As promised, Adam East had safely transported Ava to Vendetta. The tender was secured aft and he was conducting a cook's tour of his boat.

He ushered Ava to the companionway and followed her down the steps. Adam said, in his best tour-guide voice, "Here to the immediate left is the navigation nook. Tucked back on the starboard side: the guest quarters –short on luxury but adequate for a good night's sleep. Forward of that is the galley and across to port on the far side of the salon, you'll find the head... you know, the ladies' room. Tiny, yes, but it does have a shower with hot water... all the comforts of home."

Ava said, "Yeah yeah, don't tell me, I know the old joke: A little head never hurt anybody. Right?"

"Well, uhh, yeah. Now that you mention it...," Adam began, but Ava held up palm.

She said, "Forget it, Sailor. That ain't happening, ever!"

Adam held up both palms in instant surrender, shook his head.

The Vendetta had given Ava a sense of comfort and security, had emboldened her for some reason. She had never been accused of being a shrinking violet, but under the circumstances, Ava surprised herself with this chill attitude.

Below decks, the air was suffused with an olio aroma of sea water, apples and wood polish. Adam was situated close behind her. He placed his hand lightly at the small of her back as he guided her through the salon, towards the forward cabin.

Ava was acutely aware of Adam's touch. As a matter-of-fact, she could still feel the dry coolness of his hand from when he had assisted her in and out of the tender; and her wrists still pulsed hotly where he'd grasped them and drawn them round his waist while on the bike. Ava tried to flush this foolishness from her mind. Geesus, must be the lack of proper sleep and diet, she told herself.

"This is the living and dining area we're passing through," Adam said. "Up forward is the Captain's cabin. And... that's about the size of it. Not exactly the Lifestyles of The Rich and Famous, but it works for me."

Ava leaned through the door of Adam East's sleeping cabin. It contained a few photos and memorabilia that worked with the teak interior to produce a warm inviting space. She turned and faced him.

They were standing unusually close but in the confines of the cabin, with an entire six-room home condensed into an eight-by-thirty-foot area, the proximity seemed natural; so much so that Ava had to resist strong, innate impulses urging her yet closer. If she leaned into Adam, her chin would nestle quite nicely on the swell of his chest. An appealing prospect, she found herself musing. But she placed two fingertips at the base of her throat and covered with, "Hmm, very nice. I've not seen the interior of a sailboat. Beats the heck outta my recent accommodations."

"Well...um... I'm glad you like it." Adam's voice quavered with a shade of diffidence that surprised Ava. It contradicted his air of self-assurance. "Uh, listen," he said, "I know you're probably starving. I can't offer much; I wasn't expecting guests. But I discovered a new bakery today. I have some leftover apple crumble. I can nuke it for you. And coffee? Sorry, only instant."

"Coffee?" Ava gushed. "Gimme the jar, Sailor, I'll eat it raw. And, O M G, I would kill for some apple crumble, thanks."

After serving Ava, Adam poured himself a generous shot of Glenfiddich Scotch and sat opposite her at the compact dining table. He pushed back a shock of hair from his forehead. For the first time, Ava noticed he had a small scar in the shape of an inverted 'V' above his left brow. She dropped her eyes, felt she was staring.

Ava had removed her niqab and was savoring each forkful of warm apple crumble. Her salty, limp black hair rested on her shoulders.

"I changed the bedding in my cabin today," Adam said, breaking the temporary silence. "You can sack-out there. If you want, you can shower first. It's fresh water, might be nice."

Ava immediately became aware of her condition. She hadn't bathed properly in four days. Her teeth felt as though they were coated with moss. Her hair was dank and sticky with sea water. She'd been wearing this same abaya the entire time. No doubt she smelled like, and resembled, a sour dish rag. And seated across from her, dressed in fresh linen drawstring pants and t-shirt, with brilliant white teeth, shiny black hair and clear green eyes, was this GQ-cover guy.

Ava tried to paste her hair behind her ears. She said, "Listen, I'm sorry about the mess I'm in. I'm actually quite particular about personal hygiene, you know. It's only that..."

Adam waved a hand that indicated, 'Don't worry about it'. He said, "Hey, Slim, you look okay... for a bag-lady. And I imagine you scrub up quite nicely. You'll find everything you need in the head. I set out a spare toothbrush for you."

Ava finished off her coffee –her third cup– then began, in a business-like tone, "Mr. East, I am grateful for all you're doing for me. But I'm sure you'll understand there are certain questions I'd like answered before I agree to stay on this boat overnight."

Ava was well aware she was going nowhere; she was at the mercy of this dude. But she needed to know precisely how deep this latest crap pile was that she'd fallen into. Any information would be a help when the time came to dig herself out.

"Whoa, whoa there a minute," Adam interrupted before she could begin her questioning. "Listen, I'm sure you're totally wasted and would love to log some quality sack time. How 'bout we postpone question period for the time being? You know, I do have a couple questions of my own."

She wouldn't be put off that easily. Though Ava was in fact, 'totally wasted' –the past four days had been brutal– she knew she was too apprehensive about her current circumstances to get any sleep. Moreover, her reporter instincts had kicked-in. She was sizzling curious about Adam East, his activities in Aden, and his mysterious interest in her. She challenged him, "In that case, let's play a quick game before bedtime. Are you up for it?"

"A game?" Adam clutched a fistful of hair on the back of his head, screwed up his nose. "What kind of game?"

"We'll alternate posing questions, no follow-ups allowed. We'll pledge to answer truthfully. The first one who refuses to tell the truth is the loser."

"Uhh, you know what? You're exhibiting symptoms of running-on-empty, Slim. C'mon, let's call it a night. Before you crash, or get burned."

"Ha, ha, very funny. What's wrong, Mr. East? You afraid of the truth?"

Adam eyed her thoughtfully. He took a deep pull on his whisky. He began to nod his head subtlety. "Okay, Ms. Blair, let's get it on, I've got no problem with the truth." He made an usher's motion with his hand. "Go ahead, losers... I mean ladies, first." He gave her a cheeky grin.

Ava was not shaken in the least by Adam's over confidence. She was the reporter, her bailiwick. In recent months she'd grilled politicians, crooks, cops and snitches to a crisp. Adam East didn't know it, but he was done like a TV dinner.

She reached an arm back to the bulkhead shelf and grabbed his bottle of Scotch, topped up his drink a finger or two then began with Question#1: "Mister East, what are you doing in Aden?"

"I'm entertaining a pretty vagabond on my boat," he answered flatly, took a sip and offered her a 'cheers'.

"No, I mean what is the purpose of your presence here in Aden?" Ava qualified.

"Uh-uh, Ms. Blair. Objection, no follow-ups, remember? My witness," he intoned like a trial lawyer and set his glass down.

Ava drew a sharp breath but then slumped her shoulders in capitulation. The guy was cagey, she conceded; maybe not quite the Himbo his looks would suggest; she'd need to be quicker on the ball.

Adam carefully said, "Will you initiate physical violence again?"

Ava looked him square in the eye, unblinking. "I will defend myself," she answered, leaning extra hard on the 'will'.

Adam offered his nod that said, 'Fair enough'.

She posed her Question#2, "Why were you following me?"

"I heard that a fellow New Yorker was in need, and I felt compelled to help. My turn," he added immediately, and then posed his second question, "Will you make a run for it, without my knowledge?"

"I will run if there is imminent danger," Ava answered pointedly, and Adam gave that nod again.

She asked, "Are you with al-Qaeda, or any type of military or policing agency?"

"I am not al-Qaeda, or a soldier, or a cop. Besides, in my book that was three questions. Here's one for you, "Do you prefer to sleep alone?"

"No. Yes. Wait! Let me explain."

He'd caught her completely off guard. Ava shook her head in exasperation and embarrassment. The truth was she hated sleeping alone; it was all she'd done for way too long, weeks now; it was reaching the point of pathetic. But she sure as hell had not meant to imply she wanted to sleep with Adam East. She had to clarify before he took something outrageous for granted... or his ego exploded. But...

He launched a preemptive attack, "No explanation necessary, or allowed. An answer of 'No' and 'Yes' cannot be truthful. Game over, I win." He placed his hands flat on the table to get up.

Ava protested, "I call foul, you're not playing fair. That was a bogus and juvenile question."

Adam rose from the table, held his hands in the air. He said, "Hey, it's your game, you made the rules." He pointed at her, his index finger a barrel, thumb a hammer. "But I know when I've won." He fired off a shot and smiled triumphantly but then continued in a conciliatory tone, "Go on, Slim, you're wrecked. Have a shower, hit the rack. And don't worry, the Captain's cabin is all yours... no runnin', nor rasslin', will be necessary; lock the door if you wish."

The game had not played-out the way Ava had intended. Adam East probably nailed it when he'd said she was totally wasted. That's how he was able to weasel more useful dope out of her than vice versa.

She was crashed on his bed now, scrubbed, buffed, feeling burned, replaying the questions and answers.

Maybe he was simply a Good Samaritan. For some bizarre reason she believed Adam wasn't a hit man, or al-Qaeda, or with the police. But that didn't explain how and why he'd tracked her down to Conquest Bay –she was incognito, totally indistinguishable in her robes– or, why the hell this guy was hanging about in Aden in the first place. But all this mulling only served to jangle her worn out mind with yet more confusing questions.

The last thing Ava would remember from this cockamamie day was the supple rock-and-roll of Vendetta, and the thin swashing sound echoing from the salon: Adam East serving himself another dose of Glenfiddich. She hadn't even begun to imagine what the following day would serve up.