The door led her into a semi-dark narrow metal stairway descending into the bowels of the luxury vessel. The steps were steep and slippery so she took great pains not to fall, holding the handrail for dear life. Once on the bottom, Petra saw Sam duck through another door at the end of the narrow corridor. It looked like they were roaming in the cargo area of the yacht, not the best smelling part of a ship of any size. The smell of oil permeated the air and clung to her nostrils, making her eyes water and itch. With a sudden move, she opened the door and followed Sam inside, only to bump into something hard as the door clicked shut behind her.
“What the hell?” she heard Sam exclaim. The jig was up. No chance to hide now. “Petra? What are you…?” The question hung in the air as steps were heard outside the door. Sam placed a hand over her mouth in warning. Even though very tempted to protest, she thought better and allowed him the gesture. They were very obviously not supposed to be there and she was not going to be the one giving them away.
The steps faded away and Sam released her. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a hushed tone.
She could barely see him in the dimness of the small space, but she knew he was looking at her with disapproving eyes. What could she say? The truth was probably the best policy in this no-win situation. “I followed you, obviously,” she confessed.
“What the hell for?” he asked not so quietly. He was getting very irritated, she could sense. “All the way from Seattle?” They had been on the road for almost three hours now, she realized. With that thought came the sense that what she was doing was indeed a little crazy.
“I wanted to know what you do for a living,” she explained, shaking imaginary dust off herself.
“Do you think you could have just—I don’t know—asked me?” He was really annoyed now, and his voice, in spite of his better judgment, had gone up in volume.
“Shhh…” She quieted him down, thus making him even more agitated. “Do you want them to catch us?” She had no idea who they were or why she should care to be caught, but it was worth a try.
Sam grabbed her by her shoulders and gave her a shake. “Woman,” he said, strong hands still on her shoulders. “If I didn’t…oh, you make me crazy in so many ways. Are you nuts? Really?” Right at that moment, they heard steps again, and by unspoken agreement, they both fell silent and still. As soon as the steps faded, though, Sam was on her case again. “We have to get you out of here before it’s too late.” Sam opened the door slowly and peeked outside only to just as quickly close it behind him again.
“What happened?” Petra asked in a small apprehensive voice. The situation was getting complicated.
“Just as I was afraid of,” he declared. “We’re stuck here. They have closed the upper hatch.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, feeling panic and bile climbing their way up her throat.
“We can’t get out,” he said, sitting heavily on a nearby stool. “We might as well make ourselves comfortable. We’re not leaving this boat anytime soon.”
Petra began pacing the floor. “No, no, no,” she kept repeating as if by doing so it may make it true. “I can’t be stuck on a freaking boat. I can’t!”
For the first time since they had placed themselves in that position, Sam took a long look at her and smiled, half amused, half annoyed by her attitude. “Well, sweetheart, you are stuck on this freaking boat, so sit your butt somewhere and relax.”
Fuming, and with panic taking over all her senses, Petra turned around to face him and slapped him impulsively across the face. “Get me out of here,” she yelled, as the irrational fear took control. “You got us in this predicament so get us out.”
Her hand rose again to strike, but Sam was prepared this time and blocked it with his hand. “No you don’t, missy,” he said. “How come you didn’t tell me you’re afraid of boats?’
“Not afraid of boats,” she protested, trying to unsuccessfully free her hand from him. Her whole body language belied her words. “I get seasick and don’t like being locked below water level.” Then, almost pleadingly she added, “Please, Sam, take me out of here.”
Sam pulled her closer to him. Even though he was sitting, their heads were at the same level. “I can’t,” he whispered, pulling her even closer. “Not now. But you don’t need to be afraid.” She was now standing between his legs, her face almost directly in front of his, his arms wrapped around her waist. Her intense panic subsided gradually as he got closer to her. “I can distract you a bit,” he said suggestively.
Petra giggled just as her stomach churned audibly. She tasted bile. “Oh really?” she exclaimed, her hands now around his neck. “And how exactly are you going to do that?”
A wicked smile brightening up his face, Sam kissed her gently on her neck. “Like this,” he whispered right above her ear as his mouth traveled to the lobe in a sweet caress. Petra shivered. “And like this.” He continued his trail of kisses from her throat, to her chin, to her face, eyes, nose…and just as he was about to take her mouth, Petra’s stomach won the battle, and everything she had eaten that day made an unwelcome reappearance.
Mortified, Petra stared unbelievingly at the puddle of vomit gathered around their feet. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed still gagging on bile. “I am so sorry.”
Sam had promptly stood up as if used to being puked on and hurried toward a corner of the cargo hull. For a moment, she thought he was trying to put as much distance between them as he could and she wouldn’t blame him for that at all. However, he came back almost immediately holding a few cleaning supplies, and incongruously, a bottle of water. “Here, you gargle with this water while I clean this,” he said, handing her the bottle. Much to her utter amazement, Sam started the tedious and rather smelly job of cleaning up her mess. It was strangely endearing to see him crouching, big rag on one hand, a bucket of water by his side, head bent toward a mess of bile and half-digested food.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, feeling guilty. “I can do it, really.”
“Shut up and gargle,” he replied in a firm voice. “I may want to kiss you later and you are not exactly smelling like a flower right now.” She should have been offended, but instead she smiled at his offhand comment. Raising the bottle to her mouth, she took a large mouthful and swished it around, belatedly realizing she had no idea where to spit it out. She stood there, cheeks swollen with water, lips puckered, and eyes darting here and there in search of a cuspidor of sorts. “Oh for God sakes,” Sam exclaimed, staring up at her “We’re not exactly stuck in the Ritz. Just take your chipmunk cheeks over to a corner and spit on the floor. No one will notice.”
Relieved and with better tasting breath—she had found a mint lurking inside her purse—she joined him as he finished his cleaning job. You had to admire a man who didn’t squirm when thrown-up upon. Most would have run to the hills, if the hills were an option, of course. Yet Sam had taken the high road and she couldn’t stop wondering why. She sat on another stool and watched him as he put the bucket and dirty rag away, as far from them as possible in that small space, and then came to sit down beside her. “Here, hand sanitizer,” she said, handing him a small green bottle. “I had some in my purse.”
“Ah yes, the mysteries and wonders of a woman’s purse,” he said while squirting some of the gel on his hands. “What else do you have in there? An escape route for us out of this damned yacht?” They stared at each other for a few moments. “What were you thinking following me here?”
“You have never mentioned what you do for a living,” she explained. “In fact, you seem to avoid the subject every time it comes up. Then, there’s the fact that I have twice now met you in strange places, lurking around like a common criminal…so I wondered.”
“Like a common criminal?” he repeated, looking outraged. “Not a brilliant criminal, just plain common, eh? That is very hurtful.” For a moment she couldn’t tell if he was joking since he sounded so serious, but then she noticed that little corner smile. She laughed
. “You could have asked me, Petra,” he said now. “I would have told you, you know?”
Sobering up a bit, Petra looked him straight in the eye. “Okay, so what is it that you do, sneaking around like that?” she asked.
“I’m a private investigator, consulting with some members of the law and order community,” he explained. “And I’m here in the middle of an investigation, which, by the way, you have foiled now more than once.”
She bristled at that. “That’s your own fault,” she almost yelled. “If you had told me what you were up to, things would have gone differently.”
“Relax, hot pepper,” he admonished, raising his hands in front of him. “I couldn’t tell you. I wasn’t sure you weren’t part of what I was investigating. I mean, I was finding you in all the right places, at the right time…I had to wonder.”
“I was there…” her voice trailed, trying to find a good way to explain it without revealing too much. “I was trying to retrieve something that belongs to me, that’s all. Nothing criminal about it. I used to live in that freaking house, you know.”
Surprise took over Sam’s handsome features. “What do you mean, you used to live there?”
“I thought you knew,” she said, a bit surprised herself. “What kind of private eye are you? Jonas is my ex-husband,” she revealed with a knot in her throat. Damn! Why was it still so hard to talk about it?
Sam looked stunned. Obviously, he had never suspected anything like that. “I thought that maybe you were a disgruntled girlfriend looking for some kind of token or maybe even revenge. But ex-wife? Shit, if my employers find out I’ve been hanging out with the ex-wife of the target of my investigation, I may very well lose this job.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You do realize I am investigating your husband, right?” he said, as an afterthought.
“No, of course I didn’t,” she protested, jumping up from her seat. “How could I ever guess that? Jonas is a jerk, but a criminal? I don’t think so.”
“Well, we have reasons to believe that he is mixed up in some very illegal transactions involving art work,” Sam shared, choosing to trust her in spite of his training. “This is one of his yachts. You didn’t know that?”
Sitting back down, she stared at him open-mouthed. “What? No, it was dark outside…” She hesitated. “Besides, I’m not much of a boat person, as you may have guessed by the puking…I never really shared his love for open water.”
“Well, this is his,” he said, waving his arm around him, “and we are stuck here until they reach their destination. Even if we got out of this hull, by now they are in the middle of the Strait, and I, for one, have no wish to go swimming in this frigid water.”
She shivered a little thinking of the movement of the waters below deck. “How long?” she asked in a squeaky voice.
Smiling at her obvious discomfort, Sam replied, “Most of the night, I would guess. They’ll come back before morning since they don’t want to be seen during daylight, but we have a long trip ahead of us.” Petra shivered again and seemed to shrink inside her own clothes at the thought. Sam jumped to his feet and began looking around for something. He came back a few minutes later with a wad of fabric in his hands. “Not quite a blanket,” he said. “But better than nothing. Come here.”
Sam guided her to the opposite corner of where the slop bucket was and spread the cloth on the metal floor, creating a makeshift bed. He sat on it with his back to the wall and long legs stretched in front of him. “Come,” he said, patting the spot next to him invitingly. “We might as well get comfortable.”
Petra followed him into the fabric cover, kneeling beside him. With a smile, he opened up his arms, inviting her to use him as a pillow. Petra hesitated for a moment, but feeling the cold taking hold of her, heartily accepted the invitation. Settling herself against Sam’s chest, his arms around her and his chin resting gently on the top of her head, Petra felt strangely at home. It felt right; it felt like their bodies belonged there, half-molded into each other, cherishing each other’s warmth. Sleep surreptitiously took her away into dreamland, and Sam, relishing their proximity, soon followed her there.
The sound of ship’s horns woke them up. At first disoriented, Sam looked at the sleeping figure of Petra lying across his lap. His unbidden hand went to her hair in a gentle caress. “Beautiful Petra,” he whispered as his fingers stroked her face in sudden wonder. “My sweet Sleeping Beauty.” Her body suddenly moved and her eyes blinked. “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Sam said, catching her eye.
Petra was suddenly aware of two things—one, the nauseating movement of the boat, and two, Sam’s body underneath her head. The first one made her want to be sick again, the second one created a wave of heat from her toes to the top of her head. She sat up as if propelled by a spring. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she apologized, feeling herself turn scarlet as her hand unintentionally came to rest on his thigh.
Sam checked his watch and realized they were probably on their way back to Port Townsend. “We should be making land very soon, I think,” he said, smiling at her. His hand reached out and came to rest on her left cheek. Instinctively, Petra leaned against it, loving its heat and softness. Obeying some silent command, their heads drew close and their lips met in a gentle, lazy kiss. Petra whimpered with pleasure and yearning, feeling her body melt against him as his generous hands wrapped themselves around her arms and back. “God you taste good for someone who just puked,” he said once their heads moved apart slightly. They giggled. He had a gift for saying the most offensive things and making her feel as they were compliments.
Petra allowed herself to slide against him again and settle against his chest, comfortably cradled by his arms. “So, what do we do once we make port?” she asked softly against one of his arms. “Make a run for it?”
“No,” he said, chuckling. “We wait until they are all off the boat. They won’t stay long. They will want to clear off before the harbor people notice their nightly movements. Then, we just walk out.”
“Just like that?” she said, turning her head to him. “Then what?”
He propped her chin with a finger and kissed her, a long well-savored kiss that left both weak in the knees and wanting more. “Then I take you home,” he said in a whisper over her mouth. “And I get to satisfy all your undisclosed desires.”
Her eyebrows shot up and she giggled. “Did you just quote Muse to me?”
Sam laughed softly. “Did you like it?” he asked, his mouth dangerously close to hers again. Her moan was all the answer he really needed and their lips melded together.
The rest of the trip seemed to fly and last forever at the same time for Petra, in the arms of that maddening man she could not get enough of. She was certain they waited a lot longer than they needed to escape from the yacht once the crew had left, but neither she nor Sam were in any hurry to break the strange bond between them. When they finally left the boat, hand in hand, inebriated with desire, the sun was starting to spread its golden arms across the horizon and signs of life were popping all around them. “Did I really mess up your investigation?” Petra asked Sam, stopping him before they went too far. “What can I do to help?”
Sam turned to her and caressed her face with a smile. “Other opportunities will present themselves,” he assured her. “And I don’t want you mixed up in this dangerous game. You already got yourself in too deep without even realizing it.”
“But I want to help you,” she protested in a sleepy voice. She hadn’t realized how tired she was until just now. Barely stifling a yawn, she continued, “I’m his ex-wife. I have a unique insight into his world. I can really help you. Besides, there is the small business of retrieving something that belongs to me.”
Sam hailed a taxi as they walked along the path heading out of the marina. “What exactly are you trying to get from him?” he asked curious. “A piece of art? A piece of furniture? Maybe your engagement ring?”
Quickly turning around to face him, Petra stood by the st
opped taxi, stretching on her tiptoes and offering her lips to him. “It’s none of your business,” she replied as he bent down to accept her offer. “Why don’t we continue this conversation inside the taxi?” she asked suggestively.
“I would like that very much,” he agreed with a big grin. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter Four
ACCIDENTS, ART, AND GODS
Petra
Her job as an art docent took her to many different museums and places around the area. On the rare occasion, she would even travel to other cities where she had the privilege of seeing something she had always wanted to see in person. The best thing that ever happened to her was a time when she was sent by a rich patron to Washington, D.C. to research a special exhibition of Norman Rockwell’s works. It felt like heaven on Earth to immerse herself into the art of one of her favorite illustrators without the guilt of taking her work time for pleasure. She often dreamed of traveling to France or Venice and spending hours browsing through their many museums and monuments, big and small. In spite of his wealth, Jonas had never thought of taking his wife on a trip of that kind. They had traveled to the Bahamas and other exotic places, but the places her heart craved the most were never in his plans, and she never had the nerve to ask. If she had done so, at least she would have got something positive out of such a negative relationship.
Too late for regrets now. She walked slowly through the galleria. She was back in the Linden Galleria, in spite of the many admonishments from Sam not to do it. How could she help it? She knew Jonas was still gone on a romantic getaway with his last conquest, and knowing what she knew now, her curiosity burned hot. She had to look at all of those paintings and sculptures with her own eyes and make sure they were the real deal. Sam had never been too clear about what illegal things he suspected Jonas of, but she needed to make sure all that beautiful art was legit and not horrible illegal forgeries. In her heart of hearts, she knew that was not the case. She had seen the documentation for each of those pieces. They had all been acquired legally and authenticated by the correct authorities. It wouldn’t hurt to double check, though. Maybe she could sneak into his office again and go through all the papers. His safe had the easiest, most predictable combination anyone could imagine. Didn’t that prove Jonas was indeed too dumb to be a criminal?
We Will Always Have the Closet Page 7