You know, Guma, abduction is not my specialty," Adam said from the passenger seat of the Inspector's car. "I don't know how the hell you expect me to snag this woman off the street and drag her off her somewhere, undetected."

Following the Inspector's call –Adam made a note to himself to concoct an excuse for that, because Ali Khan monitored Adam's SAT-phone use and would be inquiring– it had taken Adam East no more than thirty minutes to get to shore then motor across town to meet Guma in the Gold Mohur Hotel parking lot.

Good job it was a Monday night. Traffic was sparse in the streets and at the hotel. The only other people currently in the vicinity were two hairy-headed Yemeni guys squatting under a tree, sharing a puff on the far side of the parking lot. And Guma was in civvies and an unmarked car. Adam was thankful for small mercies; after all, he did have a bad reputation to maintain.

"Ah, Adam, old chap, I have enormous faith in your ingenuity," Guma answered brightly. "I know you single-handed sailors are a resourceful lot. I can only imagine the sticky wickets you've navigated, wot?"

"Yeah, right. You can read all about it in my memoirs someday, Inspector," Adam said, massaging the back of his neck. "So what's the story, Guma?" Adam couldn't believe he'd been shanghaied into this dodgy scheme. After two days with no word from Guma, he'd hoped Ava Blair had hopped a bus to Palookaville, or maybe been picked up by English soccer hooligans or something; because this kind of shit and shenanigans did not jive with Adam's master plan, at all.

The Inspector laid it out: "Miss Blair foraged for her supper off the seafront patio tables. She proceeded south down the beach to a palm grove. It appears she has settled in for the night. This is perhaps the best opportunity we will have; she is isolated."

Adam waited, expecting more. When more was not forthcoming he said, "That's it, Guma? That's the plan?"

"As I said, Adam, you sailors are a resourceful lot; you'll figure it out".

"I'll figure it out. The police are after her. Ali Khan and his associates are after her. She has nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. But, I'll figure it out."

"Righto, Adam East, that's the spirit! So, I shall leave you to it, then," Guma said, then quickly added, "Oh, and by the by, she is wearing pretty red shoes, very distinctive, easy to spot at first glance... You know, in case there happens to be more than one young lady sleeping rough this evening." Guma offered a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary smile.

Adam responded drily, "I'll make a note".

As Adam turned to exit the car, Guma said, "Adam. Be a good fellow, won't you? Wait till I am well clear before you cause any commotion? I do have a reputation to maintain after all. And remember: Anything goes wrong, I deny all knowledge." He smiled again and patted Adam on the back. Adam managed an ironic smile and shook his head helplessly as he exited the car. The Inspector took off.

Just as Adam reached the Gold Mohur beachfront, a movement caught his eye. He saw a silhouetted figure atop the rocky outcrop at the far end of the beach, with robes billowing in the wind. Even at this distance, with only the lambent moonlight, instinctively Adam knew it was a female. And logically, he was certain it was the infamous Ava Blair; who else? She disappeared down the far side, toward Conquest Bay.

Minutes later, Adam stood over Ava's belongings –he'd gathered them into a neat stack– and watched her driving her body directly against the rip current, and the tide.

Who in hell has the temerity to swim by themselves when the tide is ebbing, and in a rip current? he asked himself incredulously. Either she was a blundering idiot or dangerously... plucky, as Guma would say. Adam conceded she was a strong swimmer. But strong swimmers are usually experienced swimmers... experienced enough not to be foolhardy.

He watched her adroitly body-surf the final distance to shore. Then she stood, visibly exhausted, luminescent churn breaking round her knees.

Then she spotted him, and froze.

Adam was also stricken. The sight of this lissome woman's dripping, panting, nude body had transmuted him to a pillar of salt. With the silver moonlight and wild backdrop, Ava Blair was a graphic-novel super heroine. Adam's jaw slackened. He felt a vacuum develop in his lungs.

The woman finally broke the mutual trance, "Had your fill yet, buster?" she called to him between gasping breaths."Do you mind?"

She inclined her head sideways, placed a hand on her hip, lifted her other arm and twirled an index finger in the air.

Adam snapped himself out of it, and abruptly turned his back to the beautiful wench, reminding himself she was the proverbial monkey wrench tossed into his works; the wildcard he had not anticipated. He heard her crunching toward him over the coarse sand. But then as she neared, her pace suddenly quickened.

Adam dodged left at the last possible instant. Otherwise, the right half of his skull would have been replaced by a piece of petrified driftwood. Instead, Ava Blair's grand-slam swing twisted her round in a one-eighty.

Before she could recover, Adam took hold of her, spun her in a furious circle –the strike-out bat flying free– and then he took her to ground. She struggled mightily, squirming and huffing and puffing, but Adam held fast. "We can do this all night long; suits me just fine," he stated evenly, and quietly, into her ear.

His tone did not reflect the reaction his body was experiencing. The sensation of the elastic young flesh of the woman's wet body under him was disconcerting, unfamiliar... and absolutely luscious. Two years in Yemen had obviously been too damn long, Adam mused.

"Okay, okay. Please, let me go," the woman pleaded in a defeated voice.

"Uh-uh. Not so fast, lady. Let's talk about this first." Adam wouldn't be fooled twice.

"No, please. I know what you're after. But... please... don't."

"What!" he cried out, stung by the obvious accusation. Adam let go of her, got to his feet, and with angry strides went to fetch her clothes.

He returned and, averting his eyes, handed them to her. "Rinse off if you like, and get dressed," he ordered.

"Wait. What is this?" Ava Blair asked, pressing the bundled robes to her chest, "Are you with the police?"

"No, I'm not with the police. Do I look like I'm with the police? No, I didn't think so. Get dressed." He snatched up the woman's Louisville Slugger and heaved it further up the beach.

Ava waded knee-deep into the water. She called back to him over the thump and roar of the surf, "Then... what? You were sent here by the Russian Mafia?"

Russian Mafia, Adam thought, Jeezus, this chick is a loose cannon. No wonder my... associates want her outta the picture.

He said, "Russian Mafia? Jeezus, lady, you do have an imagination, don't ya? Get your friggin' clothes on. Let's get outta here. We'll talk later."

"Let's get out of here? What makes you think I'll go anywhere with you?" she said as she approached, arranging her niqab. It appeared the woman's brass was returning with her clothing.

"I'll tell you something for free, Miss Blair: You're homeless, you're a fugitive, and you have no money or papers. You have zippity-do-dah options. Figure it out; I'm likely your best. Now, get your skinny ass in gear."