He laughed shortly. “You’re a real bitch, aren’t you?”
“It never seemed to bother you before.”
“It doesn’t bother me now. I’m just surprised at how much you hate her. Is it because she’s more talented, or is it just that other people like her and hate you?”
Blaine cursed, shoving his hand off her leg, but he moved faster than she’d expected, twisting her arm and yanking her against his chest. “That just made my price double. If you want this file, it’s going to cost you twenty thousand.”
She stopped fighting and relaxed, tracing his mouth with a long red fingernail. “Maybe I can throw in something besides money,” she whispered.
He seemed to hesitate. When her hand slid slowly down his chest, he shook his head. “You really are one hell of a bitch, aren’t you?”
She smiled coldly. “And you love it. Let’s see how much.” She found his zipper and jerked it down.
The man with the scar held the file out of reach, watching her fight to reach it. “I hear you’re good at what you do.”
“Oh, I’m very good.” Blaine unbuttoned her blouse slowly. “Believe it.” She stared hungrily at the thick file as her fingers moved, searching past his zipper, finding hot skin.
Her sheets hit the floor. In seconds the last of her clothes followed. She gasped as their bodies strained, then slammed together.
Soon his panting was drowned out by the slap of their sweating bodies. When the precious file toppled from the bed, she caught it with her free hand.
Her smile was icy and very satisfied.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GINA KICKED OFF her comfortable cooking clogs and tossed her chef’s jacket over a chair. Her bedside clock read 5:22. She was barely going to make dinner on time.
Skimming off clothes right and left, she ran a brush through her hair and tugged on black pants and a white cotton top. She prayed that Carly was just the same, still unconcerned with fashion and everything except f-stops and light angles. Now that her college friend had three little girls, the photography would have serious competition.
They’d been roommates all through college, had laughed over freshman orientation rituals and bonded over basic physics. Both had hated it, but they’d struggled through economics, grilling each other before tests. They’d passed physics with solid marks and gone out to celebrate in the dead of a Chicago winter.
Singly they were strong. Together they had been invincible.
After that they’d seen each other when they could, sharing job woes, boyfriend complaints. Then had come Carly’s marriage and the birth of her triplets.
After leaving Seattle, Gina had fallen out of touch with her friend. Before she knew it, years had raced past. Carly’s babies were almost ten now.
Maybe they had both changed beyond recognition.
Staring into the mirror, Gina pulled on the shrug she’d knitted. The design was simple, but the knitted lace panels hugged her shoulders, and the misty blue flattered her complexion. She frowned into the mirror above her simple oak dresser. Why was she so freaked out about meeting an old friend? Was it because Carly had always seen through her excuses and read her mind? Would Carly see the anxiety she needed to hide now?
Not likely. She hadn’t seen her friend in years. They wouldn’t have the wordless communication they’d shared in college.
Times changed. People changed.
On her desk was a photo of a tall man, a radiant woman and three grinning little girls running over a beach in the Caribbean. Carly had taken the shot using a timer. Only someone with her skill could have caught the palpable sense of love and energy in the scene.
Gina had knitted careful gifts for all of them. She had used lavender cotton in a sweater for Olivia. For Sunny she had knitted a shimmery poncho in recycled Indian silk, bright with crimson and pink and lime green. Cleo, the third girl, was more formal, according to Carly, so Gina had made her a small tank top with lace at the hem. For Carly she had made a lace shawl in alpaca fine enough to pull through a key ring. Ford had been the most difficult of all. Gina had decided on socks of brown and tan and forest green in camo colors.
She studied the wrapped gifts nervously. Maybe she should have scrapped the whole idea and bought gifts from one of the shops in Mazatlán or Cabo.
She straightened her white camisole, grabbed her purse and staff ID, mentally plotting the fastest route to the Lido Deck. On her way, she detoured through a staff laundry area, gaining four minutes. For a moment Gina stopped, hit by the cold awareness that someone was hidden in the silent room stacked high with laundry.
Stress, she thought.
In the days of ultra-high security post-9/11, there was simply no way for a passenger to stow away and remain undetected.
She crossed the laundry room quickly and breathed in relief when she finally reached the staff elevator, where her odd uneasiness vanished almost immediately. In minutes she stood outside the crowded restaurant, feeling self-concious as she gave her name to a waiter.
Staff did not eat in passenger areas except on unusual occasions, but Tobias had helped cut the red tape. Another thing she owed him for.
Bass music drummed from the disco one deck below. Couples and families passed, but none of them stopped. When she didn’t see Carly, she used a wall phone to call her cabin.
No one answered.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. More families passed. More honeymooning couples.
No Carly.
At twenty minutes after six, she figured her friend wasn’t coming. According to Tobias, they were already aboard, so what had gone wrong?
She tried to check the wall clock again, but there were too many people and she couldn’t get a clear view. Down the corridor, she saw empty seats at the ship’s latte counter. Feeling uncomfortable, but still not ready to leave, she wove through the crowd and ordered an espresso.
The young Swedish woman behind the counter made a high five. “Hey, I love those chocolate cheesecakes you made for crew night. What are you doing up here?”
“Checking on the pastry. What’s selling best so far this trip?”
“Chocolate espresso cheesecake. Can’t get enough of it.”
Gina sipped her coffee and filed the information, watching more passengers head for the dining room. She now had the unexpected gift of a free evening before her and no idea how to spend it.
Back at work there was nothing her staff couldn’t handle. She could curl up on a deck chair in the staff recreation area while she watched the ship’s wake froth red in the setting sun.
Her fingers curved around imaginary rosewood needles. If any of her old coworkers from Seattle had seen her with yarn and sticks, they would have been incredulous. Knitting didn’t exactly fit the kind of dangerous occupation she used to have.
She pushed away thoughts of the past and focused on the night to come. Twilight on deck. Alpaca and silk slipping through her fingers. Talk about paradise. After five years on a cruise ship she had seen flings, passion and high drama. She had even had her own short relationship with a purser from Denmark. It had been fun while it lasted, but nothing ever lasted at sea.
“Were you waiting for someone in the dining room?” The attendant pointed to her phone on the counter. “Because someone’s on the phone, asking for you.”
Gina lifted the receiver and immediately recognized the quick, breathy voice. “Carly, is everything okay?”
“Cleo threw up when I was about to leave. Now she and Sunny both have fevers. We had to take them down to the doctor, and everything took longer than we expected. I’m so sorry I didn’t reach you sooner.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Someone walking past sloshed wine over Gina’s arm and she squeezed closer to the wall. “Are the girls okay now?”
“They’re sleeping. The doctor says they should be fine by tomorrow. Ford will keep an eye on them in the morning if you can get away for breakfast. I can’t wait to see you.” Carly hesitated. “Or will you be too busy
?”
“I’ll manage.” Gina tried to focus despite the noise around her. “How about we meet in the lounge outside the purser’s office?”
“At eight?”
“I’ll be there. Give them all a kiss for me.”
As Gina hung up, a man crossed the corridor. She couldn’t see his face, but he had great shoulders. A great butt, too, as a matter of fact. Looking down, she saw the backs of worn brown cowboy boots.
A great butt and broken-in cowboy boots? Now that was unfair. What woman could resist a one-two punch like that?
He turned around, staring down the hall behind him, his eyes cool and alert.
Gina nearly choked on her espresso.
No way.
Trace was here on the ship? The knowledge unnerved her. She liked control in her life, everything in its place and everything with a clear purpose. Something told her this man had the potential to destroy her control completely.
Not again. Not ever.
She shoved a hand through her hair. If she kept her back turned, he’d never see her. That was the smart way.
The safe way.
It seemed very important to play this the safe way.
She didn’t turn around, her shoulders stiff. Laughter echoed nearby. A woman asked him a question, and there was more drifting female laughter.
She pushed away her unfinished cheesecake, drummed her fingers on the spotless counter and motioned to the waitress. “I’d like a glass of wine.”
“Now you’re talking. Merlot or Zin?”
“Merlot.” One drink, no more. A few sips to smooth out her tension. Once she was sure that Trace was gone, she’d head back to her cabin.
The attendant poured her a glass of Merlot, staring over Gina’s shoulder. “Talk about amazing shoulders. That man could shift my transmission anytime he wanted.”
Gina didn’t turn. She didn’t need to look. The man’s body was burned into her memory. She pushed away her wine, listening to music spill out of a nearby disco.
The ship’s engines changed rhythm slightly, and she estimated they were picking up speed. It would have been nice to spend the evening on a quiet deck, watching sunlight gild the distant clouds.
It would have been nice to explore the man beneath the tough, cool facade.
Right. When pigs could fly.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TRACE HEARD HER VOICE through the chatter of two hundred others. A small laugh, a few smooth vowels, and the recognition snapped home.
The chef.
He turned, scanned the room and saw her at the latte counter, exactly the way he remembered. Her hair gleamed in the sunlight coming through the window, and her eyes moved intently in a way that would have made some men uncomfortable.
He wasn’t. He enjoyed the warmth of her smile. He liked her low laugh. Her energy felt tangible, feeding an empty place that he hadn’t realized was inside him.
She wasn’t wearing her white coat now. No white box in her arms, either.
She was talking with the woman behind the latte counter, nursing a nearly full glass of wine. When a man sat down beside her, she shook her head and the man stood up stiffly. As he passed, muttering something that sounded like loser, Trace had a serious urge to rearrange his face.
Probably that would be a bad idea.
He stood in the middle of the crowded deck and checked his watch: 6:28.
He had a report to prepare for Izzy and a new paper to read about quantum entanglement and GPS applications. After that he’d hit the gym, order a steak from room service and make an early night of it.
Good plans, but suddenly his body wasn’t listening.
Instead he walked toward the latte counter, feeling an odd little catch at his chest. She didn’t look up when he sat down in the empty chair beside her.
Trace nodded to the waitress. “I’ll have the same dessert she’s having. Black coffee, too.”
Gina swung around, surprised. “You? Uh, you’re here.” She sounded breathless. “I mean—of course you are.” She ran a hand through her hair. “How was your bash?”
“As good as can be expected.” He took a sip of coffee. “At least it’s over.”
“And now you’ve got a vacation. That’s wonderful.”
“Wonderful,” Trace repeated dryly. “Nothing to do but soak up the sun, dance the night away, stare at four walls.”
She chewed at her lip. “Is something wrong with your cabin?”
“Nothing like that.” He took a bite of cheesecake. “This stuff is pretty good.”
Gina stared critically at her own pastry. “It could use a little more butter. It should be served at a slightly higher temperature, too.”
“I forgot. You probably notice every detail. I guess that takes the fun out of eating out.”
“I can turn it off when I have to.” She studied him in silence, cradling her chin in her hand. “Something tells me you don’t like vacations. You’re a born leader charging through life.” She blew out a little breath. “I used to know someone like that.”
“You make it sound like a disease.” Trace blew at his coffee. “I call it keeping busy.” He watched her cut another bite of cheesecake and inspect it closely. “Are you doing a celebrity cooking demonstration here?”
She shifted on her chair. “Definitely not.”
“So it’s strictly fun and sun.” Trace looked at her glass and nodded at the waitress. “How about a refill?”
Gina cleared her throat. “No more for me. I have to leave soon.”
“Heavy yoga session?” he said dryly.
She shook her head. “No, I have to be up early tomorrow.”
“Doing research for a shopping day in Puerto Vallarta or Mazatlán?”
She started to say something, then stopped. Instead she cradled her wineglass. “Oh, I’m huge on shopping. Can’t miss a sale anywhere. Point me and I’m there.”
Trace nearly choked on his coffee. The woman was a terrible liar.
He rubbed his neck. Did she want to get rid of him so much that she’d make up such a bad excuse?
He stiffened at a sudden thought. “Are you…with someone?”
“Me?” Color touched her cheeks. “No. I’m alone.”
“Glad to hear it.” He pushed away his coffee and stood up. “Right now I’m bored out of my head. You’d be committing a humanitarian act if you’d join me for a walk on deck.”
“I don’t think…”
A door opened down the corridor, nearly invisible because it was painted the same color as the wall. A man in a waiter’s uniform emerged and he stared at Gina, looking surprised.
“You’re worried about something.”
She took a deep breath. “It’s nothing personal.”
He leaned forward. “Funny, it definitely feels personal from where I’m sitting. So exactly what’s holding you back? Humor me, but a man likes to know these things.”
She pushed away her empty wineglass. “I just…can’t.” She chewed her lip. “You’re nice. I appreciate your help back in San Francisco, but I have to work.”
Work?
Trace frowned. “Are you a food critic or something? Maybe you’re writing a book?”
She looked down at her red handbag, which began to shake and hum. “No to both.” She pulled out a sleek black pager and scanned the message. “I have to go.”
“Why?” Trace watched anger mix with worry in her eyes.
She stood up quickly. “I have to go because right now someone is trying to break into my office computer. If I hurry, I may catch him. Then I may murder him. Or her.” She looked at Trace squarely. “I’m not a passenger. I’m part of the crew.”
Trace followed her as she cut across the lobby toward a short corridor. “Maybe I can help.”
“It’s crew only in the pastry galley, and I don’t have time to argue with you right now.”
She made a turn and Trace dropped a few feet back, facing a bare white wall. Then he realized she was opening another door painted
to blend in with the wall. When she walked through, he followed her.
Inside the door white walls met utilitarian black carpet. Voices drifted toward him, and he heard Gina’s sharp questions around the corner. He tracked the sound into what had to be the pastry galley. Stainless steel work tables ran along every wall, topped by metal cabinets. Tobias Hale, the security chief, was standing by a computer console and he didn’t look happy.
The kitchen was close to Hale’s office, Trace noted. That meant this visit had just become work, not pleasure.
Hale was hunched over the computer screen. “I just missed them.” He glanced up at Gina. “Whoever it was stopped keyboarding two minutes ago.”
“Did my staff notice anyone come in?”
“No luck. Two of them were in the freezer area on the other side of the room. One had just gone to check the convection ovens.”
“Odd that no one was here when it happened. Or maybe it wasn’t so odd.” Gina didn’t move, as if working through the scenario. “They knew that no one would be here. I think they’ve been watching the kitchen,” she whispered.
None of this sounded good, Trace thought.
He made some noise as he came through the door and nodded at Tobias Hale, careful to maintain the cover that had been created by Ryker. “Lieutenant Trace O’Halloran. Nice to see you again, sir.”
Hale didn’t look happy. “Gina, you know that passengers aren’t allowed down here.”
“When my pager went off, he followed me. I didn’t invite him. I couldn’t exactly throw him overboard.” Distracted, she shoved a strand of hair off her face. “When did you two meet?”
“I knew Lieutenant O’Halloran’s father in the service.” Hale stared at Trace. “As a courtesy to your father, I won’t toss you out of here, O’Halloran. But you can’t wander around unescorted. The ship has a strict security protocol.”
“Glad to hear it. So where are the surveillance cameras?” Trace turned, checking the ceiling for the telltale fish-eye lens of a hidden camera. “Look at the footage and see who’s been here.”
“I just received the alarm,” Tobias snapped. “And what makes you think we have cameras in place?”
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