CHAPTER 20
Frost strained his eyes, peering down into the darkened water, pole at the ready like a knight at a jousting tournament. Defending the boat.
He shivered and gave a rueful, inward smile. He’d worried about coming to work in wet clothes. Now his uniform stuck to him like a second skin, sodden with sea water, cold and scratchy. He sniffed at it, wrinkling his nose. It smelled of bog and dead fish. He was almost glad Lieutenant Jamieson wasn’t around to see him in all his glory, and hoped she was safe, wherever she was.
What he wouldn’t give for a thick, dry towel. He had the best towels in the world at home, courtesy of his mother. She’d presented them—generous-sized sheets of fluffy brown Egyptian cotton tied with a satin ribbon—as a housewarming gift when he got his own apartm
