"There's another one."
His instincts blared a warning. Ambush ahead. "Another one?''
She nodded slowly, then hesitated until he thought she might not answer after all. Finally her eyes gleamed with a battlefield determination Max suspected she'd inherited from her old man.
"An interested frown," she continued. "The kind you give someone when you're checking them out but you're not quite sure what to think yet. The forehead still furrows, brows pull together. Head tilts to the side. The mouth isn't tight this time. It's more relaxed."
Darcy lifted a ringer to her lips, not quite touching, and swirled the air around them again. She wore that checking-out frown long after her hand fell away. Well beyond the time needed for a simple demonstration.
Max prayed for air. Breathing became a damned near impossible task. He might as well have been one of his dolphins, forced to regulate every pocket of oxygen entering and leaving his body.
He was totally turned on and she hadn't even touched him.
Then her face cleared, forehead smoothed, lips moved. He made himself listen.
"You were wearing that second frown when you looked at Lucy. The overprotective-dad kind of frown when he's worried about sending his kid out." Her brown eyes hinted at a concern far more dangerous than the "interested frown."
The woman was perceptive. And nosy. And he was letting too much show.
Max pivoted toward the tank under the guise of securing a tie-down chain. "It's a tricky transition for dolphins."
"I'll bet you're going to miss them."
"Miss them?" A Navy brat, he'd said hundreds of goodbyes. Pack up and move on. He'd learned early to shrug off the past, to blend into a new setting quickly but never grow attached. Hell, he'd been training for transitory undercover work since the playpen. "It's time for them to go."
The words sounded harsh even to his own jaded ears, but better for her to meet the real Max straight up. He was feeding her enough half-truths about himself. He didn't need to pretend in this arena.
"How will you set them free? What's the process? I did some cruising on the Web when I received this assignment. Most sites said it's tough to reacclimate a dolphin that's been in captivity more than three years."
He grasped the safer topic with both hands. "That's true, but Lucy and Ethel weren't tank dolphins so we're hoping the transition will be smoother. There are fewer risks of them transmitting infection back into the wild that would harm other cetaceans. Lucy and Ethel have spent their captive years in sea pens— netted-off lagoons and bays."
Open ocean operations.
And they always came back.
He wanted this chance for their release, but his concerns about their adaptation strayed to a different path.
He knew they could hunt and protect themselves. But how would they unlearn years of patterned behavior? Not to mention complete loyalty to him. "It's still an iffy situation, but we're gonna give it a shot."
"Hmm."
"Hmm, what?"
"You're still frowning. Why are you doing this if it bothers you?"
"It's not my choice to make." More truth since the dolphins belonged to the government. His hand slid from the tank to his side.
She shoved away from the bulkhead. With one finger she traced his damp handprint on the fiberglass panel. Slowly. Dipping along each curve. "So you did your research in sea pens. Something about communication?"
He nodded. Watched her finger outline the image of his. Clenched his fist. Swallowed hard. "Uh-huh."
"Lucky for you the Air Force could step in on this one. But then I'll bet you probably have a lot of interaction with the folks at the Pt. Loma naval marine research facility since they're close to the university."
His gaze snapped from her hand to her face. Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!
How had they gone from discussing old television shows and overprotective fathers to Pt. Loma, the government home of his dolphin training operation?
The woman had all but seduced him from his job without laying a hand on him. Hell, two more seconds and who knew what she might have him spilling. He had to get her off the subject. Now. No time for finesse.