by Rickie Blair
They are watching you.
Mobsters, from Russia.
They’d cut your heart out without missing a beat.
Not me. You. It is you who are in trouble.
Her hands shook and she slumped onto the bed, clutching the tote bag. Mila was Russian. In fact, several of the crew were Russian. Some might belong to the—what had Pete called it? She frowned, trying to remember. The vor v zakonye. What if the twenty million in bonds were meant for them? A payment of some kind?
She shoved the bag to one side and rummaged through the items on the floor until she found the Hello Kitty bracelet. Ruby snapped it around her wrist. Whether organized crime was involved or not, Antony must have committed fraud. She would go to the SEC and let them figure it out.
The contemptuous look on Antony’s face flashed before her.
My money wasn’t enough for you two. You went after the company’s funds, too.
Ruby raised the back of her hand to her mouth, feeling queasy.
The SEC? Yes, great idea. And once they’d thrown both Quentin and her into jail the girls would be—what, sent to foster care? Her stomach churned, and she stumbled into the bathroom.
Afterward, she washed her face and reached for a towel. She stared in the mirror at the circles under her eyes, which were getting darker by the minute, and her red swollen nose. Dropping the towel on the floor, she leaned her arms on the sink and lowered her head. Ruby Delaney was gone, and she had to stay gone. At least until she could find Mila and get the bonds back.
After stuffing the last items into her tote bag, Ruby slung it over her shoulder and headed for the door. She stopped to listen to a low hum of conversation in the corridor. She put her ear against the door. There was a knock, a door opening down the hall, and muffled voices. The door closed. Then more knocking and another conversation, closer.
“When did you last see her?”
An inaudible reply.
“Please let us know if you remember anything else. Good night.” More knocking.
Ruby stepped back from the door. They were looking for her.
Her heart thumping, she looked around the tiny room. There was nowhere to hide. She darted through the open balcony door and leaned over the edge, gripping the railing to stop her hands from shaking. The balcony below was flush with this one. In the darkness far below, water surged by. From the stateroom behind her came a loud knock. Then another. And a third.
Time to move.
Bending over the narrow metal railing, she swung her tote bag once, twice, and let it go. It landed on the balcony railing below and perched there. Ruby held her breath until the bag tipped and fell onto the balcony floor with a plop.
The knocks on the stateroom door grew louder.
She stepped over the balcony railing, settling her toes on the few inches of concrete ledge that jutted out on the other side. Hooking her left arm around the railing, she pulled the silk scarf from her belt loops with her other hand. She looped it around a steel baluster, tied a knot and gave it a tentative tug. It would have to do.
Gripping the scarf in her right hand, she sank to her knees and waited for her breathing to slow. Then, with her left hand clutching the railing, she tugged the knot in the scarf down the baluster. With a deep breath, she let go of the railing and slipped her toes off the ledge.
She dropped, wrenching both shoulders, and clung to the scarf as her feet flailed for the balcony railing on the next deck. Voices shouted in the stateroom above. Far below, the ship’s powerful backwash churned through the water. And over her head, silk started to rip.
Her left foot touched the railing, her toes curling over it, and then her right. Angling her knees in and pushing back with her feet, she tumbled into the balcony just as the fabric tore through. She slammed onto the floor with a grunt and rolled on her side, the torn scarf clutched in her hand.
Ruby scuttled back against the wall, gasping for breath. The painful thumps of her heart felt like a fist striking her chest.
Footsteps sounded overhead.
“There’s nobody here,” a man called.
“Okay. We’re moving on,” a fainter voice replied.
Two men remained on the balcony above. Judging by their voices, they were leaning on the railing. Her tote bag had landed near the balcony’s edge, where anyone who peered over the railing could see it. Holding her breath, she reached for the handle and inched the bag closer. Cigarette smoke wafted past.
“What happens if we can’t find her?”
“If they think she’s gone overboard, the captain will stop the ship.”
“Would we go back?”
“I dunno. Maybe.”
“What did Bogdan say?”
“He’s plenty pissed. He says that screwup should have been keeping a better eye on her.”
Ruby jerked her head around as a curtain fluttered in the open door beside her. With a hand over her mouth, she strained to hear the conversation on the balcony above.
“About time golden boy got a little payback. What else did he say?”
“He was screaming pretty good, but most of it was in Russian so I didn’t catch it. He gave him a couple good thumps though.”
“Do you think he’ll do anything else about it?”
“Nah. You know how they are. Family.”
“Come on. Get rid of that and let’s go.”
The red glow of a lit cigarette soared past and then a balcony door rasped shut above her. Ruby stuffed the torn scarf into her tote bag with a trembling hand, ducked under the billowing curtain and crept on her hands and knees into the stateroom beyond. The only light in the room came from the moonlight shimmering through the door and the bluish glow of a digital alarm clock by the bed. Crouching on the carpet, she rubbed her aching wrists, looked down to assess her skinned knees, and froze. There was another noise in the room, louder even than the water outside.
Holding her breath, she turned to look at the bed. There were two figures in it, one a middle-aged man in pajama bottoms and bare chest. He lay on his back, arms stretched out, with his mouth wide open. And he was snoring like a hippo with a head cold.
Gaggh. Snork. Gaggh.
With a gasp, the man stopped breathing and Ruby’s own breath caught in her throat. A few seconds later, he snorted loudly and started to breathe again.
Snrkx. Gaggh. Snrkx.
Ruby tiptoed to the door, her heart in her mouth. Every time the figures in the bed shifted or an arm flopped over the side of the mattress, she halted, not daring to breathe. On her way past the bureau, she snatched up a pair of reading glasses and a floppy sun hat.
In the corridor, she softly closed the door behind her and put a hand across her mouth to stifle a giggle. Even in the hall the snores were audible.
Gaggh. Snork. Gaggh.
She shook her head. Back to business. After slipping on the glasses and the hat, she started down the corridor. There was one person aboard who wouldn’t turn her in. Maybe. Ruby crossed her fingers and set off.
Chapter Seventeen
The bartender raised his eyebrows and nodded at the clock. “Maybe you should go to bed, mate.”
Antony drained his glass, pulled a Corona from his jacket pocket and reached for his lighter.
“Yeah, yeah. Good idea.”
“And you’ll have to take that outside,” the bartender added.
“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?” Antony looked around. Chairs were upended against the tables and a bus boy by the entrance glanced repeatedly in his direction. Antony got off his stool and started for the door. The bus boy darted over to open it for him.
Antony stumbled and regained his footing, giving the lad a mock salute.
“Very good,” he said, wobbling off across the promenade and onto the open deck. Once there, he leaned against the railing, fumbling with his lighter. It slipped from his hand and flipped over the edge. Deck lights glinted off its silver surface as it bounced against several balcony railings and disappeared into the b
lackness below. Dammit.
Antony checked his watch. Four a.m. Even after several drinks, the image of Ruby lying on the bedroom floor with blood gushing from her nose was as vivid as ever. Wincing at the memory, he turned to go back to the Emperor suite.
When he emerged from the elevator on the top deck, a half-dozen passengers were talking in low voices in the corridor. A woman turned, saw Antony and pointed.
“There he is. Look.”
Antony scowled. Now what?
Outside the Emperor Suite, two ship’s pursers in white dress uniforms, a man and a woman, stood by the door.
“Please go back to your rooms,” the male purser said to the onlookers. “We’ll take it from here.”
Antony reached the door and inserted his key card.
The purser cleared his throat.
“Mr. Carver, is everything okay?”
Antony stared at him, narrowing his eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“Sir, where is your wife?” the female purser said in clipped tones. “May we talk to her?”
“What business is it of yours where my wife is? Go away.” Antony opened the door and stepped through. But before he could close the door behind him, the male purser reached out an arm to hold it open.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carver. But we’ve been asked to check your room and make sure everything is okay. It will only take a moment.”
The busybodies in the corridor edged closer.
“Well, come right in,” Antony said loudly, with a glance up the hall. “There’s nothing wrong here.” The pursers walked in and Antony closed the door behind them. “My wife’s in bed, I’m sure.”
The female purser walked down the hall to the bedrooms. She knocked at the first and opened the door, looked in, and closed it. She continued along the hall and turned into the master bedroom’s open door. Antony strolled after her and watched while she examined the splintered doorframe in the ensuite bathroom with a frown and then exited through the bedroom’s balcony door. Antony and the purser walked back to the living room along the hall while the female purser reentered the suite through the French doors off the main living area. Both men watched while she circled the living area, walked through the den and the third bedroom, and then through the bathroom door into the foyer, completing her sweep.
“She’s not here, sir,” she said.
The male purser rubbed an ear before turning to face Antony.
“Mr. Carver, where is your wife now?”
The purser was young, mid-thirties at most, but he had three gold stripes on his epaulets. Although Antony’s nautical experience was limited to the Capstone, he assumed this meant the male purser answered directly to the captain. So he was dealing with the top brass. As it should be.
“I don’t know. I’ve been in the promenade bar, having a drink. Ask the bartender if you don’t believe me.” Slumping onto the leather sofa, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“I didn’t ask where you were, sir. I asked where your wife is.”
Antony opened his eyes.
“Who are you to ask me questions?” He closed his eyes again.
The first purser turned to the woman.
“Wake the captain and send for coffee.”
Ten minutes later, there was a tap on the door and a tall man with bushy black eyebrows walked into the suite. His uniform jacket swung open, unbuttoned, over a T-shirt, his hair was rumpled, and his tasseled loafers had been slipped onto bare feet. He was scowling.
Antony, who had opened one eye at the sound of the door, noticed with satisfaction that the newcomer’s epaulettes bore four gold bars. He closed his eyes again.
The captain and the first purser conferred in low tones and the younger man left the stateroom.
“Mr. Carver,” the captain said.
Antony, still slumped on the sofa, didn’t bother to indicate that he had heard him.
The captain spoke again, much louder.
“Mr. Carver.”
Antony jerked and looked up.
“What now?” he said wearily.
“I do not enjoy being awakened at this hour, Mr. Carver. I understand that you have not been co-operative. As the captain, I am responsible for our guests. That includes your wife. If you do not become co-operative, we will have to search your room more carefully. Do you understand?”
“You have no right to—”
“Yes, I do.”
The door opened again, and a steward pushed a cart with a carafe of coffee into the living room. The captain inclined his head at Antony and the steward filled a cup and held it out.
Antony sat up and took the coffee with a scowl.
The steward gave a second cup to the captain, who thanked him and sat in an armchair. After a few swallows, the captain placed his cup and saucer on the coffee table and cleared his throat.
“You understand, Mr. Carver,” he said, “that when one of our passengers has not been seen for some time and her spouse has no idea where she might be, and other passengers have voiced concerns about her well-being, that I have to investigate.”
Antony turned his head as the door opened. The first purser walked back in, accompanied by Pete Osler.
Antony scowled and turned to the captain.
“Why is he here?”
Before the captain could answer, Pete held up his hands.
“Thought maybe I could help. My wife and I are concerned about Miss Delaney—Mrs. Carver, I mean.”
Antony downed his coffee and leaned over the coffee table, centering the empty cup on its saucer. He looked up.
“I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Have you remembered where she might be, then?” the captain asked.
“No.”
The first purser called to them from the den.
“Captain, look at this.” The captain and Pete walked over and the purser pointed at something on the desk.
Antony jumped to his feet.
“Get away from those.” His knees wobbled for a second, then he straightened up and hurried after them. “Those papers are private.”
“Wait a minute, please,” the captain said, holding Antony back with one arm. He turned to the purser. “To what are you referring?”
Antony shoved the captain’s arm away.
“What the hell? Take your hands off me.”
“This, sir.” The purser pointed to a hand-printed note on the desk.
The four men peered at it.
I cannot take anymore. Sorry.
* * *
An hour later, the Emperor Suite had filled with people and the single carafe had morphed into a large coffee urn with two dozen cups and a plate of pastries. The first purser spoke to the captain in a low voice.
“Her husband says she was with a bartender. We think he means Dimitri. But we woke him up and he says he hasn’t seen her. And his wife says he’s been with her all night.”
“How long has it been since anyone saw Miss Delaney?”
“Several hours. We have people going cabin to cabin, in case she’s in someone else’s stateroom.”
“Any luck?”
“Not so far.”
With a sigh, the captain checked his watch. “It’s nearly six a.m. Stop the ship.”
Chapter Eighteen
The piano lounge was dark, despite the midday glare that flooded the promenade outside. Dimitri opened the hinged door in the bar and strolled to the far end, where he reached out to flick on the recessed lights. Before he could hit the switch, a figure rose from the shadows and put a hand on his arm.
Dimitri slammed the figure against the wall in a single fluid motion, pinning it with a forearm against the neck.
There was a second’s silence as they stared into each other’s eyes.
“It’s me,” Ruby squeaked.
Dimitri jerked his head back and dropped his arm. Ruby slumped to the floor behind the bar, coughing and holding her throat. He bent over her.
“Sorry. You surprised me.”
Placing his hands under her elbows, Dimitri helped her up.
“I’m glad you are not dead.”
“Dead?” She wrenched her arms free and stared at him. “Why would I be dead?”
“Everyone thinks you jumped.”
“Great.” With a huge sigh, Ruby dropped back onto the floor and slumped against the wall.
Dimitri crouched beside her and fingered a strand of her short blond hair, looking puzzled.
“It’s a wig.” She pointed at the tote bag on the floor beside her. “I put it on while I waited for you.”
“Looks good,” he said, nodding. He stood up, snapped on the lights and handed her a bottle of water.
Ruby screwed off the cap, took a few gulps, and stared at him with her head tilted.
“What happened to your eye?”
“The crew has a card game after hours and sometimes it gets heated.” Dimitri rose and wrapped ice in a bar towel, pressed it to his face, and crouched beside her again. “I was big winner, though,” he said with a sheepish grin.
“Yeah, it looks like it.” Ruby put down the bottle, took the ice from his hand and pressed it against his eye. “I need your help, Dimitri. I did something stupid and now …” her voice trailed off. “I don’t know where else to turn. If you can help me get off the ship without anyone seeing me, I’ll pay you. A thousand dollars, cash.”
Dimitri didn’t seem to be listening, perhaps because he was staring at her face.
“What happened to your nose?”
“A door ran into me.”
“And your neck?” he asked, brushing a finger across the purple bruises under her chin.
“It’s nothing,” she said, pushing his hand away.
He studied her for a moment.
“You don’t have to pay me.”
“I want to. Can you help me?”
“Maybe.” He looked at the entrance, rubbing his chin with his hand. “We dock at Pintado Island today. You could get off there. I know a way.”
Ruby handed him the ice, leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.