Early the next morning Ava was awakened by a now familiar swing and pitch: Vendetta under way.

She stretched her arms to the ceiling. She cracked her knuckles and allowed a long, lazy, vocal yawn to issue from her open mouth as she dropped her arms. Ava was a cross on the bed.

Memories from the glorious day previous and from the wondrous night that followed replayed in her mind. She smiled contentedly. Adam was proving to be the man she had long ago given up hope of ever finding. He was handsome and funny, strong and semi-honest. He could cook and sail and swim, and kick butt... hmm, yes, just the right amount of wrong... well, so far anyway.

And she loved talking with him. He listened intently, offered thoughtful opinions and judged fairly. Adam was self-conscious regarding his limited formal education and Ava had found it endearing when he'd covered by joking, 'I know a little about everything, but not a lot about anything.' He could spin a yarn with the skill of the Ancient Mariner. He shared her love of classic films, and embraced a charming fidelity to many of the old customs, values and ethics they unashamedly espoused... so sweet; definitely Mister Right-ForNow.

If Ava had listed all these as desired qualities on her online dating profile, she'd have to use 'Pollyanna' as her alias. And another thing, which she couldn't list: Adam East could shag like a Norse god; and, much to the delight of Ava's lady bits, he had an insatiable appetite for the breakfast of real champions. The thought alone stirred a pink flush down below.

"Hey, Slim! Get your ass outta that rack; we're burnin' daylight!" Adam shouted down the companionway.

Ava rolled her eyes and her lips curved to a crooked grin as she remembered the most lovable quality she'd failed to list: Adam East could be bossier than a sweat-shop manager.

"Oh well, can't have everything," she reminded the cabin wall as she pulled on her shorts and dropped a t-shirt over her head.

When she entered the salon, Ava noticed her robes and chukka boots were neatly, and conspicuously, stacked on the dining banquette seat. Hmm. She rested her fingers on the pile and wrinkled her brow.

When she came topside she was surprised to see they were putt-putting toward the long pier where she and Adam had boarded the Zodiac that first night, and where Adam had met Ali Khan in the scene stolen from Miami Vice.

"What's up, Sailor? Where're we headed?" Ava questioned airily –a direct contrast to the stern expression on Adam's face.

"When we near the pier you should go below. But you have a choice to make. I'm heading in to refill the water and fuel tanks, then I'm sailing into the Gulf. If you're... working, with that Aaron Abel guy again today, put your robes on and I'll drop you off at the abandoned pier further west, on my way out."

"Sooo, what's the choice?" Ava asked.

"Instead, you can sail with me into the Gulf."

"Which would you prefer I do?" She threw back at him.

Adam looked squarely into her eyes for the first time since she'd come topside.

He said, "I, uh... well truth is, I've kinda gotten used to having you around, Ava." His lips compressed into a hard line before he continued, "But listen. I gotta warn you, Dorothy, you're not in Kansas anymore. And as I said, I'm no Black-Ops guy, I'm just a sailor. And some of the stuff I'm involved in, some of the people I associate with, are not exactly kosher, if you know what I mean. It can be bloody risky. So, if you do choose to come along, you've gotta behave; go below when I tell you; and you've gotta shut up about the job I'm doing. Agreed?"

"Hmm, I'll think about it, let you know. Right now I better go below, huh? And behave?"

Ava sat beside the pile of her clothes, her arms wrapped close round her knees, her heels dug into the edge of the banquette. She listened to the refueling activities taking place topside while she pondered the situation and weighed the opportunities.

Obviously, the pragmatic move would be to reconnect with Aaron Abel. Ava had been successful in re-compiling the bulk of information lost with the theft of her laptop. And with access to the Yemen Observer intranet, she had discovered several missing pieces of the puzzle. She knew she needed to begin putting together her story. And on top of that there was the murder rap to consider. She wanted to work with Aaron to chip away at the facts, find a crack in the frame-up. The bartender at the Sailors Club or the desk clerk at the Blue Heron Hotel... Ava was convinced they represented the thinnest layer of veneer concealing the truth.

On the other hand...

There was the Adam East 'revelation'. Ava wanted to stick close to him. She needed time to dissuade Adam from following through on his long-term plan... it was friggin' insane. Of course if she failed, the story would be gold, Pulitzer material! Tempting, but it would likely come at the cost of Adam's demise, and Ava felt she might struggle living with that on her conscience. Besides, if she succeeded, it would still make a great side-angle to her story. Either way, Ava knew it was over between them.

But...

If Adam was sailing into the Gulf of Aden again, it was likely for unlawful purposes. And wasn't that precisely the guts of her story? An opportunity to bear eye-witness to actual events was not something a good reporter could pass up.

Dilemma.

When Ava felt Vendetta under way again she waited a few minutes then poked her head out the top of the companionway entrance. "All clear, Captain?"

"Sure thing. C'mon up, Slim."

Ava noted Adam's tone and demeanor were a complete departure from their earlier exchange. She was certain it was because she was still clothed in her shorts and top and not the robes. She felt a warm and fuzzy gush of delight fill her heart. She couldn't help feeling immensely flattered that Adam was so pleased she was staying aboard.

Ava skipped into the cockpit and popped onto the storage locker nearest the helm, and Adam.

She sat cross-legged, asked, "Can I help set the sail once we clear the harbor?"

"Aye, matey. Glad to have you aboard." Adam grinned widely.

"Well, truth is, I'm kinda getting used to being around." She reached up and waggled his earlobe; nary a care in the world?