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would be better to plead the fifth.
    He shook his head dismissively. “Never mind. I don’t particularly give a fuck what you were doing there. What I need to know is where you were going after the pickup?”
    Sylvie had a bad feeling that telling him their destination wouldn’t be a good idea.
    “Why?”
    “We want to know how much fuel we have.”
    Sylvie glanced at the man who’d introduced himself as Hawk when he spoke.
    “There’s a fuel gauge.”
    He stared at her a moment and chuckled. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
    Sylvie reddened. “It was fully fueled when I left Fort Lauderdale ….”
    The two men exchanged a glance. “And that was where you were planning to return to?”
    Sylvie stared at him in dismay. The problem with being scared shitless, she reflected, was that one was also scared brainless. She cleared her throat.
    “All we need to know is the range,” Mac said almost gently. “Nobody’s trying to trip you up for information. Is there enough fuel to reach … say … Mexico?”
    She really didn’t want to go to Mexico. “I don’t know. I’ve never taken the 16
    yacht out before. Actually, dad never has. He bought it for my mother. They’d planned to sail around the world together, but then they discovered she had cancer ….” Sylvie bit her lip, realizing she was babbling.
    She saw sympathy in their eyes but skepticism, as well. It brought forth a spark of reviving anger even though she could see their point, could see why they might think she was making a bid for sympathy.
    She swallowed against the lump of misery that rose in her throat with the memory of her mother. “There’s a manual.”
    “Where?”
    “It’s with the charts in the cabin beneath the wheel.”
    Hawk turned and strode from the room as Mac slid off the bed. Instead of immediately following Hawk, however, he moved to the pile of clothing on the floor and sorted through it, tossing her a man’s shirt that looked big enough to swallow her whole and a pair of sweat pants. Sylvie stared at him blankly when she’d caught them.
    His lips tightened. “When I suggested you get dressed, a halter top and short shorts wasn’t what I had in mind,” he said dryly. “Which part of two squads of horny soldiers cooped up too long didn’t you catch?”
    Sylvie felt her face heat for a split second before all the blood drained away.
    “This was all I brought.”
    His eyes narrowed. “You like to flaunt that stuff, huh?”
    Sylvie gaped at him in disbelief before indignation swept through her. “I was told to provide a distract ….”
    Something flickered in his eyes when she stopped abruptly. “Well, you are that, baby, but I don’t think you’re going to be too happy with the results of distracting my men.”
    “But … you’re their commanding officer …?”
    “I’m not an officer. I’m a grunt, just like they are. I just happen to be the highest-ranking grunt here. We need to focus on staying alive—not watching the sway of those beautiful tits and that fine ass of yours. They’re less likely to break ranks and do something you’ll regret if you keep all that temptation under wraps and stay out of sight as much as possible.”
    Sylvie clutched the clothing he’d thrown at her more tightly. Struggling with the fear he’d instilled in her, she nodded a little jerkily. Despite her fear, though, her discomfort swam to the forefront of her mind when he turned to leave. “Can I …? Will it be alright if I take a quick shower?”
    He sent her a look that made the color fluctuate in her face again and sparked a touch of resentment that he so obviously thought she couldn’t resist the urge to primp. “I just wanted to wash off the tanning lotion.”
    “Make it quick,” he said tightly. “If you’re not out and dressed in five minutes, I’m going to consider it an invitation.”
    He strode from the room as her jaw slid to half-mast in stunned surprise. The sound of the men on the deck above