Chance twisted to look at her. “They don’t turn you on. They don’t make you hot. They don’t tempt you.”
They don’t compare to you. Instead of admitting that, though, she fell back on what seemed an appropriately teacherlike response. “There’s no chemistry.”
“There wasn’t any chemistry between you and Mr. Right, either, but you were going to marry him, anyway.”
“Yes,” she agreed thoughtfully. “I was.” It had been a long time before she’d gotten enough over her hurt at being abandoned to realize that Chance had done her at least one favor in unwittingly convincing her to break off her engagement. She’d never loved Jonathan, not in the way necessary to make a marriage work. She’d grown up with him, dated him all through high school and had simply fallen in with everyone else’s assumption—his, her parents’, their friends’—that she would marry him.
In her worst times, she’d wanted to turn back the clock to that April morning, to never confess her sins to Jonathan, to take back his ring and the words that had called off their wedding. She’d lost so much more than just Chance—her fiancé, her upcoming marriage, her parents’ support, her reputation, her nice, secure future—and she’d been hurting so bad. She’d wanted part of it back, even if it was the wrong part.
“I would have married him,” she acknowledged, “and it would have been a mistake. Do you know how long it took him to replace me? He was dating another woman by the end of the week. They were engaged within a month, and they got married at the end of his first year of law school. He sent my whole family an invitation to the wedding. And we all went.” She gave a wondering shake of her head.
“Eight years and counting,” Chance said quietly. When she glanced at him, a flush of color had darkened the skin stretched taut over his high cheekbones. “That’s how long it’s been. I’ve dated a few women, and had sex with a few more, but…you’re irreplaceable, Mary Katherine. Any man who doesn’t realize that is a fool.”
A lump formed in her throat, forcing her to look away before the emotion turned to tears in her eyes. When she thought she could speak normally, she laughed—low, husky, unsteady. “You do have a way with words, Chance. You could sweep a woman off her feet with nothing more than your sweet lies. The only problem is, getting swept off your feet is generally followed by a mighty hard fall. I barely survived the last one. I’m older this time, less resilient, less likely to get the pieces back together the way they go.”
He looked at her, his green eyes hard with conviction. “It’s not a lie, Mary Katherine,” he said flatly. “One of these days you’ll know that for yourself.”
Wouldn’t she love to believe him? But she’d thought one of these days had arrived eight years ago. She’d thought she could trust him with her love, her heart, her life. And she’d been wrong.
She couldn’t afford to be wrong again.
She might not survive it.
The Queen hadn’t even left port for its early cruise on Wednesday evening before Chance’s first problem arose. Clyde Ebert, Ianucci’s chief of security, called him to the Pacific Lounge, where Chance found him in conversation with the casino manager, an intense, dark-haired woman named Casey. While she talked, Clyde handed him a piece of paper with a name and address on it. The name was only vaguely familiar—Paul Baker, Paulie to his friends—but the address, a block or so from Mary Katherine’s cheap motel—was more so.
“That’s the dealer involved in the incident last week,” Clyde said quietly when the woman moved away. “He hasn’t shown up for work the last two nights. Casey—” he nodded toward the manager “—went by this afternoon. Car’s in the driveway, no answer at the door or on the phone.”
“Want me to send someone over or to call Bubba?” Bubba, of course, wasn’t the guy’s name—wasn’t even his nickname except among the few on board the Queen who knew of his existence. He was a local cop who didn’t take the laws regarding improper use of authority or violations of the privacy act too seriously. He was Ianucci’s link to law enforcement and could be counted on to handle any problems that arose appropriately.
Chance was looking forward to seeing him in jail.
“Let’s not bring him unless it’s necessary. For all we know, this guy could have left town or might be too hungover to work,” Clyde said. “It’s too late to send anyone over there now, but when we get back, why don’t you have one of the boys go by?”
“Not a problem.” Chance slid the paper into his pocket, then called after his boss. “Hey, what did the tapes show?”
Clyde’s smile reminded Chance of a shark—cold-blooded with lots of deadly teeth. “He wasn’t cheating, just as we knew. Who in this business would make the mistake of trying to cheat Mr. Ianucci?”
Who, indeed. Certainly not a dealer who’d been around the business long enough to qualify for a job on the Queen. Some of the waitresses and the kitchen staff might be naive enough to believe the Queen and Ianucci were exactly what they appeared to be, but the dealers knew better.
As Casey hurried past again, Chance stopped her. “You have someone to fill in for Paulie?”
“Yeah, Keith Adams is on his way over now. Don’t let the boat leave without him, or you’ll be parking your carcass in here behind a table tonight.”
“I’ll notify Jimbo,” he replied with a grin. Though he could easily call down to the guard shack, he walked instead. The instant he stepped out of the air-conditioned lounge, the heat hit him with the force of a sucker punch. By the time he reached the guard shack at the bottom of the gangway, he was sweating.
“How’s it going?” Jimbo—really James Gomez—asked. He was about Chance’s age, about Chance’s size, but there the similarities ended. Jimbo watched his diet, worked out religiously and could bench press Chance without breaking a sweat. He was also the best damn shot in the entire bureau and the best backup Chance could ask for.
Except for the small detail that when the Queen left port with Chance on board, Jimbo usually stayed behind.
“Next job I get had better be something where I can wear shorts and a T-shirt, or maybe no shirt at all. Maybe a pool boy or a landscaper. Or, hell, how about this for fun—a job in an office with a view and air-conditioning and—”
“A secretary with a great body in tight clothes.”
“Son, the bodies don’t get any greater, or the clothes any tighter, than they are here.”
“So I hear. Of course, I work out here where I only see them in their street clothes, unlike some lucky bastard who’s on the boat and sees them in all their feathered finery.”
With a grin, Chance jerked a paper towel from the roll on the counter and wiped the sweat that beaded across his forehead. “We’ve got a late one coming in this evening—Keith Adams. Let the captain know as soon as he’s on board.”
“He replacing Paulie?”
“Yeah. What did you hear?”
“Just that no one’s seen him since the second cruise Saturday night. What about you?”
“The same. Clyde says he wasn’t dealing dirty.”
Jimbo waved through a couple of waitresses before fixing his gaze on Chance. “Might not have mattered.”
“How so?”
“In a business like this, the implication of wrongdoing can be as damaging as an admission.”
So at worst, Paulie was guilty of cheating. At best, he was guilty of making someone claim he’d cheated. Either way, he was guilty.
Chance copied the address and gave it to Jimbo. “Have someone check this out. And tell ’em to be out by ten. Clyde wants me to send one of our people over between cruises.”
“Will do.”
Chance started back up the gangway, but had taken only a couple of steps before curiosity got the best of him and made him turn back. “Hey, turn to your list of employees. I want to see if one’s checked in yet.”
Jimbo didn’t bother checking the clipboard, where he recorded every soul to set foot on board the Queen each evening. Instead he offered a smug grin. “M
ary Katherine Monroe? Man, that one looks so damn good in her clothes that I don’t bother fantasizing about her out of them. I think it’s those big brown eyes, or all that heavy long hair. Or maybe it’s the contradictions—so innocent and sexy, so sweet and wicked, so—”
“Watch your mouth,” Chance growled.
Jimbo laughed. “She went aboard about fifteen minutes ago. Give her my best when you see her.”
Chance gave a nod as he headed back onto the Queen. He’d been trying to give Mary Katherine his best, but she wasn’t making it easy. It was because she didn’t trust him, he knew. He just didn’t know what to do about it. The only way to gain her trust was to tell her everything…but telling her everything was too dangerous. And, gee, novel idea, wouldn’t it be something if she would just trust him, anyway—if he didn’t have to earn it with reasons and explanations and proof that he wasn’t a coldhearted bastard who’d used, then discarded her? Wasn’t that what trust was—faith without proof?
He hadn’t seen her since Sunday. Things had changed subtly after their little conversation at the Laundromat, when she’d accused him of telling sweet lies. They’d continued to talk while they finished their laundry, had a late lunch and shopped for groceries, but there had been some barrier between them that he couldn’t talk, tease or charm his way around. When he’d taken her home, he’d suggested a movie. She’d countered with goodbye. She hadn’t let him carry her grocery bags into the kitchen—hadn’t even let him in the front door, a fact which had amused 1-B, on his way out again. Though he’d never been a violent man, Chance would have given a lot to wipe that smug smile off the guy’s face.
On the one hand, it was good that she was afraid, because it meant she still cared. She might try to pretend otherwise, might keep hopefully suggesting that they not see each other, but she cared. On the other hand, he didn’t want her to be afraid, because it meant she didn’t trust him, and because it was a measure of how badly he’d hurt her.
God, he’d never meant to hurt her!
At the top of the gangway, he nodded to the two security guards stationed there until their guests were on board and the Queen was ready to leave her berth, then headed for the main deck lounge. The evening was already off to a good start, with plenty of customers to keep the girls busy. Mary Katherine wasn’t among those girls.
Spying Sara with a tray of drinks, he asked, “Hey, where’s—?”
She didn’t even slow down. “She’s been moved up. Try the Memphis Saloon.”
Jeez, that made twice. Was his interest in Mary Katherine so obvious that he didn’t even need to say her name? Jimbo, he could overlook. It was entirely possible that Jake had told him all about their relationship back in Oxford. But Sara, too?
The Memphis Saloon was one level up and, its name aside, wasn’t a bar but a gaming room. The stakes were lower there than elsewhere on the Queen, though still well above the limits of the average tourist/gambler. Liquor flowed just as heavily as in the Mississippi Deck lounge, but the focus was on the gambling.
He was barely five feet inside the door when he saw her, awaiting an order at the bar, and the sight literally stopped him in his tracks. She was wearing scarlet tonight, a dazzling little outfit with a neckline that plunged below the waist and not much of a back—hell, not much of anything. Basically, the costume was strips of body-hugging spandex artfully arranged with strips of see-through scarlet something or other, with a sprinkling of matching sequins to catch the light and make her sparkle.
By the time he reached the bar, he was too aroused to move without discomfort, unless he was moving inside her. He stopped immediately behind her, bent close and murmured, “I’ll pay you whatever you’d make tonight in tips if you’d come to my office and just let me look.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, just a quick look with a hint of amusement in her eyes, then she looked away again.
“In this outfit, I don’t have to wonder whether you’re wearing a bra. You’re obviously not.” There was too much skin showing—creamy, soft, kissable skin—to allow for even the most remote of possibilities. “And at least you can sit comfortably in this one. There’re no sequins on the butt.”
“Because they couldn’t find enough fabric to attach them to,” she said snidely.
Because she was right, he couldn’t resist letting his gaze slide down for one brief look before he realized she was scowling at him. “Keep your eyes to yourself, buddy,” she warned before turning her attention back to the bartender. “Hey, on the Bloody Mary, the guy wants extra pickled green beans.”
“So Mr. Atkinson is on board tonight.” Chance eased onto the nearest bar stool to keep from pulling her close and rubbing—hard—against her scantily clad bottom. “Be nice to him. He’s known to be generous with his winnings.”
“I’m nice to everyone.”
“Except me. I went by your apartment Monday.”
“I had some errands to run.”
“I looked for you on your dinner break last night.”
“I decided to eat in the employee lounge.”
“I looked for you when we got off.”
“I must have slipped right by.”
“If I were a gambling man, I’d say you were avoiding me.”
“If you were a gambling man, you would have hit the jackpot.”
The bartender set the last two drinks on her tray, but before she could leave, Chance blocked her way. “Why?”
“I have to get to work.”
“A simple answer. Why are you avoiding me?”
Her mouth thinned, and her eyes darkened with impatience. “It’s not a simple answer, Chance, and I’ve got six customers waiting for their drinks, and they tend to get a little rowdy if they wait too long.”
Because she was right, and because he couldn’t interfere with business, he relented—but not without another effort. “Meet me on the Texas Deck on your dinner break.”
Though she looked as if she wanted to refuse, after a moment she sighed. “Okay.”
He let her go, watching until he realized the bartender was watching him watch her. With a scowl, he ordered a bottle of water and pulled a cigar from his pocket. It was a long time until eleven. Even then, he wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t show.
Not surprised…but incredibly disappointed.
It was an uneventful evening. He made his rounds, checked in with the staff, sat in on a conference call between Ianucci and his San Francisco partners and watched from the Texas Deck as the departing passengers disembarked. He left briefly to find out from Jimbo that Jake had sent a couple of men to Paul Baker’s house and they’d found nothing out of the ordinary, and he sent two of Ianucci’s men to the same address to bring back the same report.
Maybe Paulie really had left town. People did it all the time, especially those with few ties to the community. Maybe he’d met some woman and hadn’t come up for air yet, or had followed her back to wherever she’d come from. Maybe his absence was a perfectly innocent annoyance, no more.
Eleven o’clock came and, with a blast from its whistle, the Queen headed out into the river again. The minutes crawled by, one after the other, with no sign of Mary Katherine. He’d been stood up, which was only fair under the circumstances. Hadn’t she made it clear from the beginning that she didn’t want him back in her life? And hadn’t he deliberately ignored her?
But hadn’t she kissed him as though she wanted him? Looked at him as though she needed him?
At eleven-twenty, he decided to give up. He could track her down—they were under way on a riverboat, for God’s sake, and more than half the boat was off-limits to her—but what good would it do, forcing her to see him when she clearly didn’t want to? He had a job to do—several of them, in fact—and would be better off concentrating on that. With a surge of restless energy, he turned away from the rail…and stopped.
She stood, heels in hand, right on the line between shadow and light. One step forward, and the deck lights would gleam on her pale s
kin and sequins. One step back, and the shadows would swallow her up, except for the telltale glint of light that penetrated the darkness. “I wasn’t going to come.”
“So I figured.” He leaned against the rail behind him, gripping it tightly with both hands to keep from reaching for her. “I’m glad you did.”
She came forward a few steps, detouring to leave her shoes on a nearby chair. With them out of the way, she went to the next section of railing, near enough that he could reach her with one long stride, distant enough that he might never reach her. She gazed into the night for a moment before facing him. “You were right. I have been avoiding you.”
“Why?”
“In the interest of self-preservation,” she replied with a wry smile. “You’re a dangerous man, Chance.”
“I’m not—”
“I’m not talking about your job or the fact that you carry a gun. I’m talking about you. You’re too handsome, too charming, too confident, too arrogant. You’re sexy as hell, and just that grin of yours is enough to make most women melt at your feet.”
He wasn’t sure he’d ever received so many compliments in such an unflattering way. “You’re a little bit dangerous yourself, darlin’. You can make a man forget his name.”
“And you can make a woman lose her soul.” She turned her face into the breeze, eyes closed, for a moment before looking at him again. “Ever since I saw you up here that first night, I’ve been torn. I was shocked, angry, upset…and pleased. All those years I spent getting over you…it was as if they’d never happened. One minute I was recovered—I was strong, in control, rational and reasonable—and the next…I was falling again.” She smiled faintly, regretfully. “I can’t afford to fall again, Chance. I wasn’t kidding the other day. I’m not as resilient as I used to be. I don’t want to spend the next few years putting myself back together again.”
“You’re making the assumption that putting yourself back together will be necessary.”
“It’s the only assumption I can make, based on my experience with you.”
He shook his head. “You could assume that this time will be different.”
Who Do You Love? Page 17