrender to unreason.

It had to be imagination.

She knew he was there, Kirov realized.

It wasn't only that glance she had cast up at the cliff. Her body language was tense, alert, wary.

He wouldn't have been surprised if instinct had made her turn and scurry away. She perceived a threat, and an unknown threat was always more frightening.

She wasn't running. She was deliberately ignoring that instinct and leafing through the records Bradworth must have given her.

The last rays of the setting sun were touching her, enveloping her with a warm glow. She looked young and alive and, in this moment, a little vulnerable. Yet he could tell she had the same charged strength as the submarine she was studying.

He smiled at the thought. "You probably wouldn't appreciate the comparison," he murmured. "But I can't offer you a greater compliment, Hannah Bryson."

And he found he wanted to keep on looking at her as he always did Silent Thunder.

He trained the powerful binoculars on her face, watching the play of expressions.

Yes, I'm here. Yes, I may be a threat. But if you won't run away, then you'll have to accept me, take me…

You took long enough. It's almost eleven." Conner hung up the phone and rose from the porch swing. "I thought maybe you'd managed to break into that sub and started the job tonight."

"No, you didn't. You know I wouldn't be that stupid. How's Cathy?" She climbed the steps. "And what are you doing out here? I expected you to be in bed."

He ignored the last question. "Cathy's fine. Ronnie scored two goals in his soccer game this afternoon."

"Great." She opened the screen door. "I'm sorry you weren't there to see it."

"So am I. But that's the breaks."

"If it wasn't past his bedtime, I'd call and congratulate him. I'll do it tomorrow. How is he doing?"

"As usual. Eleven going on thirty. How did I ever produce such a serious offspring? He thinks Donna's nose is out of joint because he's getting so much attention. He told me I should start her in a gymnastic class so that she'd feel good about herself. She's only five, for God's sake."

Hannah smiled. "So when does she start classes?"

He sighed. "When Cathy gets around to it. We can't let Ronnie think he's running our lives."

"He'd be a very benevolent dictator."

"It's probably your fault. I think he takes after you." He changed the subject. "Why are you so late? Anything wrong?"

"No." She wasn't about to tell him she had deliberately stayed at that pier because she refused to give in to an idiotic case of nerves. "It was just a nice night. I didn't know you'd be waiting up like an anxious father."

"Someone has to worry about you. You don't do a very good job of it yourself. I bet you didn't stop and grab a meal, did you?"