by Judi Lind
Still stuck.
Keely banged on the door a couple times with her bare shoulder and even kicked the bottom, to no avail. The steam-room door simply wouldn’t open.
She knew the door opened inward into the sauna, so maybe the catch was jammed. If she could just jar it loose…Stepping back a few feet, she turned sideways in preparation for a powerful kick she’d perfected in karate. Taking deep calming breaths, she closed her eyes and focused on her foot making contact with the wooden door. Her mind’s eye pictured it swinging open.
When she was ready, she opened her mouth and let loose a powerful “kiai!” as her foot thrust forward and made contact. Heaving from exertion, she gulped hot, humid air into her lungs as the truth finally dawned on her.
The door wasn’t going to open.
She was locked in the steam booth and the temperature was rising with each passing minute.
Chapter Eight
After giving his assistant in Washington all the information he had on the passengers they’d met, Noah hung up the ship-to-shore telephone and turned to the Empress’s commanding officer. “Thanks for all your help, Captain. I especially appreciate your allowing me to receive messages on your private line.”
The small man, resplendent in his gold-braided nautical uniform, accepted Noah’s thanks with a nod. “Mr. Bannister, are you sure this…courier doesn’t represent a danger to the passengers?”
While acknowledging Captain Jorgensen’s concern, Noah readily assured him the courier would probably keep a very low profile. “He—or she—will be trying very hard to stay out of the limelight. I’m certain none of your other passengers will elicit any unwanted attention.”
“I’ll accept your professional judgment, Mr. Bannister, but I would ask that you keep me informed of any events that could affect my crew or passengers,” he said, only a trace of his Scandinavian accent evident.
“I’ll do that, sir.”
“Good. When your people in Washington send back a reply, I will send one of my men for you. I shall put the message into your hand personally.”
After once more thanking the captain for his cooperation, Noah glanced at his watch. It was almost twelve-thirty. He’d have to hurry if he was going to be on time for his luncheon date with Keely.
Keely.
Just thinking her name provoked musky reminders of her sweet scent in the bed beside him last night. So near and yet so far.
Thoroughly agitated now, Noah ignored the elevator and skipped down the three flights of winding stairs. Before his return to San Diego, he’d been completely over his infatuation with Keely Travers, had been for years—or so he thought.
Until the first time he saw her again. The damned woman must be some kind of enchantress. A witch.
His unflagging awareness of her sloe-eyed beauty and smoldering sexuality was bad enough. More worrisome was his fear that he might be losing his objectivity. Noah feared this investigation would prove Mike Travers was the informant, and that Rosie’s guilt was indisputable. Why then, did he believe so strongly in Keely’s integrity?
Because his judgment was being colored by his attraction to her, that’s why. It was time to ignore his raging testosterone and pay attention to business. From now on, he vowed, he was going to keep a wide emotional distance from Keely. And as much physical distance as their cramped living quarters would allow.
Even as he made the commitment, Noah acknowledged how hard it would be to maintain.
Flush in his resolve, he rounded the corner and loped down the narrow passageway to their stateroom. He pulled out his key card and reached for the door, only to find it unlocked and slightly ajar.
“Keely?” he called quietly, as he stepped into the tiny foyer and immediately breathed in her woman-scent. “Are you here?” He reached out and lightly knuckled the bathroom door.
The cabin was ominously soundless.
He nudged the bathroom door open and peeked inside, drawing back the shower curtain. No sign of Keely.
But someone had been in their room. He could feel an unwelcome presence clouding the air, even over the sweetness of Keely’s flowery cologne.
Reaching into the closet, Noah withdrew the small handgun he’d tucked into his dirty-clothes bag. He checked the safety, pulled aside the privacy curtain and eased into the near darkness of their cabin.
The room was empty.
He slipped the gun into his waistband. The stateroom was so tiny, there was no place for an intruder to hide; nevertheless, Noah was convinced an uninvited person had been there a short while ago.
The curtains were still drawn, leaving the room in a dusky half-light. He snapped on a table lamp and surveyed the area. The cabin was a shambles.
Drawers were open, their contents spilling onto the floor. Although Manny had already folded up the sofa bed for the day, someone had pulled the coverlet aside in an obvious attempt to search beneath the mattress.
Noah sank into a tub chair in the corner. What had the looter hoped to find?
He’d warned Keely not to bring anything on the trip that could identify her as a police officer. They had to exercise every precaution to make their “marriage” believable. He hoped she’d heeded his warning.
He leaned back and the butt of his gun bit into his side, reminding Noah that he’d broken his own rule. If their visitor found his weapon, their cover was blown. Honeymooners weren’t noted for carrying lethal weapons.
While he was upbraiding himself for his stupidity, Noah saw Keely’s battered black purse lying open on the floor beside her nightstand. Maybe he’d been wrong, he thought as he crossed the room to retrieve her handbag. Maybe this wasn’t the work of the counterfeiters, but of robbers.
He poked through a wad of papers and cosmetics looking for her billfold. He’d also warned her about bringing a lot of money or credit cards. Finding her travel wallet, he noted that warning had been disregarded. While there was no identification except two credit cards, she was carrying over two hundred dollars in cash.
He shoved the wallet back into the dark recesses of her purse. The money wiped out the robbery theory.
Throwing the handbag onto the bed in disgust, he realized too late that he’d forgotten to zip it before he tossed it. Lipstick, comb, breath mints and loose coins flew across the room. With a groan of irritation, he started picking up pennies and lint-coated mints.
Why on earth women carried all this junk was beyond him, he grumbled as he began stuffing her belongings back into her bag. Then a slip of paper from Penwick Trust and Savings caught his attention.
He pulled out the computer printout and stared at it a full minute before he realized what he was reading. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Rummaging in Keely’s purse, he grabbed her checkbook and compared the account numbers.
It was true.
A sharp pain lurched in his stomach as if he’d been sucker punched. Damn! How could he be so stupid, so naive? All this time he’d been thinking the informant was Mike Travers, or even Chief Kapinski. But Keely?
He looked again at the printout that detailed the transactions on Keely’s checking account for the past month. It was still there—that single deposit for ten thousand dollars.
Noah left her handbag on the bed and stumbled back to the chair. It just couldn’t be. Where else would she get that kind of money?
Frantically, his mind sought alternative explanations. Maybe she borrowed the money, took out a loan on her house. Maybe she cashed in some stock. Maybe her father gave her the money.
One thing was certain: Keely owed him an explanation and he meant to have it.
At that moment Noah glanced at Keely’s travel alarm clock on top of the television. It was after one. If she was going to be so late, at least she could have phoned the room and told him. By not doing so, she was deliberately thumbing her nose at him.
She’d acted strange at breakfast. Disjointed, disconnected. Suddenly Noah understood. Somehow she had stumbled onto a lead and was following it through
herself, too proud or stubborn to share it with him.
Irritation jangled along his nerve endings like a jolt of lightning. She was intentionally taunting him. Defying him at every turn. He would have never brought her on this cruise if he hadn’t thought she could put aside her personal feelings and act like a professional. No, she had to play hot dog, ignore his orders.
Well, maybe it was time Ms. Travers received her comeuppance. And he was just the person to give it to her.
Shoving the bank statement into his jeans pocket, Noah stormed out of the cabin.
IT WAS HOT. SO VERY HOT.
Keely slumped on the wooden bench and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to draw comfort from her own overheated flesh. Again and again, she tried to understand what had happened. These doors didn’t have locks, so why wouldn’t this one open? How had she become trapped in this blistering cell?
Maya Olstagen. It had to be Maya. No one else knew she was here. Maya must be their contact, and something in Keely’s questioning had set off her alarm bells. Rather than go through with the assignation, the woman must have decided to eliminate her. Make Keely’s death look like an accident.
And right now it seemed as though Maya was going to be successful. Keely knew she couldn’t last much longer.
The room swam with searing, unbearable heat. Keely swiped at her forehead. It was useless. Her hand was as slick with perspiration as her face. The humidity level was stifling, threatening to smother her. Her head was spinning, and the steam room was a hazy mirage in front of her eyes. She was going to faint.
Why, oh why, hadn’t she confided in Noah? If he’d known of her suspicions, and her intention of cornering Maya Olstagen, surely he would have come looking for her when she failed to show for their luncheon appointment. She was supposed to have met him at twelve thirty. What time was it now? Three? Midnight?
Time had ceased to have meaning. There were only endless moments of sweltering agony.
She had no one to blame but herself. She should have told Noah.
Should have told him everything.
Their painful past aside, he was her partner now and partners weren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other. That money in her checking account weighed on Keely’s conscience like a smelly, sodden wool blanket. If she died before she could explain, what would Noah think?
That someone had paid her off? Perhaps even that she’d been involved in the death of her own sister? No! That was unthinkable. But Keely knew if she didn’t get off this ship alive, there would be those who would think the worst.
What about Noah? Would he be able to give her memory the benefit of the doubt?
She hadn’t told him because she knew he would think she had held the money for her sister; and he’d read the “fact” as incontrovertible evidence of Rosie’s guilt.
Too drained to think anymore, she allowed her head to loll back against the wall. How long had she been trapped in her steamy prison? Too long. Time was running out.
Keely sat still, gathering the stamina to make another—final—assault on the door. Summoning the last tiny segments of her diminished strength, she slid off the slatted bench and fell against the door.
Curving the fingers of her weak, almost useless hand, she clutched the scorching handle and tugged with all her might. The door remained defiantly closed.
Never in her life had she felt so drained, both of strength and of fortitude. Keely had always been the comeback kid—that’s what her father had dubbed her. Ever since childhood, if she failed at something, she would stubbornly dig in her heels and attack the problem until she beat it.
Until now. She felt like a rag doll left outside in a hot, muggy thundershower. She was soggy and limp. Utterly ineffective in getting herself out of her searing jail.
The room started to darken and Keely knew she was about to pass out. In a feeble attempt, she raised her hand one last time and beat it against the door. “Help! Somebody, please. Help me.”
The effort cost the remnants of her strength. She slumped against the door, defeated at last.
Just before the darkness captured her, Keely felt the door pull away from her. A cool breeze of refrigerated air poured over her like soothing water on a parched desert. She sagged forward, falling into arms that were strong and comforting.
In the misty fog surrounding her, Keely barely noticed a voice—Noah’s?—shouting orders. Demanding someone fetch the medical officer.
The strong arms that were cradling her lifted her as effortlessly as if she were a tiny, soggy feather, and she was nestled against a firm yet comforting masculine chest. Even in her half-conscious state, she heard the reassuring thump of a heartbeat and knew she was safe.
Keely floated in and out of consciousness, mindful of very little, caring even less about the bustling furor that suddenly surrounded her.
But gratefully aware she was still alive.
“KEELY? Are you all right? Can you hear me?”
She was lying on a hard bed, and even through her closed eyelids she could sense a white, glaring light. It wasn’t the light that had awakened her. She felt a presence beside her, watching over her.
Keely’s eyelids fluttered open and she stared into the blue-gray depths of Noah’s eyes. “Hey there, decided to rejoin the living, I see. Welcome back.”
“H-hi.” Her throat felt like she’d gargled with sand and her lips were parched. “W-water.”
He slipped a hand beneath her neck and raised her head. Guiding a glass to her lips, he tilted it slightly, allowing a few drops of cool, soothing water to trickle down her throat. “Take it easy,” he said as she lifted her hand and tipped the glass higher. “We’re not going to run out of water. The doc said only a few drops at a time or you’ll get sick to your stomach.”
Ignoring him, she insisted, “More water, please.”
Noah chuckled and raised the glass to her lips. “Okay, but I’m not going to appreciate it if you barf on my shoes.”
Keely greedily drained the glass, then dropped back onto the pillow. “Where am I? Why doesn’t somebody turn off the lights?”
“You’re in the sick bay, and it’s the middle of the afternoon. You feel up to talking a bit?”
She raised up on an elbow, then dropped back on the clean white sheets. “Wh-what happened?”
Noah frowned and turned away, paying unwarranted attention to refilling the water glass. With his head still turned, he muttered, “The door was jammed.”
“Oh,” she murmured, only absorbing his words, not yet ready to decipher their meaning. Her eyelashes flickered and she drifted into restful slumber again.
She was vaguely aware of waking and falling back to sleep several times during the evening and into the night. Twice she had the sensation of actually being out of bed, walking. Once she could have sworn she felt the tingle of a sea breeze cooling her scorched cheekbones. Then blessed sleep reclaimed her again.
The next time her eyes opened, it was morning and she was back in their stateroom. Noah was sitting in the barrel chair in the corner, his gaze locked on her face.
When he saw she was awake, he handed her a small tumbler of orange juice. She sipped the cool sweetness and stared around in helpless confusion. “I…dreamed I was in a hospital bed.”
“You were,” he answered shortly. “Once the doc was sure you were out of danger, we moved you back here. A group of passengers had a bit too much sun and alcohol in Catalina and suffered from sun poisoning. The doc needed the bed space.”
Keely looked around at the bed, rumpled on one side and pristine smooth on the other. “Where did you sleep?”
“I didn’t.”
Taken aback by his curt manner, she finished her juice and nibbled a bagel. Noah said nothing while she ate. Suddenly she couldn’t stand his cold, condemning attitude a moment longer. “Is something wrong?”
“Should there be?”
She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, startled to find she was dressed in a flimsy c
otton hospital gown. What had happened to her clothes? More importantly, what was wrong with Noah?
When she rose unsteadily to her feet, he stood up and placed a steadying hand around her waist. “The doc said you should stay in bed the rest of the day. And drink lots of fluids.”
She shoved her hair out of her eyes and glared at him. “I have to go to the bathroom if it’s all right with you.”
“Let me help you.”
“I can do it myself.” She shrugged aside his proffered hand and slowly made the long, fifteen-foot trek to the bathroom.
Closing the door firmly behind her, she stared in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman who looked back. Her face was bright pink, almost scarlet. Her eyes were puffy and her lips were swollen almost twice their normal size. She looked like a parboiled tomato. Reaching into her travel bag, Keely liberally smeared her face with aloe cream she’d brought along in case of sunburn.
Keely felt her strength slowly returning with each simple ablution she performed. She scrubbed her teeth and took a long, revitalizing shower. Gingerly toweling herself dry, she slipped on her robe, feeling at least fifty percent revived from her ordeal. She smoothed more aloe vera on her face and arms, thankful for its soothing coolness.
She never wanted to feel heat again. Even her dream of a Hawaiian vacation had lost its appeal. Maybe she ought to move to Alaska or Minnesota, someplace where there was no scorching heat.
Running a comb through her short, damp hair, she decided to forgo her cosmetics. Feeling suddenly weak, she needed to lie down again. She made her way back to the main room of the cabin and sank back onto the bed.
“Feeling any better?”
It hadn’t been her imagination. Noah’s voice was still unaccountably constrained, cold. So different from the warm concern he’d demonstrated last night. “A little better, thank you. How long was I out of it?”
He glanced at his watch and shrugged. “Almost eighteen hours.”
“You found me, didn’t you?”
“Eventually.”
“Thanks for looking for me. You saved my life.”