She twisted in the water and tugged herself out. He rose, and saw her falter as her gammy hip gave a little.
Instinctively he rose, reached and held her, settled her, made her safe.
She was dripping wet, beautiful...and so close.
‘We prefer passengers to keep off the decks after midnight.’
He turned and saw Esme, the senior tour guide, staring at them from the top of the stairs. She was carrying a powerful torch which shone straight at them, and her expression wasn’t friendly.
Rachel tugged backwards, but the edge of the pool was too close. Her hip wasn’t working, and he wasn’t letting her go. Esme was making them feel like two kids caught behind the shelter sheds.
His arm came around Rachel and held, and he met Esme’s gaze full on.
‘Take the beam from our faces,’ he said harshly, and she shone it for just a moment too long before she did.
Time enough to make him angry.
This was a private cruise. It was billed as luxury, and it was advertised as a cruise where you had the freedom of the boat. The bridge was open at all times. Passengers were free to go in and chat to the captain or the crew. They could ask to be taken down to the engine rooms if they wanted—they needed escorting, but that rule was simply for passenger safety. The whole ship was available, wherever and whenever the passengers wanted.
And here was Esme, saying it wasn’t.
‘Why shouldn’t we be up here?’ Finn asked, pleasant but firm, still holding Rachel.
‘It’s not safe. If something happened...’
‘The sea’s calm. The night’s lovely. You have high, safe railings. What’s the problem?’
‘We prefer...’
‘The literature says we’re free to use these decks at any time.’
‘And if something happens?’
This was the reason he was here, Finn thought grimly. This woman’s attitude was messing with his cruise line. Esme’s qualifications were superb but right now she was acting like a schoolteacher, and a crabby one at that.
‘I’m going back to bed,’ Rachel said, and finally tugged away.
‘Rachel, you have the right to be on any deck at any time you choose,’ Finn said in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘Unless the Captain has put up a bad weather warning, we’re free to be here. Isn’t that right, Esme?’
‘It’s what’s in our guidelines,’ she admitted grudgingly. ‘But we expect you to be sensible. The upper lounge is comfortable and has enough places to be private.’ She looked from one to the other and her look was almost offensive. ‘If you need privacy...’
She has to go, Finn thought. No matter her qualifications, she was not who he wanted on his ship.
But he couldn’t sack her now, and Rachel was already retreating.
‘I’m off to bed anyway,’ she said. ‘Goodnight.’
She left. He wanted to hit something.
Turning his mind back to his suspicions, and wondering.
Maybe Esme was simply a grumpy crew member, rostered on for security as most crew members were, and wanting to make life easy for herself.
Or maybe she had ulterior motives for keeping the decks clear.
‘I’m sorry I interrupted you,’ she said grudgingly. ‘But you really would be more comfortable inside.’
‘In my own good time.’
‘Sir...’
‘I know what I paid for.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘at least Miss Cotton has seen sense. Don’t fall overboard.’
‘I’ll try my best,’ he said and watched her retreat in a huff. He thought about what was happening on his ship—and he also thought how good it had felt to hold Rachel Cotton.
Sensible or not, he knew which thought was taking precedence.
CHAPTER THREE
THE next morning they landed in the cove where HMS Mermaid had foundered over a hundred years ago. The Cutter had been nail-sick—leaking badly. The nails had rusted out and every nail had to be removed and replaced before the ship could safely sail on. During their enforced stay the crew had carved the ship’s name and date on one of the distinctive native boab trees that must have been large then, but was vast now.
The cove was beautiful, the weird bottle-shaped Australian boabs were spectacular—and Finn couldn’t get close to Rachel.
She was surrounded by elderly ladies. She’d greeted him easily at breakfast, but otherwise he was just another passenger and she had friends all around her.
Not including him.
After they’d seen their fill of boabs, the passengers split. Jason was leading a strenuous cliff climb, and Esme was leading a gentler cliff walk.
Jason assumed Finn would be on his team, and seeing Rachel join the cluster of little old ladies around Esme, Finn thought joining them would be too obvious.
Why was Rachel with the old ladies? Was it because her hip hurt or because she was avoiding him?
That was his ego talking, he told himself, and it didn’t matter. It was good, in fact. He wasn’t interested.
But he glanced behind as Jason led the way up the track—and caught Rachel doing the same.
Their gazes met—and then Rachel deliberately looked away.
Liar. He was interested.
* * *
At lunch Finn sat with a honeymoon couple and a farming couple from Queensland. The farmer and his wife were great company. The honeymoon couple were playing footsies under the table.
Finn was trying to be good company, but he couldn’t stop being...interested...in a slip of a girl two tables away.
The average age of Rachel’s table must be ninety, yet she didn’t seem to notice the age disparity. Her table erupted in laughter over and over, and he thought, here’s a woman coping with tragedy but there’s no way she’s letting it interfere with the happiness of those around her.
How much of the bubble of laughter was an act?
He didn’t know.
He shouldn’t be interested.
* * *
After lunch, as instructed, he headed for the deck where Scrabble was promised.
If his mates at the boat-building yard could see him now...
He grinned, and then he thought of one of his fellow apprentices. Sean had been spotted through the window of his girlfriend’s house, and she’d been using his hands to help her spool wool. Pink wool.
Sean had been given heaps, but he hadn’t minded nearly as much as Finn thought he would.
‘I’m keeping her happy,’ he’d said serenely. ‘She’s worth any amount of pink wool. She’s a good ’un.’
Was that where Finn was now? Doing what it took to make a woman happy?
No. Friends. Not interested.
He pushed open the lounge door and stopped short.
‘Come in.’ Rachel beamed a welcome. ‘We’re ready. Isn’t it lovely; we’ve found more players. The Miss Taggerts play, too. We’ve decided five’s too many for a satisfactory game so we’ve split. I’m playing Maud and Miss Veronica, and you’re playing Miss Margaret.’
‘Call me Margaret,’ his elderly opponent said, beaming her pleasure at having Finn all to herself. ‘Next you can play Veronica. If we’re fast you can get round all four of us.’
* * *
He played two excellent games of Scrabble, one with each of the Miss Taggerts. They played well, and he almost found himself enjoying it—except he wasn’t playing Rachel.
She was watching him, approving, he thought, as he concentrated fiercely on not being beaten. But approval suddenly wasn’t enough.
Was he nuts? What had changed? Why was this woman becoming so important to him?
He’d made a vow about fellow passengers.
He was close to making a vow about women
in general.
So much for vows. Her laughter had him intrigued, wanting more.
‘Another match tomorrow?’ Maud demanded as they finished the second game and the intercom announced the next expedition.
‘Fine,’ he said weakly.
‘Rachel’s booked a radio phone call to her sister tomorrow,’ Maud said. ‘So that leaves just the four of us. What say we play two against two?’
And Rachel’s lips quirked—and he saw laughter and mischief in her lovely brown eyes
‘You’re doing okay,’ she said softly as she passed him on the way out. ‘For a scoundrel.’
* * *
Two more days. Shore excursions, laughter, Scrabble—nothing more.
Finn was starting to go nuts.
Waiting was hard.
He was waiting for the crew to slip up, waiting to see if he could prove his suspicions. But he was also waiting for the cruise to end—so he could decide whether he could think about maybe...
Maybe going somewhere he’d never gone before?
Unknown territory. Uncharted waters.
And then the ship stopped.
* * *
He wasn’t asleep this time. Finn wasn’t a guy who needed lots of sleep and he had enough on his mind to keep him awake into the small hours. He’d been tracking the ship’s course on GPS, comparing it to the maps he’d packed. He knew, therefore, that the Temptress was off course and he wanted to know why.
As the engines slowed, he slipped out into the night. Not to the top deck. Rear mid deck, he thought. If his suspicions were correct... If there was anything to be transferred it’d be easiest from the lowest level, and the mid deck overlooked the lower.
He was wearing dark chinos and a black T-shirt. He should blacken his face, he thought ruefully—but then, a passenger wandering the decks at night was normal. A passenger with a blackened face? Not so much.
But nobody saw him. It was easy to slip through the darkened passenger quarters, easy to find himself a shadowed nook overlooking the rear, easy to settle with his phone camera—and wait and see what his crew was using his ship to do.
* * *
The ship had stopped.
Had they reached their destination? The crew usually used the passengers’ need for sleep to transport them from one wonderful spot to another. Rachel had looked at the map last night and thought they’d be travelling all night.
They must have made good time if they were there already.
The wind was getting up a little and the sea was choppy. She lay in her luxurious bunk—okay, bed—and wondered where they were.
She wondered all sorts of things. She’d been wondering for hours.
Sleep was a luxury that had been destroyed the night her baby had died. She slept in patches now, in between dreams.
If she was at home she’d get up and watch something inane on the telly. Anything was better than lying here and thinking of her baby—and thinking of Finn Kinnard.
She wouldn’t mind another spa, she thought, but Esme had taken her aside and given her a solid talking-to. ‘Please don’t go out onto the decks after midnight. The ship rolls. Even though it looks stable, the top deck gets quite a list when the sea’s choppy. I know the spa’s lovely but we wouldn’t want you or Mr Kinnard to be lost overboard.’
But Finn had said—solidly—that they had the right to be there. The decks were well railed and she was sensible.
She really wanted to see where they were—and she’d had enough of staring at nothing.
She wouldn’t go near the top deck again, she conceded. Spas in the moonlight... Okay, been there, done that. Finn could have them on his own. But if she went to the rear lower deck she could watch the moonlight on the water. Get some perspective.
Think about...nothing?
She wouldn’t think about Finn Kinnard. She’d think about nothing.
And no swimming costume this time.
She wasn’t planning to stay out there. She had no intention of running into Finn again. Not in the dark. No way. She’d slip out and take a look and then retreat.
She’d only be out for a moment... Just for a look... There was no chance she’d bump into Finn again. She wouldn’t even have to get changed.
Decision made, she tugged on a jacket over her nightdress and headed for the deck.
* * *
There was no way the ship should be here.
Deviating from the prescribed route was itself a cause for huge concern, Finn thought grimly. These waters were littered with uncharted rocky outcrops. The route for the Kimberley Temptress was carefully planned to avoid them; to ensure there was no risk to the passengers, who were Finn’s sole responsibility.
But his GPS told him they were miles north of their chosen route, and the ship seemed to be drifting.
Why were they here?
The ship was almost in darkness and that was another cause for concern. There should be lights along the rails. The bridge was still lit, but faintly, and the back of the deck was in darkness.
Finn edged to the rail, staying in shadows. People were moving below him on the aft deck. Shadowy figures. Two? Three?
They were at the rail, looking out to sea.
And then, so quietly that if he hadn’t been straining to hear, he could have missed it, came the sound of oars. An expert rower, moving fast but with stealth. There was barely a splash.
The people below him opened the guard rails, allowing access to the open sea. The rowing boat was right there, tossing a rope to be caught, tugged to lie alongside. Flashlights flicked on. One of the crew...Esme, he thought, recognising her slight figure...knelt and received something from someone in the boat, handing it back to those waiting behind her.
‘We should have got it all last time,’ Esme hissed furiously, as Finn strained to hear. ‘Next run, one drop. No matter what we pay, the Captain’s getting edgy.’
‘The weather was too clear and there was a yacht too close for safety.’
‘It’s our call whether it’s safe or not.’
‘We’re not putting our necks on the line.’
‘If you’re going to be a coward...’
But whoever was in the rowing boat didn’t like having his courage slighted. There was an oath, and the next package was hurled rather than passed. Esme tried to catch it and missed.
The package hit the deck with a thump, revealing silver paper, ripping as it landed. Finn caught a glimpse of something white spilling out.
‘Have you guys caught something? Can I see?’
And, from where he stood, Finn recognised Rachel’s voice and froze. No!
Bad had suddenly become a whole lot worse.
Esme whirled and her flashlight lit the newcomer. Its beam hit Rachel—who was looking absurdly cute in nightdress and jacket, but she also looked confused.
She must have come down the outside steps to see what was happening, Finn thought. She’d think this was a bit of night-time fishing. The silver package would have looked like a fish thumping on the deck. A couple of the old guys on board fished here during the day.
Normal.
Bu there was nothing normal about this. The beam from Esme’s flashlight hit her in the face and she flinched.
One of the men flicked his flashlight at the split package.
It definitely wasn’t a fish.
‘Turn that off,’ Esme snapped, but it was too late. Rachel would have seen—as Finn had seen—the parcel, its white powder spilling onto the deck.
And Rachel’s face changed.
‘I’m sorry. I...I’m intruding. I’ll go back to bed,’ she managed and stepped backward but Esme moved faster, gripping her arm with a force that wrenched her forward.
‘Let me go.’
‘Don�
��t hurt her, boss,’ the engineer said, sounding appalled. ‘She’s a passenger.’
‘She’s seen.’ Esme’s voice was a vicious hiss. ‘Hell. We have no choice. I won’t let this mess us up.’ This. She was speaking as if Rachel was a thing rather than a person. A thing that had got in the way. ‘She goes overboard—now.’
Another man was behind her, shoving her closer to the rail.
Three against one. Martial arts training was never going to help Rachel here. They were pushing her, hard.
Bad had turned to appalling. Bad had turned to do something now!
The smart thing would be to go for help—smart for him, but not for Rachel. He could raise the ship but it’d take minutes and meanwhile Rachel was being dragged inexorably to the open gate.
He had seconds. There was no choice.
‘Leave her be.’ He stepped out of the shadows, yelling, his voice booming across the stillness of the night. ‘Let her go, now!’ He headed down the stairs three at a time, out onto the deck—where three of his crew were suddenly holding guns.
He hadn’t anticipated guns.
He hadn’t anticipated anything.
Wrong. He’d guessed drug running could explain the constant delays. He just hadn’t anticipated it could be so...deadly.
The thought of his crew drug running made him feel ill—but what was making him feel worse was the sight of two guns aimed straight at him, and one aimed at Rachel. And Rachel was already far too close to the open gate.
‘Get with her,’ Esme snapped at him and shoved Rachel further toward the gate. She stepped back. Rachel managed to grab the side rail but only just. Esme motioned the gun at Finn. ‘Now. And one more word out of you and I’ll shoot.’
Guns were pointing straight at him. Leaving was not an option. Neither was shouting.
Somebody might already have heard.
Nobody was coming.
‘You can’t shoot them.’ The engineer sounded and looked appalled. ‘Hell, Es, we’ll have the country on our heads.’
‘There’s rough weather ahead,’ Esme snarled. ‘If they fall in some time before dawn, what fault is it of ours? These two have already been reported as carousing on the top deck. We’ll toss a couple of champagne bottles around, make it look like it was a party. The crocs will get them—but we’ll make sure first.’
A Bride For The Maverick Millionaire (Journey Through The Outback #2) Page 5