Predictably, she ignores me. “This is what I get for trusting in American intelligence, I suppose.”
American intelligence?
“I didn’t know you were still on the boat,” Grant says to Eden, showing neither outrage nor surprise. “When you didn’t come at the sound of the first gunshot, I assumed you’d evacuated along with everyone else. How did you get in here? I thought all the locks were unpickable.”
“They are.” She holds up a metal object and tosses it to him. “But it just so happens I have a master key.”
I squeak.
Eden hears—I can tell from the smirk that lifts her lips—but she doesn’t acknowledge it. Hijack does, though, swiveling his head to glare at me.
Dammit. I knew that woman was up to something when she so conveniently disappeared after that failed attempt on the tiara. She groped me and stole my key. I wouldn’t put it past her to have orchestrated the whole thing just so she could get her hands on it.
“That’s strange,” Hijack says with heavy emphasis. “I get the feeling I’ve seen a key like that somewhere before.”
Since I’d rather not fall into apologies and explanations for how I got pickpocketed by the oldest trick in the book, I turn away to focus on the more important issue at hand—Eden and my husband working in collusion.
“You two know each other?” I demand. “This whole time, you’ve known each other? Is that why you tripped me?”
“You think I tripped you?” Eden asks with a trill of laughter. “Darling, you fell over your own two feet. If I were you, I’d take to jogging somewhere you can’t plunge two hundred feet to a watery grave.”
“And to answer your question, Penelope, no,” Grant puts in much more gently. “We don’t know each other. I suspected she was British intelligence after our night searching for Johnny Francis, but I couldn’t confirm it. I didn’t want to say anything in case it turned out to be false.”
My head whirls at the thought. Eden St. James is one of the good guys? And she saved us?
Eden chuckles. “I can see she’s having a difficult time digesting it all. Do you need me to slow down, darling? Shall I use smaller words?”
Nope. I don’t care whose government she’s working for—Eden is definitely one of the bad guys.
“But you thought Kit O’Kelly might be Johnny Francis. I heard you say so.”
“It was a working theory. He fit all the markers. I figured it was either that or CIA.”
Grant shakes his head. “FBI, actually.”
I ignore him to focus on the more important issue at hand. “And you were practically begging me to steal that tiara for you,” I add. “You said you wanted to be partners.”
She casts her eyes up to the ceiling. “Of course I did. I wanted to draw Johnny out. I thought we’d covered this already.” A flicker of annoyance crosses her face as she turns to Grant. “Speaking of, did you find him?”
Grant glances at Hijack, who shakes his head with vehemence. “It’s not me, I swear. Hijack isn’t short for anything. My name is actually Sam.”
Irritation rises to my throat, mingled with a sense of satisfaction that’s wholly inappropriate to the time and place. Now is not the moment to gloat to my husband that I was, in fact, right about Hijack. I knew he wasn’t smart enough to be Johnny Francis.
I focus on the irritation I feel instead. “If you’re not Johnny, then why did you let Peter think you were? You idiot. That’s why he shot at Grant. You could have gotten us all killed.”
Hijack glares at me. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I was trying to help.”
“Great job with that. Any other lives you’d like to endanger while we’re here?”
Eden’s smooth voice breaks in before I can tell Hijack what I think of his mishandling of the situation. “Is she like this with all her ex-boyfriends?”
Grant’s lips twitch. “Yes, actually. You get used to it. I assume this means you didn’t find Johnny, either?”
“Alas, no. I’m starting to suspect he never planned on going after the tiara at all. Poor Peter went to all this work to catch a ghost.” She gives the inert man a soft kick. “It’s a pity, but I suppose I can always take both him and these four miscreants to my superiors in Johnny’s stead. You don’t mind, do you? After all this, I can hardly show up empty-handed.”
Grant clears his throat. “One might argue that I have an equal claim on them.”
She cocks her head. “One might, but then, I did save your life, didn’t I? Besides, in staying on board to track you down, I’ve blown a cover I spent three years investing in. Consider it my fee.”
That seems awfully expensive to me, but Grant just nods. “That’s fair.”
“Thank you,” she says and sighs as she sizes up the five bound and fully grown men she’s somehow going to cart to England. I wish I could say I feel bad for the task ahead of her, but I don’t. “You know, I think I might actually miss being Eden St. James. She was fun.”
“No, she wasn’t,” I protest. “She was awful. Who are you really?”
“Tiffany Thistlethwaite, at your service.” She tilts her head to the side. “I suppose I should thank you for clearing the boat to make all this possible. That was you, wasn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“Hmm. Sloppy.”
I flush. “But effective.”
“Oh, dear. You’re one of those ‘ends justify the means’ types, aren’t you? Your kind always make everything ten times more expensive than it needs to be. My bosses would hate you.”
At that, Grant laughs out loud. Looking around at the carnage of the bridge, I can’t help but join him. In terms of failed missions, we could hardly have functioned any worse as a team. In addition to the blood and damage all over the Shady Lady, the FBI is out a million dollars for Grant’s entry into the game, we’ve just handed Peter Sanchez and four of his thugs to British intelligence, and even though we have the tiara in our possession, we’re no nearer to knowing Johnny Francis’s identity now than we were a week ago. All I’ve managed to acquire is a beaten-up face, a thieving ex-boyfriend, and an injured girl with a hole in her shoulder.
Not to mention the lives and safety of everyone I hold dear. I don’t care what Grant’s bosses say—I’m calling this one a win.
“I don’t suppose I could offer you safe passage back to Germany in exchange for your help with this lot?” Eden—Tiffany—whatever—turns to Hijack, one brow raised. “Since we’re both headed that direction anyway…”
Hijack is instantly interested. “By safe, you mean I don’t have to go through customs?”
“Naturally.”
“I’m in.” Hijack shrugs at me. “Sorry, Pen. I never was all the way sure of you, so I grabbed a few, um, souvenirs that I’d like to see safely home. I hope you don’t mind.”
I don’t mind in the least. There’s no denying that we couldn’t have pulled off this final escapade without him, but the last thing I want is for that man to follow us back to New York. It’s hard enough keeping one of my ex-boyfriends out of jail. “What? No inviting me to come with you this time?” I tease. “All that old money, all those old buildings?”
He casts a wary glance at Grant. “No offense, Pen, but you’ve always been a lot more trouble than you’re worth.”
“You can say that again.” Grant grins and offers him his hand—and, by extension, his blessing to flee the country with his ill-gotten gains in tow. “Thanks for your help, Sam. We won’t forget it.”
I can’t say that I’m sad to watch them go. The back of Eden’s sleek head as she and Hijack push and prod their captives to the top deck to await her helicopter escort is a sight that fills me with intense satisfaction.
Of course, there’s still our own evacuation to plan, a task Grant settles down to with cool efficiency as he takes over the ship’s radio. I’m so impressed by his ability t
o rattle off coordinates and make sexy boat commands that I don’t notice right away that Lola has crept up behind us.
I whirl, prepared to admonish her back to the table where she’s been resting. The poor thing might be stable enough to support a last-minute Hail Mary to save the day, but that doesn’t mean she can stand around chatting with a bullet lodged in her shoulder.
“Um, Penelope?” Her voice is as small and whispery as always, but something about the determined look on her pale little face has me stopping short. Other than a weary pallor and a limp arm, she seems to be holding her own. In fact, there’s something suspiciously like a smile on her face.
To make matters even more bizarre, she extends her good hand and holds it there. It doesn’t waver, doesn’t move, until I slip my palm against hers. She doesn’t shake my hand, as I expect, but holds it—holds me. With a grip like that, I know she’s going to be okay.
“I probably should have introduced myself earlier, but I had to make sure of you first.” She smiles shyly up at Grant. “I had to make sure of you both. But I was hoping the FBI would show up to find Johnny Francis—I don’t think I can keep being him for much longer.”
“Lola!” I cry, dropping her hand like it’s on fire.
“Oh, boy,” she says with a shake of her head. “I can see I better start my story at the beginning. You guys have no idea how much stuff I have to tell you.”
27
The Report
The evacuation of several hundred people from a fiery cruise ship is the kind of thing that makes the news in a big way, even when the people involved in it aren’t all that keen on being made into international celebrities.
For days, all anyone can talk about is the heroic rescue, an effort generously coordinated and funded by several government organizations interested in the various passengers aboard the Shady Lady’s life rafts. I should feel bad for sending so many of my peers into the arms of law enforcement, but considering that most of them would have happily tied me to the ship’s bow to be pecked by birds and fish alike, I’m managing my guilt just fine.
Fortunately, five people managed to escape without scrutiny. From all accounts, Riker and my father only refrained from killing each other thanks to Jordan’s diplomacy, but they made landfall with both their lives and the tiara intact, which is good enough for me.
“I still don’t see why we don’t get to keep the tiara,” Riker grumbles as the pair of us sit inside a conference room at the FBI building back home. Apparently, after a job like that one, the FBI requires us to be debriefed. It’s all very official and boring. “It’s not as if it was easy, sitting in a life raft with your dad and Tara for eight hours. I’d like to see you do it.”
“Poor dear,” I say with mock sympathy. “If it makes you feel better, Grant says it’s going to a museum.”
“A museum?” He perks. “Which museum?”
I know that perk. I don’t trust that perk. “One with a really good security system,” I warn. “So don’t even think about it.”
“You can’t stop me from thinking,” he says, but his attention quickly turns to more important matters. “And that’s another thing. I’m also still having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that our Lola is the infamous Johnny Francis.”
Me too. Our Lola, as Riker so endearingly puts it, is turning out to be a lot of things none of us saw coming. I knew she was smart—her eidetic memory and penchant for statistics more than proved that—but to have masterminded an entire personality under her father’s watchful, vigilant eye speaks of a level of bravery I don’t think I’ve encountered before.
It makes me a little nauseous to think of it, to be honest. Had her father caught on to her at any point, his revenge would not have been merciful.
“I’m halfway convinced she made it all up,” Riker adds. “She had to have been, what, twelve when she started tracking her father’s activities?”
“Thirteen, actually,” Lola says from the doorway. She’s breathless and youthful in a white summer dress, her hair wrapped around her head in a crown of braids. She looks barely above thirteen now. I’m curious what all the dark suits around here make of her. “Hi, Riker. Hi, Penelope. I sure am glad to see you two.”
I leap up from the table and take her into my arms for a gentle hug. It’s probably silly—coddling a girl capable of the feats of daring Lola has managed in her lifetime—but I can’t help it. Even daring, highly capable girls need a hug every now and then. It would have done me a world of good at her age.
“Are they done with you back there?” I ask.
“For now. I’ve been asked not to leave New York for a while, but I don’t mind. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.” Her smile wavers, but she doesn’t let it go easily. “I haven’t been here before. Daddy came once or twice, but those were the trips I wasn’t allowed to accompany him on.”
“How many of his trips did you go on?” I ask, curious. I also pull out a chair so she can take a seat. Her shoulder is healing nicely, but it’s early days yet.
“One hundred and forty two,” she says matter-of-factly. “He always said I was too stupid to understand the business, so I didn’t get to go on the dangerous missions, but I came along whenever I could. To try and learn, you know?”
I reach for her hand. I do know how it feels to strive so hard to earn the respect of a father as skilled and dangerous as hers or mine. I also know how it feels to have it—something Lola will never accomplish, especially now that she’s laid information on virtually every crime and connection the man has.
“He didn’t deserve you,” I say.
“No, he didn’t,” she says, and with such a firm little voice, I raise a silent cheer. “And Mr. O’Kel—I mean, Grant—says it was a smart thing I did, putting out the word that my Johnny Francis alter ego would be on the cruise to try and get the tiara. He says there were French and German agents on board, too. One of the governments would have eventually picked me up.”
“Why did you do it?” Riker asks, leaning across the table. “I mean, rather than just running away from your father when you had the chance?”
“I didn’t know who to go to, who I could trust. I’d always heard about Penelope growing up, so I thought she might be a good place to start—especially since she was married to a federal agent.” She turns to me with a hesitant, almost wistful smile. “When I finally met her, I knew I was on the right track.”
I’m about to puff up in my own vanity when she keeps going.
“But I couldn’t be sure, you know? Then I met Mr. O’Kelly. And Tara. And Jordan and Oz.” The smile becomes less hesitant, less wistful. “And you, Riker.”
Riker jerks back from the table, almost knocking over his chair in the process. Although it would afford me infinite amusement to watch him worm his way out of this one, there’s no chance. Grant appears in the doorway, casting a shadow over us all. I look up, pleased to see him in a T-shirt and jeans, his hair back to its normal color. He wanted to go full suit and tie before he headed in today, but I begged him to take it easy. Being all laced up like that has always made him stiffer and sterner.
I need him to unwind. I need him to unbend. I need him to put his own health above the job for once.
“Riker, Simon is waiting for you back in his office. Lola, Cheryl has ordered me to send you to her at the front desk. I believe she’s taking lunch orders and is hoping you’ll lend her a hand.”
“Oh, is she?” Lola asks. “That’s so nice of her. I told her I didn’t have any plans this afternoon, so she promised to let me help her answer phones. I think I could make a good receptionist, don’t you?”
From the glance Grant and I share, we both think she could make one hell of a good federal agent, but we don’t say so out loud. There’s time enough for her to make decisions about her future. For now, what she needs most is a safe place to land.
“What’
s Simon going to do to Riker?” I ask as Riker and Lola head out the door. As far as I can tell, the debriefing requirement extended to the three of us but no one else. The rest of my friends and family were thanked and dismissed hours ago.
“Nothing much. Just a few follow-up questions.”
My husband doesn’t look me in the eye, an action that has always filled me with a sense of foreboding. Add both Riker and Simon into the mix, and nothing good can result.
“Grant…” I warn.
“He’ll be fine. It’s just a small project Simon wants his help with. It’ll be good for him. A sight better than teaching card-counting tricks to a gambling addict.”
“Fair enough,” I’m forced to say. It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. With Riker, the best way to keep him out of trouble has always been to keep him busy. Maybe a few buddy cop missions with Simon is just what he needs to get his head straight.
Grant must agree, because he shuts the door and says, “I didn’t come here to talk about Riker. I want to talk about you. More specifically, I want to talk about what happened on board the Shady Lady.”
Hearing the ship’s name aloud brings a wash of emotions over me—not the least of which is anger commingled with fear, the last vestiges of this man’s obstinance in putting himself in harm’s way.
Never mind that being in harm’s way is where he thrives. Never mind that he eventually came around and put his trust in my hands. He has to know by now that nothing is more important to me than he is.
He has to know by now that danger is only acceptable when he lets me share it.
I push out of my chair and cross the room until I’m right in front of him. “Oh, yeah? Well I want to talk to you about what happened on board the Shady Lady.” I poke my finger in his chest. “You were supposed to be my partner out there, Grant. We were supposed to be working as a team. Instead, you abandoned the plan and left me in the dark from the first day. That’s not how partners work.”
Seeking Mr. Wrong Page 30