Emotional Waves

by Miller, Maureen A.

  Emotional Waves

  By:

  Maureen A. Miller

  Copyright Maureen A. Miller 2011

  Smashwords Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner.

  This book may contain scenes intended for a mature audience of 18 years old and over.

  Prologue

  Jill Perry looked up. There was no way Neptune Majesty was going to clear the span of the Sunshine Skyway bridge. She had seen pictures of the regal cruise ships passing beneath the soaring cable-stayed bridge, but never once had she stood on deck as it happened. In awe, she gaped at the concrete and steel undercarriage and heard the muted resonance of traffic passing by on 295. Engrossed, Jill did not move until they were well on their way into the Gulf of Mexico.

  With Tampa Bay receding, most passengers returned to their cabins to plot out their activities. Jill had no activities−or rather, no desire for any. As of ten minutes ago she lost sight of her office building on the Tampa skyline. That was where she belonged. But to have denied her parents a cruise that they already purchased seemed awfully immature for a twenty-nine year old. That they purchased the cruise behind her back seemed awfully immature for a couple of fifty-something year-olds. And now, Catherine Perry, her mother, was one of those enthusiastic passengers ambling about downstairs to sign up for every onboard activity imaginable. Jill had to wonder if the cruise truly was charitable, or just her mother’s ploy to get someone to travel with her when her father declined.

  Yes, the past year had been hell for Jill, but her limp was nearly imperceptible. In fact, she had packed high heels after testing them out with a few awkward steps in her townhouse. The car accident was a distant memory that haunted her parents far greater than it haunted her. She would pacify them with this trip. It was only seven days, and she had her laptop and camera. It would not be a complete waste of a week.

  Stepping up to the rail, Jill rested her elbows against it, frustrated that she could barely see the ocean behind a veil of blond hair. Thank God for the sunglasses that spared her eyes from the wind’s assault. In a moment of respite she sighed and looked out on the shoreline, now just a misty layer of bumps on a green horizon. Out here the oppressive humidity dissipated, cast aside by the wind. Below her, white froth pummeled the hull of the ship, as the mechanical monster clashed with the ocean’s power.

  Bam.

  Jill screamed when she felt the impact from behind. The impetus sent her beyond the point of balance as her stomach slammed against the balustrade, tossing her sunglasses into the swells below. Just when her heels lost connection with the deck and balance shift in favor of the hungry ocean, something clamped around her waist, hauling her back from the nautical hands of demise.

  For a moment she stood with her chest heaving and her heart drumming a cadence that was too fast. She took a gulp of salty air and latched onto the vice around her stomach, using her fingers as talons. After a few steadying breaths she realized that it was flesh her fingers were digging into, and the vice was an arm. A few more breaths and she grew conscious of the weight of a human draped against her back. It was a solid frame and she leaned against that stiff barrier, having no regard for whom or what it was…only that it represented stability.

  “Are you okay?” A husky male voice whispered against her ear.

  A chill shook her despite the sun’s heat.

  “I−I−”

  “We’re going to take a step back, okay?”

  The voice was so rational. Of course. A step back. Away from the water.

  “Okay,” she squeaked.

  In tandem they withdrew from the railing, the solid frame still connected by an arm that represented a safety belt. The wind lashed a lock of hair into her eye and she finally released the human strap around her waist to lift her hand to her face. “I lost my sunglasses.”

  “I’ll buy you a new pair,” he said.

  Clarity returned, and with it the rush of blood to her face. Adrenaline pumped at a jet engine pace as she whirled to identify the voice. The man was tall−over six feet. His short dark hair was whipped by the wind, but his eyes were protected behind wire-framed sunglasses. As inaccessible as those eyes were, she could still feel them on her. What she could discern was a tan face with a square jaw where a muscle pumped. He was not smiling. His lips were tight, and in her estimation, he looked edgy. He wore a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms−arms that still had a grasp on hers. At the collar of his shirt, two buttons were unfastened to reveal tan flesh, and she could see a glimpse of the solid wall that had been pinned against her back.

  He turned his head and his profile made her breath catch. She frowned when she noticed his attention was rapt with something further down the deck.

  “What happened?” She arrested his attention, wishing that she could see the eyes behind the dark lenses.

  One more glimpse over his shoulder and the man’s gaze returned to her. He glanced down at his hands latched onto her arms and his chin inclined as he looked out to sea and then back to her again. His grip constricted.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” It was as if the gravity of the situation just now hit him.

  “Yes. A little shaken, but−” she hesitated. “You saved me.”

  “Saved?” The resonance of his voice pitched. “I nearly killed you.”

  Vertigo made her list, but the grip on her arms kept her steady. She forced her eyes open again to take in the grim-faced man. For an irrational moment she had the horrific thought that he was a psycho who intended to pitch her off the ship. Her breath hitched and she expelled a primal sound of fear.

  “Hey.” He heard the cry. “It was an accident. Damn, I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

  His demeanor seemed visibly disturbed by her reaction. “I was−” he glanced down the deck again, although it was empty except for a few passengers hovering near the balustrade that overlooked the pool. “I was jogging, and−”

  Jogging?

  “Jogging?” Her tone pitched. She sounded like a seagull. “You were jogging?”

  Jill wanted to step back−away from him, but the railing and the ocean loomed behind her.

  “I was jogging…” he swallowed and she watched the bob of his throat, “−and I guess I lost track of how fast I was going.”

  To his credit, his voice trailed off at the end, realizing how absurd he sounded.

  “Jogging?” It bore repeating. “An elephant might have been more graceful.”

  For the first time, the grim line of his full lips curled up into what was a sinfully attractive smile. “If there is one thing I’m not known for,” he said, “it is grace.”

  Jill was not humored. “Are you seriously going to stand there and tell me you were jogging and you lost control and nearly knocked me off a deck 200 feet above the ocean?” She sounded a tad hysterical.

  “It’s only 175 here,” he offered quietly.

  What irked her most was the constant quirk of his neck as he turned to scan the aft of the ship before returning his focus on her. The distraction irritated her.

  “More likely,” she surmised, “you are late for a date and now you’re looking to see if you can locate her−only she has probably grow
n tired of waiting and moved on to a more timely, graceful man.”

  Glancing down at the hands still on her arms, she cocked her head and looked back up at him with an arched eyebrow. He released her and managed a nod. She still wished she could see his eyes. Maybe they would reveal some sincerity. Maybe the guy wasn’t a flake. The way he held her had seemed so genuine, and his mannerisms exhibited signs of one truly remorseful. But there was no denying the furtive twist of his neck every time he craned to look down the deck as if he had somewhere more important to be.

  “Look,” she started, “thank you for ummm−” What do you say, “Thank you for saving me after almost killing me?”

  “What is your name?”

  His attention was no longer divided and it was very disconcerting to be the sole focus of a man so tall, so attractive, and now−so intense.

  “I have to be going,” she answered in haste. There was no way in hell she was divulging any information about herself. “Enjoy your cruise.”

  Just walk, Jill.

  Of course her knee, which had been functioning at 100% capacity decided to act up and deny her a dignified departure. The ACL injury caused it to buckle, but she recovered without him noticing…at least she hoped.

  “You don’t look steady. Let me walk you to where you’re going.”

  “You have somewhere you need to be,” she reminded, dismayed that the earnestness in his voice played with the breakfast in her stomach. “Please, let’s just forget about this.”

  “I owe you sunglasses.”

  Jill tipped her head back and sighed. She wanted to manage a biting response, but it just wasn’t in her. And even though she could not see the man’s eyes, his intensity made her suspect that he wasn’t a flake. She looked at the muscular forearms revealed beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves and noticed the fine welts across his right arm. “I scratched you. We’ll call it even.”

  She moved away on shaky legs and refused to look back until the sounds of the lobby engulfed her.

  Chapter One

  Brent Coales grabbed the cell phone and slammed it against his ear. “I almost had him.”

  “What happened?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it,” he grunted.

  Walking through the shopping arcade of the Neptune Majesty, Brent scanned each face for a match on Luis Garcia’s high forehead and slicked-back black hair. Luis was only about five and half feet tall, so Brent kept his sightline at that elevation.

  “Man, I’m worried.” The smooth accent on the other end of the phone was garbled every third word as Brent walked in and out of signal.

  “Don’t worry, Al. I’ll take care of this.”

  “I should have never given him the money. I’ll come down. I can meet you at the first stop.”

  Intent with his task, Brent nearly collided with a small child, dodging the tyke at the last second. Christ−that was twice today. He had to broaden his vision and not be consumed with the filthy heap of dung that was trying to extort money from his friend, Alfredo Petri.

  “Look,” Brent said, “we talked about this. You’re pitching tomorrow. It’s the playoffs, Al. The playoffs. You can’t miss this.”

  “But my parents,” Al cried.

  Within the five-story atrium the acoustics reverberated to the point that Brent had to forgo his search in order to hear his friend. He ventured into a corridor lined with cabins, and reduced his tone to just above a whisper.

  “I won’t let anything happen to them, you know that.”

  It was now quiet enough to hear Al’s woeful sigh. “I know that,” he said. “I know how much you care for them. Listen to me, Brent. Just let Luis take the money. If it means their safety−”

  Brent ducked into a utility stairwell and paused on the landing. “Al, three million dollars is nothing to you, and it is only the beginning for them. By you handing that money over, they realize they’ve tapped into a font.”

  Another sound of anguish came through. “I couldn’t call the police. Luis said they would hurt my parents.”

  Sagging against the wall, Brent rubbed a hand over his face. “I know. You did the right thing. You bought us some time. I will find Luis before we get to Santo Domingo and when we do get there, I will bring your parents back here.”

  A clang of metal could be heard over the phone, most likely Al slamming his locker door. Brent glanced at his watch. The opening pitch was only an hour away.

  “Beyond myself,” Al said, “you are the only person in the world my parents will trust. They care for you very much.”

  The gravity of his friend’s words hit hard. Brent literally owed the Petris his life, and Luis Garcia would pity the day he decided to mess with them.

  “I care for them too.” Brent’s voice cracked and then he stood straight. “Look, get your ass out on the mound. You’re three games out of the Series. You need to focus on that. The Groupers need you.”

  “How can I focus?”

  “Because you have faith in me, hermano.” Brent grinned.

  There was a lengthy pause and Al finally managed to weave a smile into his voice, “That I do, hermano. That I do.”

  Looking at his watch, Brent calculated that he had just enough time to change clothes and start to scavenge the lounges, searching the dinner crowd for any sign of the lowlife blackmailer, Luis Garcia.

  ***

  “Guess who is on this very cruise?”

  Jill sat on the corner of the double bed and looked up at her mother. Catherine Perry stood before the mirror and applied pink lipstick. The woman easily passed for ten years younger than her age. She had a short blond bob and elegant silver hoop earrings that dipped below her hairline and she wore a yellow dress that flattered her native Floridian tan. When she turned, Jill looked into the only physical discrepancy between mother and daughter…brown eyes.

  “Who?”

  “Betsy Tarantino.”

  “That’s quite a coincidence,” Jill remarked glancing down at the black pumps on her feet. Would she truly be able to walk in them?

  “Well, I had mentioned to her that I was trying to convince you to go on this cruise, and she thought it sounded like such a good idea−”

  Betsy Tarantino was a retired teacher, just like Catherine. The women had worked together for years. That they were on the same cruise left very little room for chance, and more opportunity for collusion.

  “Mom, why didn’t you two just take this cruise together? I know you’ve been hounding Dad for years to go. You didn’t need to drag me along.”

  Catherine set down her lipstick and walked over to Jill, stooping down before her, which was an incredible act to accomplish in heels.

  “Listen to me,” Catherine looked her in the eye, “you needed this. Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, you are recovering marvelously from the surgery, but you need a mental recovery. That louse−”

  “Mom−” Jill didn’t want to hear it again about Tyler.

  “I hope you’re over him.”

  “Mom, there never was a him to be over. That’s all in your head.”

  Catherine stood back up and fussed with the waistband of her dress. “You say that, but you guys were seeing each other before we learned that he had a drinking problem.”

  Jill felt there should be a parental translator applied to her mother’s neck so that when she spoke to strangers, the real story would come out.

  Tyler Hanson was a photographer for the Tampa Bay Groupers baseball team. With Jill’s freelance photography, their paths had crossed enough that they eventually went out on a couple of dates−but it was not serious by any means. As a matter of fact, Jill had started feeling uncomfortable with his insistence to drive after he had a few too many beers. If she had acted on her instincts one date sooner she might not be eyeing her shoe as if it were an object wielded by the devil.

  Jill stood up and tested out the heels. Her knee felt strong. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. At two inches taller than her mothe
r with the aid of the pumps, she looked thin in the black cocktail dress. It was one of her mother’s arguments in favor of the cruise−that it would fatten her up. Jill’s honey-colored hair dusted across bare shoulders. Wide blue eyes stared back at her with an inquisitive glint as if to ask, What are you doing here?

  “He should have ended up in jail,” Catherine interrupted her thoughts, “but he just loses his license while you endure thousands of dollars worth of surgery. It’s just not right.”

  Parent translator says, insurance paid for my surgery, and speaking of insurance, I’m sure once Tyler can drive again his car insurance will cost more than the surgery ever did.

  When there was no response, Catherine stopped and looked at Jill. Jill felt those eyes search her face and she warmed under the inspection and offered up an enthusiastic smile, “Okay, Mom, let’s go introduce this ship to the Perry women.”

  ***

  Two hours later, feeling stuffed, Jill sat with her legs crossed and tugged on the hem of her dress to cover the single vertical scar on her knee. Beside her, Catherine had miraculously tracked down Betsy Tarantino and the two women were talking in a loud attempt to overpower the orchestra. Jill sighed. There was only six days left of this.

  She watched the couples on the dance floor moving to the band’s rendition of Careless Whisper and was so hypnotized by the slumberous mass that she nearly missed the man approaching to her right. She recognized the tall physique−an impression she could still feel pressed against her back. The dark hair was short and tame without the wind to besiege it. In his black suit with the crisp white shirt, he looked dangerously handsome, but it was the one facet of this man that she did not recognize that arrested her attention−his eyes. Hazel would be a general assessment, but gold flecks made them seem molten, and that heat was basking over her as he stopped in front of her.

  “Would you like to dance?”