Death Echo by authors_sort

asked.
    â€œSpot.”
    â€œTwo pounds.” Mac looked at her. “I’ll cook aboard the Autonomy. ”
    â€œMake it four,” Emma said in a low voice. “I crave prawns after days of fast food. And there will be at least one more eating with us.”
    â€œThat explains why I’ve been feeling like I have crosshairs on the back of my neck,” Mac said, his voice equally soft. Then, in a carrying tone, “Make it a heavy four, Captain Di. The lady is hungry.”
    The sound of Di’s laugh covered any noise Faroe might have made coming down the marina ramp. Mac turned around anyway, warned by the vibration of the dock beneath his feet.
    Faroe nodded at him, but walked right past toward the Autonomy. Without hesitation he swung aboard Mac’s boat.
    â€œHe has his own boat,” Emma said softly.
    â€œLooks like it.”
    â€œIs your boat locked?”
    â€œWould it make a difference?”
    She almost smiled. “Probably not.”
    She walked back on the dock until she was even with the stern of No Shrimp. Captain Di was weighing and wrapping prawns. Their bodies snapped and rustled against the clear plastic bag. Emma recognized the tails, but the whole animal was something she hadn’t seen alive. She paid for the prawns and walked back to Mac carrying dinner squirming in a plastic bag.
    â€œModern woman,” Captain Di said, nodding and pocketing the cash with approval.
    â€œYou have no idea,” Mac said.
    Captain Di’s laughter followed them down the dock.
    â€œDoes that mean you’ll clean them?” Mac asked. “Or are we eating them Asian style?”
    She raised her eyebrows in silent question.
    â€œWhole,” Mac said.
    â€œForget it. I’ll help clean them.”
    â€œEver done it before?”
    â€œNo. Is it tricky?”
    He glanced at her. “Basically, you just rip their little heads off.”
    â€œI think my skill level is up to that.”
    â€œHow about your stomach?”
    â€œBeats eating them whole.”
    Mac was still trying not to laugh as he helped Emma aboard the Autonomy. When he opened the salon door, Faroe was sitting at the shadowed banquette, watching the readout on a palm-sized electronic device.
    Nobody spoke until Mac closed the door.
    â€œBoat’s clean,” Faroe said, coming to his feet. “So are both of you.” He held out his hand to Mac. “Joe Faroe. Sorry about the informality.”
    Mac looked at Faroe, shook his hand, and said, “Usually I dump people over the side when they come aboard without permission.”
    Faroe nodded. “It’s the same on my boat. The TAZ is my own private place.”
    â€œTAZ?” Emma asked.
    â€œAs in Temporary Autonomous Zone,” Faroe said.
    She looked at Mac. “I sense an area of agreement here.”
    â€œAutonomy,” Faroe said. “Nice thing to have.”
    â€œOr to think you have,” Mac said neutrally.
    Faroe’s smile made him look younger, less like a man you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. His intense green eyes gleamed with humor. “Like she said, an area of agreement.”
    â€œWe’ll see.” Mac took the plastic bag from Emma. “Why don’t we clean these while your boss explains why I shouldn’t treat him like a big prawn?”
    â€œRip his head off?” she asked.
    â€œYeah.” He took her to the galley and emptied the prawns into the sink.
    She looked at the seething, snapping mass, like Halloween with ebony eyes and countless orange bodies. “Now what?”
    â€œGrab the head in one hand and the body in the other and twist, like wringing a washrag,” Mac said. “But be careful. Spot prawns have pointy parts that draw blood.”
    â€œSo does Joe.”
    Mac remembered Faroe’s relaxed yet fully balanced moves as he boarded the boat. “That’s why I’m cleaning prawns instead of