[h2][b][center][color=ed145b]Taryn Rogers[/color][/center][/b][/h2]

The potential intricacies of the Flores’ Italian yacht kept popping up in the back of her mind. It felt like the only wildcard in the plan and it prickled at her nerves like a map she could only half see. She had told Cori she would be able to pull the information straight away as if it would be like hooking up a laptop or tablet, but in truth she had not the slightest idea. It was a little funny in a way and the sentiment matched her continuing good mood and smug smile as she glanced around at nothing in particular. Plenty of times she had looked up videos on Youtube or appealed to the followers on her Instagram page for technical issues with [i]Donna[/i] and they never steered her wrong… [i]most of the time[/i]. This would be no different, she told herself. Her shoulders bobbed back and forth gingerly as if she were dancing with the considerations. Getting the data on a boat like that wouldn’t be hard mechanical work, which wasn’t exactly her forte either, but it might get a little tricky if they had put up any sort of password protection on the nav systems. After that it would likely be pretty straightforward and if she could just get coordinates on the screen she could take pictures with her phone. Dates would be even better…   

The scent of a foreign perfume mixed with the surrounding aroma of food, sunscreen and saltwater. Not just some discount outlet Victoria’s Secret either, [i]expensive[/i] perfume, Dior or Chanel. Mostly lost in her thoughts, Taryn’s eyes lifted behind her glasses. Someone was talking. A man. Her gaze moved slowly over shoulder. A serious looking Asian woman was looking directly at her, clearly staring from behind her own sunglasses. Taryn continued to turn her head slowly. Another man also looked back at her, but not the one speaking. He had a softer glance of some amusement and looked relaxed, completely at home. Her eyebrow arched as the words continued to spill out and she realized, turning finally to the speaker, that he was attempting to make a pass at her. She stared blankly at him for an awkward few seconds as whatever game he had was concluded and her fantasy of raiding the mayor’s yacht dissolved in the image of a man who looked like a cross between Don Johnson and Patrick Bateman. Instinctively, a defensive quip was forming on the edge of her lips to put him in his place and she crossed an arm over herself to hold her bag with both hands. 

The whole trio was a bizarre assemblage. Shooting a covered glance back at the woman, she didn’t see any ring on her either and thought for a moment the woman might have been an escort which wasn’t unusual. It was just an odd vibe. They were together, but not [i]together[/i] and the third wheel bro was like the hangaround wingman she guessed. Still, something familiar came to mind as she saw herself in the reflection of his glasses- an accessory just as pricey as the perfume and she knew the sensation of her uncanny memory pulling up some fleeting impression. When the recollection hit, she couldn’t believe her luck and her countenance slowly shifted like a jaguar grinning from a tree. She hadn’t paid any attention to his canned spiel and it didn’t matter. This day literally couldn’t get any better. Her accent turned up just a bit as she spoke to him: “[color=ed145b]I know you,[/color]” She said, feigning amazement for his ego. “[color=ed145b]You’re the one with the helicopter.[/color]”   

[@AndyC]