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looked at her incredulously. “Your father was J. H. Gant?”
    “Uh-uh. Hank Gallatin. J. H. Gant was his pen name. And he lived quite a few of the stories he wrote about, I guarantee it. When he wasn’t J. H. Gant, author, he was truly Sam Daggett, wanderer and adventurer. That’s why I couldn’t stay with him. He was always running off to exotic places to help some crony or other get out of trouble.”
    Jeopard stared at her with new fascination. Her father didn’t sound like the mercenary who’d been described in the report.
    Hell, this case became more disturbing by the second. Sam Daggett, along with Travis McGee, had inspired his earliest—and most idealistic—dreams of adventure. Those dreams had culminated in a career” in Navy Intelligence and eventually in private security work for driven, dedicated T.S. Audubon. His youthful fantasies were the only thing he still cherished about the world’s intrigues.
    “You look as if I just handed you a Christmas present,” she murmured.
    “You did.”
    She took a sip of her drink. “Captain Sundance, I’ve been babbling about myself and I have yet to learn anything about you.”
    Professional wariness closed around him like an invisible cloak. “You know a lot. I’m a terrible sailor, I have a bedroom with, ahem, a full-length mirror, and I pack a large pistol for chasing women.”
    “We’re talking about the Magnum .44, you mean,” she teased.
    Jeopard smiled wickedly. “That too.” He couldn’t help enjoying her. The fact that she had recognized the gun impressed him. Of course, J. H. Gant’s daughter would know about such things.
    She laughed in a way that was girlish without being the least bit shy. Her blue eyes held too much authority for that. “What do you do for a living that allows you to buy large pistols and cumbersome boats?”
    He fed her his standard story about Surprise Import/Export in Fort Lauderdale. Her smile tightened, and she searched his eyes intently. Damn, he thought, she knew he was hiding something. Her intuition surprised him, made him feel oddly proud of her but also vulnerable.
    “Jeopard, whatever you really do for a living, I hope it’s not dishonorable.”
    He was glad that his control kept her from knowing how much she’d just shaken him.
    “You say that because of the way I charged after you with a gun today?”
    “Exactly. If your import/export business has anything to do with drugs, you can keep away from me. The farther, the better.”
    Inside he breathed a sigh of relief. Jeopard laughed with just the right amount of sincerity. “I’m clean, legal, and legit. I’ll give you a business card tomorrow, and you can check me out.”
    She shook her head, smiled, and relaxed visibly.
    He held up his right hand so that she could see the heavy gold insignia ring on it. “Naval Academy—Annapolis. The navy was my career until a few years ago. I was a SEAL. Do you know what that means?”
    She nodded. “Special forces. Very elite. Also very tough.”
    “So you see where I get my gun-toting, Clint Eastwood habits?”
    “All right.” She nodded, satisfied, but after a moment of thought added wryly, “I guess SEALs don’t learn how to handle yachts.”
    He chuckled. “It’s not part of military training, no.”
    “So, importer/exporter, what are you doing so far from Florida?”
    “I exported myself here for a two-week vacation.”
    “You had an, ahem, more experienced captain export your yacht, I hope.”
    “It’s leased. I boarded it off the coast at Laguna Beach.”
    “Thank heavens you didn’t have far to navigate before you rammed my poor
Lady
. The seafaring world wasn’t threatened too badly.”
    “You’re hurting my feelings.”
    “I suspect that few things hurt your feelings. However, I
do
apologize for maligning you.”
    He grasped his chest theatrically. “You’ll have to do better than an apology. You’ll have to have lunch with me tomorrow.”
    She clasped her hands on the table and