Naturally ginger hair, tied into a loose bun, whipped in the breeze, a freckled, yet tanned face grinned into the spray, a firm, strong hand, equally tanned yet equally freckled, gripped the wooden spar that formed the tiller, holding it rigidly against the trim, well muscled hip that was encased tightly in the rubber wetsuit. The same wetsuit was pulled back from the upper body, flopping languidly over the transom of the boat. Thus the slightly less tanned but equally freckled upper body of the woman was exposed, the white bikini top a minor concession to modesty. Not that she really needed it out here on the ocean, but Juliet Santana was always cautious about the possibility of upsetting the locals. The largely Catholic population was about as right wing as they came, in religious terms, and s a guest in their country, Juliet was careful to to stand out too much.<br/><br/>Of course if she were just a tourist things would be different, but in fact she was in Costa Rica as a member of the International Marine Biology Association, along with half a dozen others (including her complete arsehole of an ex-husband) to carry out a survey of the Pacific coast, to see whether the vast areas of coastline now designated as national parks by the Costa Rican government were having an effect on endangered species of marine life in the region. And, while technically she was here to do a<i>very</i>important job, to the twenty seven year-old redhead, this was something of a busman's holiday. Although whenever she heard that rather odd term she was always reminded of the really awful movie called "Summer Holiday", starring Cliff Richard, that she had caught on BBC2 one Wednesday afternoon when she was off work feeling ill.<br/><br/>Still, she couldn't complain. She was staying in a very nice luxury apartment, without her ex, thank all the gods and goddesses (He was in a different apartment), food was provided, as was a small flotilla of sailing craft, and she was getting paid to be here! So she was racing South East from their base in Quepos, heading for Punta Rio one of the many wildlife preserves, speeding across the open ocean at an average of about fifteen knots, the North Easterly trade winds racing cool off the mountains out of sight almost a hundred kilometres to her left, filling the sails of the small, easily handled craft. Her two dive tanks were secured in the cabin, she had two days worth of supplies, her radio, GPS and radar were working fine, and it was a six or seven hour jaunt, in a boat easily as fast as the average motor launch: At least in the hands of a skilled sailor like Juliet.<br/><br/>She was brought up on the sea, her parents had both been keen amateur fishermen, and Juliet had learned early. She was swimming almost before she could walk, sailing solo long before she could drive, and knew in her heart what she wanted to do with her life, while her classmates were still trying to decide which elective courses they wanted to take. She had studied hard in school, passed her GCSEs and her A-Levels and earned the place she craved at Plymouth University, getting first her bachelor's degree, then her masters, and finally her doctorate, and now she had the job she had always craved.<br/><br/>From her English mother, she had acquired her looks, but from her Spanish father, she had gained stature, stamina, musculature, and a second language. One that now stood her in good stead. When she had volunteered for the Costa Rica mission, it was the fact that she submitted the application form in that language that had persuaded the IMBA to send her. Why they couldn't have left her ex behind, she really didn't know, but apparently the fact that she now hated his guts was insufficient reason for him to be excluded, especially when his diplomatic and administrative skills made him the perfect leader for the mission. Oh well. At least she was out of the sight of him for the next three days.<br/><br/>She had set off at dawn, taking advantage of the tide and a stiff land breeze to manoeuvre the un-motorized sail-boat out of the marina. It was getting on for lunch time now and the dark green smudge on the horizon in front of her was rapidly resolving itself into the jungle clad hills of the Osa peninsula. She laughed aloud as a dolphin surfaced, riding her bow wave. "Hallooo, Sea Cousin!" She greeted the marine mammal, that was a lot smarter and better at marine biology that she was! "Are you alone, or are you friends with you?" She laughed again and, because this was a Central American Dolphin, repeated, "¿Estás solo, o son tus amigos contigo?" That was probably nothing to do with the fact that a moment later she saw two other broach and blow, dancing in the pressure wave off the sleek vessel's bow. "Oh, ahí estás." She giggled and draped her free hand in the water, confident that with a pod of dolphins around there would be no sharks. One of the sea creatures surfaced under her hand, let her touch it. She was so shocked she almost let go of the tiller.<br/><br/>The pod left her to go play elsewhere and she slackened the main sheet, spilling air out of the sail, slowing the boat's headlong dash towards the rocks that threw ominous spray into the air. She eased the boat  into a sheltered cove and dropped anchor, pulled her wetsuit top up and looked around. This little cove would do very nicely as a base of operations for the next couple of days. She marked the place on her GPS so she could find it again. Something broke the surface nearby, just out of her field of vision. She turned to look, but all that was left was the expanding and fading ring of ripples in the slowly lapping water. Probably a small fish taking an insect. Or possibly even a seal, not that there were many in these waters.<br/><br/>Juliet smiled, and looked down into the crystal clear water. Something flashed past under the boat. A fairly large fish by the looks. She would have a sandwich first, then make her first dive in this cove after lunch.