“It’s okay.” He crushed her against him. “I know you’re upset. I don’t blame you. This is messed up. To top it all off, we’re having dinner with them. It’s just too much.”
Rowan sighed. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel like too much when he was beside her. She felt stronger just holding him. “We’re going to be okay.” She meant it. She would find a way to save herself simply because it would destroy him to lose her. She’d never been with someone who loved so freely. He would be just as distraught as her. She made up her mind on the spot to tell him about the omen. It would have to wait until after dinner, though. If she told him now he would kill Spencer over crab legs, and then they would be in a real pickle.
“Of course we’re going to be okay.” He pulled back far enough so he could study her face. “Do you want me to get us out of this dinner? I can do it easily enough. I’ll lie and say you’re sick or something.”
Rowan shook her head. “No. That will draw attention to us and I already acted like a fool when Darcy showed me the photo. We’ll go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He brushed his lips against her forehead, love momentarily threatening to overwhelm him. She was a resolute little thing when she wanted to be. “If you start feeling uncomfortable, mention your stomach is upset and I’ll get you out of there right away.”
“Code words?” She grinned. “Should I say the word ‘vomit’ if I want to escape?”
He chuckled at her obvious amusement. “Sure. Vomit is definitely a good code word.”
“It sounds like a plan.”
MICHAEL, DARCY, JULIA, AND SPENCER were already seated when Quinn and Rowan strolled into the dining room hand-in-hand. Rowan’s gaze immediately drifted to them, as if she sensed them watching, while Quinn continued to scan the room.
“They’re over there,” Rowan noted, tilting her chin toward the center of the room. “They’re waving.”
Quinn gripped her hand tighter and then offered a friendly wave to Michael to let him know they would be joining shortly. Then he directed her toward the buffet line. “Let’s load up.” He went straight for the potatoes and prime rib. Comfort food seemed to be in order. He assumed Rowan was loading up on her usual crab legs. When he caught up with her at the end of the line and noticed she had soup and a salad, he was obviously confused. “Did they run out of crab or something?” He turned to scan the line and frowned when he saw the pile of it in the center of the table. “What gives?”
“My stomach is a little upset,” she admitted, pinning him with a quelling look. “I’m just nervous. It will pass. Don’t make a thing out of it.”
He frowned. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither of us like this. That doesn’t mean we can simply pretend it’s not happening. I’m fine with the soup and salad for one evening. The crab legs will still be here tomorrow. Hopefully my stomach won’t be threatening a revolt then.”
“I don’t care what happens, we’re not eating with them again,” Quinn muttered, pressing his hand to the small of her back to guide her across the dining room. “I hate these people.”
He sounded surly, which only served to make Rowan more antsy. All she wanted to do was get through the meal without throwing a drink on any of them. That was her lone goal.
Michael was on his feet when they arrived at the table. “I was starting to think you forgot.” He pumped Quinn’s hands in greeting, even though they never shook when saying hello. “Hey, Rowan.” He gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek, also something he never did, and pulled out her chair for her. “You look pretty tonight.”
“Does that mean I don’t look pretty every other night?” She was going for levity but realized there was bite to her tone when it was too late to take it back.
Michael balked. “Of course not. You’re a living dream.”
“She’s just tired,” Quinn interjected. “Don’t mind her. I found her in the bedroom, where she spent half the afternoon. Her stomach has been acting up.”
Spencer’s face filled with sympathy as he made a tsking sound and shook his head. “That’s awful. I hope it’s not something serious.”
“I’m sure it’s just a bug,” Rowan replied hurriedly, briefly making eye contact before focusing on her salad. “I don’t really get sick very often.”
“Maybe you’re pregnant,” Julia suggested. She was sitting next to Quinn — Rowan didn’t miss the appreciative look the woman gave his backside as he helped her sit — and her demeanor came off as mischievous.
“I’m not pregnant,” Rowan countered tersely.
Quinn pressed the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth as he slid her a sidelong look. He could practically feel the tension wafting off her. It was a side of her he’d never seen before, and he wasn’t exactly happy it was making a cameo this evening.
“You could be and not even know it,” Darcy offered. “My sister was pregnant for four months without realizing it.”
“Didn’t she notice she wasn’t getting her period?” Rowan challenged.
Michael shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “I don’t think that’s proper dinner conversation.” He looked mortified and sent an apologetic look in Spencer’s direction. “I’m sorry. She’s not usually like this. She must really be sick.”
Rowan hated that the usually amiable captain felt the need to make excuses for her. She realized — in a rather remote way — that she was acting out of sorts. In her head, she knew she needed to rein herself in. She was helping no one with her attitude. Her stomach had other ideas, though.
“I can speak for myself,” she barked.
Quinn cleared his throat and tapped his foot on top of hers under the table. It was a warning. “I apologize. I really do think she’s coming down with something ... and not a baby.” He pinned Julia with a pointed look. “I should’ve left her in the room and come to dinner myself, but she didn’t want to disappoint Michael so she forced herself to come.”
Rowan managed to keep her face neutral, but just barely. She knew she was acting like a world-class idiot. She wanted to blame her nerves, but there was so much going on in her head she couldn’t settle on any one thing. “I’m sorry.” She held up her hands in capitulation. “I really don’t feel all that well. I shouldn’t take it out on you, though. It’s certainly not your fault.”
Quinn leaned back in his chair, secretly relieved, and smiled. “Eat your soup, Ro. It might settle your stomach.”
“That’s a good idea.” Michael beamed at her. “I’m a little sad I don’t get to see you pack away the mountain of crab legs you usually eat, but hopefully this bug will pass quickly.”
“Hopefully,” Rowan agreed, gripping her spoon. She really wasn’t hungry. She did, however, want answers. “So, Mr. Spencer, were you and Michael friends in college? That’s what you said, right?”
“We were.” Spencer smiled indulgently, no hint of malice in his eyes. “We had a lot of wild times together.”
“Oh, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael protested. “I was an angel in college.”
“We met at a frat party,” Spencer supplied. “We were rushing the same fraternity — Theta Chi — and we were both ridiculously nervous. You should tell the story, Michael. You’re better at it.”
The captain needed little prodding to launch into the story. Rowan only kept half an ear on it as she pushed salad around her plate. Quinn moved his hand to her back, rubbing soothing circles as he nodded in polite interest, laughing at the appropriate parts of the story as Michael and Spencer chortled like maniacs.
At one point, Rowan lifted her eyes and met Darcy’s steady stare. The blonde was watching her with keen interest. For Rowan’s part, she couldn’t figure out why she showed her the photo in the first place. It was either meant as a warning or intimidation. She honestly couldn’t decide which.
After about twenty minutes of gregarious conversation, Rowan gave up even pretending she was interested in food
and instead signaled a passing waiter. “I need a gin and tonic,” she said, earning a surprised look from Quinn. She wasn’t much of a drinker.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Quinn interjected, confused. “That won’t help your stomach.”
“Actually, I think it will help,” Rowan replied. It was the nerves eating her alive and making her feel ill. Alcohol was known to be relaxing, after all. “Make it a tall one.” The waiter nodded in understanding and turned to leave, but she grabbed his arm before he could disappear. “Actually, make it two.”
ROWAN WAS DRUNK. THAT’S ALL Quinn could think about as she downed her fourth cocktail and laughed like an idiot at some story Michael decided to share with the crowd. Quinn was sure it was exaggerated. While women threw themselves at the friendly captain because of his position, he’d never once seen four women at once chase him across the deck, which was the end result of the story he chose to tell tonight. Quinn figured it wasn’t his place to question Michael’s story, though. He had bigger problems. The biggest was sitting next to him and trying to flag down a waiter.
Ever since she started drinking, Rowan had become much friendlier. She engaged Julia and Darcy in conversation, asked polite questions, and even laughed at a few jokes. Anyone outside their immediate circle would think she was being friendly. Quinn knew better.
“I’ll have another.” Rowan tapped the side of her glass when the waiter caught her eye.
“No, she won’t,” Quinn interjected, grabbing the glass and lowering it to the table. “She’s done.”
Rowan’s eyes were full of fire when she turned them to Quinn. “I think I can decide if I’m thirsty.”
“Not tonight you can’t.” He wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin and slowly stood. “I apologize, but we’re going to have to cut things short. I need to get Rowan back to the room. This stomach bug is doing a number on her.”
Disappointment flitted across Spencer’s face. “Oh, that’s a shame. We didn’t get a chance to talk about the two of you at all.”
That was true, and something Quinn was ridiculously thankful for. “Maybe another time.” He grabbed Rowan’s elbow and helped her onto unsteady feet. She was practically a teetotaler so four cocktails had pretty much sent her to La-La Land. “Say goodnight, Rowan.”
“Goodnight, Rowan,” she mocked.
He bit back his anger, reminded himself she was out of her element and terrified, and then led her away from the table. “I hope you all have a lovely evening.”
Rowan was full of complaints on the way back to the room, anger bitterly spewing forth. Quinn completely ignored anything she said, making sure to keep a firm grip on her so she wouldn’t wander away. Once inside, he threw his keycard on the dresser and glared at her.
“What were you thinking?”
Rowan opened her mouth to answer and then made a face. “I don’t know. I just needed to loosen up. I would’ve given us away if I didn’t loosen up.”
“There are different ways to loosen up besides getting blitzed.”
“I’m hardly blitzed.” As if to prove her point, Rowan tried to flip off her sandals, and almost tripped.
Quinn lunged forward to catch her. “Right. You’re not blitzed. You’re completely in control of your faculties.”
Rowan jutted out her lower lip. “I am. I’m awesome. I’m great. I’m ... .” She trailed off, her expression twisting. “I think I’m going to be sick.” She bolted into the bathroom with little preamble, not closing the door before falling to her knees and lurching over the toilet.
Quinn watched the show, helplessness tightening his chest. He thought about going to her, holding back her hair, and saying whatever she needed to hear to feel better. He couldn’t make himself do it, though.
He was disappointed in her. That had never happened, not since the moment they’d met. She’d confused him, infuriated him, even hurt him a time or two. She’d never disappointed him, though. He didn’t know what to make of the phenomenon.
“Oh, good grief,” Rowan muttered as she went back for a second round.
“I guess now would be a good time to mention vomit,” he offered.
“You’re so funny.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and even though he was frustrated, he hated to see them.
“I’ll get you some clothes to change into,” he offered. “I’ll get some ginger ale for your stomach, too. Oh, and some aspirin. It’s probably best if you throw it all up. That’s the only way you won’t be hungover tomorrow.”
“Sure. Great. I ... .” Her head was back in the toilet before she finished, causing him to shake his head and stomp to the dresser. He couldn’t ever remember feeling this way where she was concerned and he wasn’t happy with his reaction, let alone her antics over the course of the last hour.
He yanked open the middle drawer, where he knew she kept sleep shorts and tank tops, and frowned when his eyes fell on two envelopes. His name was scrawled across one. Her father's name across the other.
He forgot about his hunt for pajamas and grabbed the top letter. He considered asking her about it before invading her privacy and then opted against it. She was otherwise engaged, and he couldn’t stop his heart from pounding at the possibility that she’d written something horrendous to him. What if her show this evening had nothing to do with their dinner guests and everything to do with something else?
He had the letter open and was reading it before he gave much thought to how she would react. Frankly, he didn’t care. Once her head was on straight, they were going to have a long talk. Unfortunately for him, the letter was worse than he envisioned. No wonder she was so upset. No wonder she was lost.
She was going to die.
Now he was the one who felt sick. On a whim, he dropped the letter on the bed and strode to the nightstand to grab her camera. He was familiar enough with the mechanics to access the photos she’d taken during the day. Sure enough, her face popped up in ten of them. She’d obviously taken them of herself given the angle.
The anger he felt drained as he flipped through each photo. She’d taught him how to recognize the omen, and it was present in every snapshot.
“Oh, geez.” His eyes burned, as did the lining of his stomach. He thought he might actually have to push her out of the way and join her in front of the toilet before all was said and done. “Oh, geez. I can’t believe this. How could you keep this from me?”
9
Nine
Quinn felt frozen in place. He couldn’t stop looking at the photos over and over ... and over ... again. Her face, so lovely with her big eyes and high cheekbones. There wasn’t even a hint of a smile in the photos, though.
He was a man of action and yet he felt such fear that he was immobilized. Should he call Paul to see the photo? Should he fake an emergency to get her off the ship? Should he lock her in the bathroom and never let her out? All of them sounded like viable options.
And then he heard her get sick again and all thoughts about how he was going to keep her safe in the future fled in the wake of the realization that he had to take care of her now.
Slowly, he lowered the camera to the nightstand. He allowed himself a brief moment to feel the fear, and then he pushed it out of his mind. He grabbed a tank top and sleep shorts from the dresser and returned to the bathroom, his heart giving a mighty heave when he saw her face resting on the side of the toilet seat. She was sweating and looked miserable, tears streaming down her face.
“Here, sweetie.” He dropped the clothes on the floor and moved to the sink, filling one of the provided plastic cups with water and grabbing a hair tie and brush before sliding onto the floor behind her. The bathroom was tiny. They had to get inventive when they both wanted to be in there at the same time. He ignored that now.
“Try to drink this for me,” he prodded, handing her the cup. “I’m going to pull your hair back.”
Rowan wordlessly took the cup, but she didn’t drink. She felt terrible, as if she’d been hollowed out. No matter ho
w she looked at it, she couldn’t find a way out of the void she appeared to be trapped in.
Of course, that could be the gin talking.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, gripping the cup with a shaking hand. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you. I don’t ever want to do that.”
Quinn paused in his efforts to drag the brush through her tangled hair and considered his words. “You didn’t embarrass me.” He managed to pull her auburn waves back into a loose bun. He’d watched her do the same enough times he understood how it worked. “I was a little disappointed in you earlier, but I get it now.”
The simple admission was enough to have Rowan’s shoulders shaking as the tears started flowing again. “Oh ... I’m ... oh ... .”
“Don’t, baby.” He moved his hands to her shoulders as the sobs overtook her. “Don’t dwell on it. Just ... get it all out of your system. Finish throwing up. Then I’m going to pour some more water into you, some Advil, and put you to bed. You need sleep at this point.”
“I didn’t mean to disappoint you.” She sounded so morose Quinn’s heart threatened to break.
“You didn’t.” He kissed the back of her neck and stroked her cheek. “I didn’t realize everything you were dealing with. I understand now. I’m not disappointed. It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.” Rowan searched for the correct words to explain what she’d discovered earlier in the afternoon. She didn’t realize he’d already uncovered the truth. “I have something to tell you. You’re not going to like it. I’m so afraid to tell you but ... you have to know. You just have to even though it will probably ruin our last few hours together. I don’t know what else to do.”
Quinn worked his jaw away from her sightline and then shook his head. “We’re going to talk about it tomorrow. You’re not ready to deal with it right now.” In truth, neither was he. His mind was too jumbled to sort through the emotions threatening to overtake him. “I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to make you well again.” Then, tomorrow, we’ll have a very long talk in the morning, he silently added.
Raging Seas (A Rowan Gray Mystery Book 9) Page 8