‘I don’t know.’ Smiling, Mak withdrew his hand. ‘Maybe we met in a past life. Isn’t that the sort of thing you Californians believe in?’
‘Not all of us,’ said Ella, clearing her throat, and deciding that Persephone Hamlin would be much too down to earth and practical for any of that ‘past lives’ nonsense.
She walked over to the two fly rods that Makis had propped against a sandbank a few yards from the water’s edge. Makis followed. Handing her the smaller rod, he stood behind her, his strong, hard body pressed against hers as he instructed her on the correct grip.
‘Casting a fly is an art form.’ His breath felt warm in Ella’s ear and she could smell his cologne, some heady mixture of patchouli and pine. She could have wept with longing. ‘But it’s also a knack, like juggling or riding a bicycle. Once you know how you’ll never forget.’
His warm, smooth palm closed over her hand as he guided her rod up and backwards, before jolting it to a stop with a little flick. He’s evil. He’s a psychopath. Ella’s brain kept re-sending the message, but her body kept returning it to sender. Another shiver of desire shot through her as a second twitch of the wrist sent her line flying forwards and her fly landing on the water, with a rather inelegant splash. She tried not to think about the frantic warning messages Gabriel was no doubt trying to send her right now.
‘You see, Persephone?’ Makis whispered.
‘I think so,’ Ella rasped, forcing herself to step forward so that their bodies were no longer touching. ‘Let me try.’
‘It’s not easy at first, so don’t get frustrated,’ he told her, moving a few yards along the shore with his own rod.
If only he knew how frustrated I am! thought Ella. Out loud, she said, ‘I won’t,’ nodding brusquely and flipping up her rod, performing a cast so exquisitely graceful and perfect it was like watching ballet. Mak watched in awe as her line sailed through the air, twice as far as it had when he’d helped her, and her fly descended onto the water as softly as a piece of thistledown.
‘You’ve done this before,’ he said admiringly.
‘Once or twice,’ Ella grinned. ‘Up at the ranch where I grew up, I used to go fishing all the time.’
He frowned. ‘The ranch?’
Ella’s stomach lurched as, too late, she realized her mistake – and this time it was unforced. Persephone Hamlin grew up in the city. They’d made small talk about their differing childhoods only a few hours ago at the jetty. Mak had told her about the poverty he knew in his Athens tenement block, and ‘Persephone’ had described her family home in Los Angeles’s luxurious Brentwood Park neighborhood.
Oh God, how could I have been so stupid?
‘Well, I mean, didn’t literally “grow up” there,’ Ella scrambled, hoping her face was not as red and her heartbeat not as loud as she feared they were. ‘I grew up in LA. The ranch was more of a vacation place. My grandmother lived there.’
‘Really?’ said Mak, his gaze shifting out to the water as he cast his own line. Or was he looking further out? Towards the trawler? Surely he couldn’t suspect …
‘That sounds nice. What was her name?’
Ella panicked. Shit, shit shit.
‘My grandmother?’
‘Mmm hm.’ He watched intently as his fly began to move.
‘Lucy,’ said Ella, the name popping into her brain out of nowhere. ‘Hey, I think you’ve got something!’
Mercifully, the fish on the end of his line enabled her to change the subject. And Mak seemed happy enough to drop it as he struggled to land a decent-sized sea bream, eager to impress Persephone once again. Ella hoped she’d got away with it this time, but it was a stupid, stupid mistake.
With a sinking heart, she realized she would have to tell Gabriel about it tonight.
‘What were you thinking?’
The anger in his voice seemed to crackle like a hot, white flame.
‘I’m sorry. It just slipped out,’ said Ella.
‘You even gave her a name?’
‘He asked!’ Ella protested. She was lying on the bed in her hotel room in a pair of striped silk pajamas, holding the phone away from her ear to shield herself from Gabriel’s yells. ‘What was I supposed to do?’
‘Stick to the story! You were supposed to stick to the story. That’s what “undercover” means.’
‘Oh really? Well what about you, deciding to tag along for the ride without warning me? Using that damn boat as a transmitter? Monopolizing all my frequencies? Putting me off my stride with all your “do this, do that … Be careful.” As if I hadn’t thought of that!’