“No, nothing except for yesterday. I tried to get a copy of the ship manifest, but you might as well be asking for a list of SEAL Team 6.” Brent stepped up to the railing, watching the bustle of activity as the ship was prepped for departure. “There’s about 3000 people on this ship. I don’t think it’s sold out. I’ll find him, Al.”
“Why a cruise, man?” Al asked. “Why did he take a cruise out of the states?”
“My guess is that customs is easier this way. Not as much attention drawn to his bags stuffed with money.”
“This is killin’ me.”
If Brent thought he was frustrated, the discouragement in his friend’s voice reinforced the sense of urgency. “It’s my job that put my parents in jeopardy. If I didn’t make this money, I would be like everyone else and they would have left my family alone.”
It was tough to argue that point, but it was also futile. “Five years ago your parents lived in a shack, Al. Now they−” are pawns in a blackmailing scheme.
“Are in a nice house that is just as easy to break in.” Al inserted as a loud clap sounded across the phone. Brent guessed his friend had kicked or punched something in aggravation.
There was nothing more he could say to alleviate his friend’s fears, and the guilt and anger over resigning to that fact clawed at Brent.
“Look, I’ll check in tomorrow. The truth is that whether or not I locate Luis before Santo Domingo is not the issue. We both have the same destination. I will meet up with him eventually.”
“Dammit, Brent.” This time it was evident that a locker door had been kicked. “You can’t do this alone. Now I have three people close to me that are in danger. Let me call the Feds.”
“They warned you against that,” Brent reminded. “Yes, I would like the support of the law, but we didn’t have time to get it. It happened so fast. And if Luis’s men found out−” Brent shook his head. “We can’t take the chance yet. And you know damn well the law can’t be trusted down there.” He moved up to the railing and watched the rugged churn of the ocean. “Right now this is still in our power to tackle.”
“Your power.” Alfredo spat. “I just sit here on my ass while you put your life on the line. That’s bullshit, man.”
“Al, this argument is useless. You are doing your part.”
“Yeah, I’m throwing a goddamn ball.” His agitation was becoming inconsolable. “That’s a big damn help.”
There was no way to rationalize. Brent had made a substantial amount of money with WarmWinds Boats, but nowhere near the figure of a professional baseball player vying for a spot in the World Series. Because of the greed of a corrupt group of entrepreneurs, Al’s worst enemy for his parents had been his salary. Al’s greatest asset to protect his parents was his salary. Life was a double-edged sword.
“I’ll call you tomorrow at this time,” Brent ended the conversation, tormented by his friend’s pain.
“Alright,” Al sounded deflated. “Brent?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you. You−you−what you’re doing−I would have never asked this of you.”
Brent coughed down emotion. “Are we family?”
There was silence on the other end, and then finally, “In every way but blood, man.”
“I’m not going to let you down, Al. I’m not going to let them down.”
“I know that.”
This time Brent could hear a weary smile in his friend’s words.
“Till tomorrow, then.” Al signed off.
Chapter Three
Now with a rabid determination to locate Luis Garcia, Brent pushed aside thoughts of the attractive woman he had spent the afternoon with and focused again on legwork, determined to trek every inch of the ship−five times over if necessary. By the fifth lap the bloodlust began to wane. Defeat wormed its way into his psyche. When the initial call to Al was placed about the extortion, Al’s quick thinking kicked in as he switched on his cell in his pocket and pressed the #2 button, the speed dial to reach Brent. Brent listened helplessly to the conversation between Alfredo and Luis as Luis recited the details of the blackmail plot. While the transmission was still active, Brent rushed to the stadium and arrived just in time to catch Luis’s departure in a black SUV. Keeping at a safe distance, he followed Luis into the Tampa Port Authority, and before he knew it, he was negotiating terms to get onto the cruise ship that the swindler just embarked on.
That was a day and a half ago already and Brent had only managed one glimpse of Luis Garcia in that time−and that occurrence had proved disastrous. Now, on his third visit to the Casino Royale, Brent was certain Luis would be attracted to the venue. After all, a man who felt he had come into a great deal of money would surely be susceptible to the lure of gambling.
Brent descended the lavish stairwell into the bowels of the pulsating casino decorated in loud splashes of purple, red and black. The raucous din of revelers made more apparent the headache that was forming a cement rampart behind his forehead. He first executed a wide circumference around the gaming tables, hesitating when he saw a man in a dress jacket and gelled black hair hunched over at a blackjack table. But as he rounded further, the face was not Luis’s. Progressing through the rows of noisy slot machines, he caught the eye of several women who cast him inviting smiles. His glance shifted past them and he kept walking. One woman, however, did attract his attention−only, she was not smiling. She was seated sideways on a stool in front of a slot machine, watching the blond woman beside her tapping her fingers on the digital screen and shouting, “Come on sevens!”
As much as the sight of Jill brightened his disposition, he would not permit himself to go to her. He started to turn away and at the same moment, she swiveled in her seat and jolted at the sight of him. Unlike the women he had just passed by, she offered no coy smile. Solemn azure eyes watched him with the steady focus of a wary animal. Locked by that stare, he barely heard the peal of the machines or the din of the passengers or the brass of the live band on stage.
He saw her lips move and caught the corresponding bob of the head of the woman seated next to her. Jill rose. Rooted in place, he watched her approach in a blue cocktail dress that made her eyes a shade darker. When she stepped up in front of him, his first thought was that she seemed shorter, and he dropped his glance down her legs until they landed on navy blue sandals without much of a heel.
“Hi,” he whispered even though the crowd called for nothing less than a shout.
“Hi.” He saw her mouth mimic.
He found himself glued to those lips, waiting to see if they moved again.
Let it go, man. Beg your excuses and turn around.
She said something, but this time he could not hear. He leaned in closer and caught a whiff of some floral scent that made him feel like he was standing in a garden and not in a den of perspiration and alcohol. He noticed the fine dusting of freckles across her nose.
“I said…” Jill repeated close enough that he could feel the warm tickle of her breath against his neck, “−that you look tired.”
Heck, that wasn’t what he was expecting.
“I can’t hear you well,” he admitted.
Jill cocked her head, blond strands reflecting the strobe lights of the casino and then she pitched her chin up in the opposite direction. He followed her lead, one step behind so that he could trace the dip of her spine with his glance. He wanted to place his hand there and escort her through the crowd, but felt it wasn’t appropriate. So instead, he trailed after her, vowing that as soon as she came to a halt, he would politely excuse himself.
Jill located a corner where the noise level was subdued. A quick glimpse at the slot machines around them confirmed the reason why. These machines were programmed for higher stakes, whereas the bustling section of the casino housed 25cent slots. Jill sat down on a stool before a Wheel Of Fortune machine, but seemed to have no intention of playing. She crossed her legs, tugging on the silky hem of her dress.
Now. Now was the time to walk aw
ay. And yet Brent’s feet refused to cooperate.
“I look that bad?” He addressed her original observation that he looked tired.
“Pretty much,” Jill nodded with a smile. “Sit down for a minute.”
Brent glanced back towards the 25 cent slots, and also made a cursory sweep for Luis’s rat-like profile.
“Your mother is going to be looking for you.” It sounded feeble, but he said it anyway.
In response she cocked an eyebrow as if once again finding him humorous, only this time she looked concerned. That really floored him.
“You know,” Jill began, “every alert inside my head goes off when I see you. The warnings say to avoid you at all costs.”
“You should listen to those warnings.”
“You are trying to be brooding, maybe even menacing−but it doesn’t work.”
“Any more adjectives you want to throw in there?”
“There’s something about you that seems pretty normal.”
Her banter exhausted him to the point that he dropped on a red-cushioned stool next to her and realized that she was right. He was damn tired.
“That’s good to know. What does the rest say?”
Cocking her head, a motion that fascinated him when her hair brushed against her shoulder and her eyelids dropped slightly so that she peered from beneath long lashes.
“It says that you need to relax.”
Brent snorted at that. “You don’t make that possible for me.”
Jill smiled. “I am not sure if that was a compliment or not.”
“I’m not sure either,” he grinned.
***
Jill realized that she was acting insane by baiting this man. What was it with this guy besides him looking ridiculously attractive in gray slacks and a blue shirt? It wasn’t that his looks screamed out model or sexpot or anything. He had imperfections−albeit very few. His dark hair had a cowlick on top that ruined any chance at bangs, and he had a small scar on the side of his cheek near his temple, which she had not noticed until this afternoon. It was very faint. An old scar.
And there summed up the extent of his imperfections.
“Alright, Miss Inquisitive,” Brent spoke and there was something about his smile that tampered with gravity.
She realized that the scar was obscured when he smiled. It would shrink up into the tiniest of lines that would never be perceived until the muscles in his jaws relaxed. “What else do you see,” he asked, “because you’ve practically performed brain surgery on me with your eyes.”
Jill started at the words, and her gaze jumped so fast that the strobe lights became a whirl, like photographing nighttime traffic with a high speed setting. She blinked to focus, but refused to return to his amused stare. In this brief, immature flight, she alighted upon a familiar figure descending the staircase into the casino.
“Isn’t that the guy you were looking for?”
She felt Brent shift on the stool, aware that he leaned forward, speaking to her in a tight voice, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Dressed in a navy dinner jacket over a bright pink polo shirt, Jill was certain that the black-capped head and tan complexion was that of the man in the elevator who had arrested Brent’s attention last night. As the man stopped four steps up from the bottom and used the elevation to scour the crowd, Jill was aware of Brent retreating into the shadow of the giant slot machine. She rose and lifted on her toes, searching for the shiny black crown and saw him honing in on the Craps table.
“He’s over there,” she pointed.
She felt Brent’s hand on her raised arm, drawing it down as he turned her to face him. Brent’s eyes looked more like bourbon at night, and they were boring into her with an intensity that had her holding her breath.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he said evenly, and then glanced down at his watch, “but I’m afraid I do have to leave. I have a phone call scheduled back to the states. Business, you know.”
The last was added with a forced chuckle.
“Right.”
She slid a glimpse away from the agitated man in front of her, but lost sight of the blue jacket and pink shirt. Whatever the situation was, she was certain that she was holding Brent up, so she acquiesced with a bow of the head and whispered, “I’ll see you around, Brent Coales.”
Before he had an opportunity to respond she turned and headed in the direction of her mother. Just as she stepped away, Jill swore she heard Brent utter a curse, yet when she glanced back over her shoulder, he was gone.
***
Jill heard her mother’s animated voice long before she saw her. Betsy stood behind Catherine as Catherine pounded the slot machine with her palm. “Come on, baby!”
Bells went off and a few coins streamed out, and both women giggled like children. At the blackjack table, George Tarrantino sat chatting with the man next to him, and then gave a curt nod to the dealer prompting another card dropped on the green felt.
Not up to feigning happiness for the giddy women, Jill pivoted away and headed for the staircase. Three steps up she paused to survey the casino floor, but saw no sign of Brent or the man in the blue blazer. Feeling like a fool, she continued up and emerged into the chrome cascade of stairwells that made up the ship’s atrium. Jill crossed the floral carpet and felt a tug in her knee that caused her cadence to falter. It usually didn’t flare up unless she was exceptionally tired, but for the moment she just wanted to sit. Dropping down on a purple velour bench seated before a two-story waterfall, she ignored the occasional drop of water that escaped its track and landed on her arms.
Massaging her knee proved to be more of a mental stimulant, and did little to alleviate any pain−but she did it anyway. Tipping her head up, she studied the ornate vestibule and squinted at the lights six stories above. They were remote enough to resemble stars. And the night surrounded her in the form of glass walls, windows onto a midnight sea. Hypnotized by a fish sculpture suspended in the middle of the open atrium, Jill’s eyes dropped to the entrance of the casino again, trying to convince herself that she was not waiting for Brent to emerge. Who was the stalker now?
After several minutes, she gripped the edge of the seat cushion, ready to hoist up when she noticed the familiar navy jacket and pink shirt alight from the top of the casino stairs. Tugging on the cuffs of his jacket, the man swiveled his head from left to right and then his short khaki-clad legs marched towards the closest bank of elevators.
Jill rose and moved in tandem. After all, she was heading back to her cabin anyway. She stepped up alongside the man and estimated that she was at least two inches taller than him−even with her low heels on. He gave her a sideward glance with the curiosity extended to any potential elevator-mate. Apparently, he liked what he saw because a second pass produced a suggestive smile.
Jill all but rolled her eyes at the gesture. Close up, the first thing she was aware of was the heavy vapor of cologne. It was so bad she nearly reneged on sharing an elevator. In her periphery she could see that the man was clean-shaven and that his dark complexion bore a spray of pock marks, remnants of a childhood case of acne perhaps. His black hair was slicked back and drew attention to the high forehead and disproportionately small nose. All in all, he was an odd looking fellow−and damn, he reeked of musk.
The ding of the elevator chimed and the chrome door slid open. The man made a motion with his hand for her to go first, and seeing that no one else had joined them, Jill felt a momentary sense of panic. There was nothing to substantiate it, short of the unscrupulous grin the man had imparted. Still, she felt insecure and glanced down at her watch, making a theatrical motion as if she had forgotten something, and retreated. With a curt nod, the man entered the elevator, tugging on the cuffs of his jacket and tapping the console as the door slid shut. For a moment Jill stared at her reflection in the chrome. She thought she looked scared, and the hands that clutched her purse shook. Behind her frightened façade, however, she caught something else
in the reflection−she saw a familiar face approach her from behind. It was not a happy face.
“Jill,” Brent reached her. He looked from her, to the ascending elevator and back again. “What are you doing?”
It was not a friendly query. Brent’s voice held a grave inflection of angst and fatigue as he glanced up. The interior of the elevator was visible now. Wrapped in the glass shaft, the man in the navy jacket looked down at them, startled. She could see the flash of his gold wristwatch as he slammed the panel inside the door.
“I−” She wasn’t even certain herself as to what she had been doing. “I was actually going up to my room and he was−he was just there.”
Brent ignored the elevator and stared at her to the point that she almost shuffled her feet in discomfort.
“Listen to me,” he said softly, reaching for her arms. “That man is dangerous. Don’t go looking for him, and if you do run into him…” she felt his fingers squeeze, “−turn the other way.”
Dropping his hands from her arms, he looked up at the now vacant elevator.
“Is he a criminal?” Jill whispered even though they were alone. “Are you chasing him?”
When Brent returned her gaze, she saw dark shadows of resolve there. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, making the cowlick spike up. “This is not a game, Jill. And this is not a discussion we are going to have. I like you, but I need you to go enjoy your cruise and don’t try to find me−and don’t try to find him.”
Jill felt chastised and guilty at the same time, and the effect rendered her speechless. Brent seized this opportunity to continue.
“I am really sorry,” he added, “−for a lot of things.”
He pressed the control for the elevator door. It slid open as he stepped inside and stared out at her with solemn eyes.
As the doors began to close, Jill rushed out the words, “he was going to Deck Seven.”
The chrome barrier cut off her view, and not bearing to see Brent’s look of condemnation from above, she retreated down to the casino.
Emotional Waves Page 4