The queue shuffled forward as another group of eight climbed aboard a gondola. She was moving closer to the water’s edge, legs growing more unsteady by the minute.
Damn Vlad for talking her into this! All she wanted to do was go back to the hotel, pack her things for tomorrow and go to bed.
‘Are you a single?’ A warm, rich voice broke into her thoughts as the man behind drew level with her.
Marina looked up, surprised and dismayed to hear an Australian accent. It was the man from the hotel, though trendy Ray Bans covered his eyes and his hair looked a shade lighter in the late afternoon sun.
Feigning disinterest, she gave him a cursory glance. She needed to kill this conversation right now. ‘Single by choice.’
His face broke into a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, skin tanned to the smooth caramel colour ski instructors often boasted.
‘I didn’t ask if you were single.’ He pointed to the gondolier. ‘He’s saying there’s two single spots left on this one. I’m a single.’
‘Oh.’ Heat suffused Marina’s face as she turned to look at the gondolier. Sure enough, he was nodding in their direction and beckoning them forward.
She opened her mouth to apologise, but the man’s hand was already in the small of her back, hustling her along. People stood aside to let them through, and then the gondolier was pocketing their cash and pointing beyond the three couples already seated.
‘Take the two up front.’
‘Great.’
Her touchy-feely companion clambered aboard like he did it every day of the week. And then it was her turn. Mouth so parched her tongue was plastered to the roof of her mouth, Marina stared at the moving gap between the gondola and her feet.
‘Come on.’
The Australian was standing in the boat, perfectly balanced, offering her his hand while the gondolier held the vessel steady with his oar.
Steeling herself against the sight of the clay-coloured water churning below, Marina held out her good hand. Warm, strong fingers wrapped around hers, and with a firm tug he pulled her towards him, leaving her no choice but to step across the gap.
With her right hand engulfed in his, and favouring her left, Marina couldn’t stop her shoulder striking him in the chest, though she needn’t have worried about knocking him off balance. He just stood there, moving with the boat, solid and relaxed.
And then his mouth curved in a brilliant smile. ‘You right?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ She pulled her hand free, bare skin brushing the soft material of his tee-shirt, her hip bumping against a muscular thigh encased in a stonewashed pair of Nudie jeans.
‘These things aren’t exactly roomy.’
Aware of him behind her, Marina made her way to the front and sat down, grabbing at the side as the gondola rocked on the wake of a passing water taxi.
Beside her, the good-looking guy was trying to get comfortable on the small piece of wood that constituted a stool. While she could tuck her legs into the limited space, his were altogether too long. He shifted around, trying to get his bottom on the loose cushion, but it kept falling off.
Feeling better now she was seated, Marina scooped up the pillow and slid it back onto the seat, just as he sat down again—hard.
She gasped, unable to move as she stared at her good hand trapped between the denim-clad cheeks of his warm, firm butt.
He swung around. ‘Oh shit—I’m sorry.’
He levered himself up, taking his weight off her hand.
‘No problem.’ Marina yanked her fingers free, chest contracting with silent laughter. It really was one of those ‘oh shit’ kind of moments. ‘Just my standard pick-up move.’
‘Yeah?’ He flashed her an amused look and somehow managed to arrange his large feet in the narrow space. ‘I think we got the cheap seats.’
He was sitting sideways, facing her, legs pulled up so high his knees brushed against her elbow. He looked so uncomfortable in the cramped space, she had to turn away and look out over the canal to hide her smile.
She could hear his warm rumbles of laughter, knew if she looked at him again they’d strike up a conversation. And she needed to avoid that. While he looked more the outdoorsy type than a classical music fan, she shouldn’t make assumptions. There was always the chance he might recognise her.
The boat dipped, and she tightened her grip on the side as the gondolier pushed away from the dock. For a few moments she’d forgotten her fear, but it all came rushing back as they moved into the middle of the bustling canal and joined the water traffic.
‘Don’t worry. They mightn’t feel it, but they’re stable enough.’
Marina gave the man a polite smile. Unlike her, he looked perfectly at ease with the movement of the boat, unconcerned about the chaos on the water.
He pointed up ahead, an expensive camera hanging from a leather strap around his neck. ‘Further down we intersect with Rio San Polo. After that, he’ll move into the quieter canals.’
She nodded. He was clearly familiar with Venice’s canal system.
Before she could look away, he spoke again. ‘American?’
Marina’s heartbeat picked up speed. ‘Yes.’
‘New York?’
He was frugal with words, and clearly well travelled. He was close with the accent, too. ‘Boston.’
He raised his eyebrows above the Ray Bans. ‘Nice town.’
‘I like it.’ She had no intention of telling him that for the past three years she’d called his native country ‘home’. That would open up another thread of conversation about where she worked and what had brought her to Sydney.
‘What do you like to photograph?’ she asked, attempting to steer the conversation in another direction as they sailed under the Rialto Bridge.
He whipped off his sunglasses. ‘Architecture.’
Up this close his gaze was direct, searching, and it sent ripples of pleasure rolling through her body. ‘There’s no shortage of stunning material around here.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
To her amazement, he lifted the camera and took a photograph of her.
Marina could only stare at him. ‘Wh … why did you do that?’
‘It made a nice shot while we were drifting under the bridge.’ He fiddled with the zoom lens, a lazy smile on his face. ‘What’s your name?’
Marina’s nerve endings tingled with excitement. She didn’t want to make his acquaintance, even during a short gondola ride. And yet, she couldn’t deny the pull of attraction, the insistent way he kept drawing her back to him.
‘Marina. My name’s Marina.’
‘I’ll delete it if you want me to—Marina.’
She looked down at the camera clasped in his long, slim fingers, then brought her gaze back to his face again. He really did have a brilliant smile.
‘It’s okay, I guess. But why don’t you concentrate on the architecture from now on, Mr—er?’
A sudden breeze lifted her hair, whipping it across her face as they came out from under the bridge.
At that very moment, the gondolier chose to begin his commentary.
With a pang of regret, Marina dragged her hair over her shoulder and her eyes away from the handsome man beside her.
It seemed she wasn’t to learn his name after all.
Chapter Four
A fine mist rose from the water as they drifted under the Bridge of Sighs. Nightfall was approaching, and one by one lights came on inside the buildings, illuminating the dramatic architecture of the marble-framed windows. On the right a cat perched on a ledge, cleaning its face and totally ignoring them. To the left and above, flowers spilled from window boxes in a riot of colour. Creepers wrapped themselves around wrought iron railings or clung to a rose painted wall.
Dean pressed his eye to the viewfinder and took photographs of a gothic-style arch, then nonchalantly panned his lens in the other direction and took a photograph of Marina Wentworth. Her stillness intrigued him, so different to those sitting behin
d, oohing and aahing and pointing. She could have been Christine from the Phantom of the Opera, sitting in the front of the gondola, fog swirling around her, long hair tumbling down her straight back.
He lowered the camera, resting it on his thigh as the gondola rose and fell on a gentle swell. Since leaving Rialto the gondolier had kept up a continuous commentary, making conversation impossible. But the man was taking a breather now while he concentrated on manoeuvring the gondola from one canal to another.
Dean searched his mind for a conversation opener, irritated that Marina seemed disinclined to talk. A part of him wanted to put her on the spot and interrogate her about the activities of her flatmate. The other part wanted to chat her up.
Shit!
‘You don’t take photographs?’ he asked, inwardly cringing at the pathetic line.
She turned, the lights of Venice reflecting in her amazing eyes.
‘I left my camera in my room.’ She shook her head, luscious mouth curved in a self-deprecating smile. ‘I know that’s a crazy weird thing to do when you’re in a place like Venice. But it’s okay. I tend not to look back much.’
When he didn’t reply, she gave a casual shrug, like she understood others might find it a peculiar characteristic.
Dean didn’t. He envied her. Wondered if it were innate, or a learned behaviour, wondered if it was something he could sign up for. He blinked away the memories of a dark place on a sunny day.
What he’d give not to look back.
They passed another gondola, and while the others waved to its occupants, Dean filled his lungs with the cool air rolling in from the Adriatic and stared at Marina’s profile. She’d loosened her white-knuckled grip on the side, and her face held a mixture of awe and admiration as they sailed past the gothic-inspired architecture of St Mark’s and the Doge’s Palace.
So, taking happy snaps wasn’t her thing.
What was?
White-collar crime?
Despite the evidence pointing to her being involved, Dean just couldn’t picture it. The prisons were hardly filled with music teachers.
With a sudden jolt of inspiration, he straightened. He needed to keep her engaged until they returned to the dock. ‘Do you know the story of Casanova?’
She turned, her face centimetres from his, the shore lights casting shadows across her cheeks. Up this close, he could see the brown flecks in her eyes and a pale smattering of freckles across her nose.
Her pupils moved a little, as if she were appraising his every feature, or his face was a painting she needed to study. ‘Casanova? I know he was a violinist, and a playboy.’
Heat surged in Dean’s veins and something tightened inside him. With effort, he pointed to the palace. ‘He’s the only person ever to escape from the prison cell in the basement.’
Would the parallels he’d drawn make her nervous or uncomfortable? Would she admit to playing the violin herself? If she had nothing to hide, now would be the natural time to do so.
She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Is that folklore?’
Dean shook his head. ‘It’s a fact.’
‘I’ll check that with the gondolier.’ Her voice was quiet, her lips curved in an amused smile. The only sound was the swish of the oar as it cut through the water. ‘I’m not entirely sure I can trust you, Mr …’
Rask’s face flashed in his mind like a warning, but Dean ignored it. It wasn’t in his nature to put off what he could do today, and he couldn’t take much more of this. He needed to know right now if this beautiful woman had plans to ruin him.
‘Logan, Dean Logan, Ms Wentworth, and I’m certain I can’t trust you.’
***
The words felt like a punch to her stomach.
A tremor of fear slipped down her spine, then lower, turning her legs weak. This man had gone from charming to hard in an instant. And why on earth would he accuse her of being untrustworthy?
Logan? Where had she heard that name?
Marina stared ahead, heart crashing against her ribs, aware of the people at her back. She wasn’t about to argue with this man now. He could darn well wait until they were back on shore.
They sat in tense silence for the twenty or so minutes it took for the gondola to reach the dock. For Marina, it could have been two hours.
Doubts plagued her mind.
Had she broken the terms of her contract? Her tenure was up for renewal, and the competition was fierce. For six months there’d been rumblings within the orchestra, disquiet among the traditional members that she’d ‘sold out’ and gone commercial. Should those breathing down her neck learn of her RSI, she was all but certain to lose her chair.
And she could kiss the Stradivarius goodbye.
‘How do you know my name?’ she demanded the instant they were back on the dock.
He grabbed her arm as if he thought she might flee. ‘I’ll ask the questions.’
Marina wrenched her arm free. ‘Take your hands off me, you goddamn son of a bitch.’
He let her go and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘I know you’re staying at the Mercurial. We can talk there.’
‘I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me who you are. Are you a reporter?’
He stared at her. ‘A reporter? Don’t insult me.’ Dean Logan reached into his back pocket and pulled out an expensive leather wallet. He flipped it open and showed her an Australian driver’s license.
Marina peered at the photograph, then up at his face. Despite his current pissed-off expression, the photograph didn’t do him justice.
‘This means nothing to me. What do you want?’
He leaned in close, his voice low and deep, his anger on a level par with hers. ‘Whatever bullshit story you’re trying to spin, it won’t work, sweetheart.’ He pointed to the Italian poliziotto on duty by the bridge. ‘Want me to call over that police officer, so you can tell him all about your cosy little arrangement with Victor Yu?’
‘Victor?’ Marina’s head whirled. ‘What has Victor got to do with anything?’
He didn’t elaborate, just watched her, his heated no-holds-barred gaze making her anxious, like he was waiting for her to incriminate herself, or confess.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand what’s going on, but you said your name was Logan.’ Marina moistened her dry lips with her tongue. ‘Are you his employer, the guy who builds the boats?’
Something in his expression changed. His forehead smoothed and his aggression waned. He gave a quiet nod and glanced away. ‘Yeah. I’m the guy who builds the yachts.’
Marina ignored the correction. ‘What’s happened to Victor? Is he in some kind of trouble?’
‘Oh, he’s in big trouble.’ Dean Logan’s eyes cut back to hers. ‘How close are you?’
‘We’re not. He rents my second room.’
He nodded, like he already knew.
Suddenly he reached up and repositioned the camera strap hanging around his neck. ‘I’m sorry if I alarmed you, but you need to tell me everything you know about Victor Yu.’
Marina took a deep breath, relieved the problem had nothing to do with the orchestra and her career. She had every intention of cooperating. The problem was serious enough for Dean Logan to have tracked her down. Still, she wasn’t about to let him steamroller her into submission.
‘I can see you’re used to giving orders, Mr Logan, but I’m not on your payroll. You’re going to have to be more specific.’
His eyes flashed with irritation. ‘Victor Yu is an IT genius. Last Friday he encrypted my company’s files and demanded a ransom. The same night, you flew out of Sydney. As a person of interest, the Australian Police need to talk to you. I need to talk to you. How’s that for starters?’
Good enough. So that’s why he said he couldn’t trust her.
Cursing Victor under her breath, she looked Dean Logan up and down. ‘Alright, I’ll come with you. And don’t call me sweetheart.’
His broad chest expanded as he drew in a de
ep breath, then slowly released it. His shoulders lowered and he nodded, his eyes on her face.
Instinct told her he was speaking the truth. In all the time she’d shared her apartment with Victor Yu, she’d never warmed to the man. But she’d been drawn to Dean Logan from the moment their eyes met in the lobby.
And now he was looking at her, not as he had earlier in the night, but like she was an integral part of some sinister plan Victor Yu had set in motion.
Chapter Five
Marina sat opposite Dean Logan in his suite at the Mercurial, shocked to discover Victor Yu had disappeared and the police had searched her apartment.
Dean’s mobile phone was switched to loudspeaker and lay between them on the walnut veneer dining table.
The long-distance introductions had been done. Dean’s head of security, Hektor Rask, and a Detective Mooney from the Australian Federal Police’s cyber squad were taking the lead in this ‘conversation’.
Detective Mooney began. ‘Why did you reserve two airline seats on the flights Sydney to Dubai and Dubai Venice?’
Marina’s stomach muscles clenched and a faint nausea settled in the pit of her stomach. Despite her upset, she somehow managed to adopt her performance face, serene, relaxed, in control.
‘I bought an extra seat—for my violin.’
Dean Logan’s brow furrowed, and from the silence at the other end of the telephone, it was clear Rask and Mooney were equally taken aback.
The detective cleared his throat. ‘Why go to that expense when it could easily be stored in an overhead locker?’
‘It’s a Stradivarius. Even in a reinforced case, I wouldn’t risk it falling from an overhead locker.’
‘Why bring it?’ Dean asked. ‘You’re going on a cruise, aren’t you?’
Marina’s heart struck up a heavy beat in her chest. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Just answer the question.’ Hektor Rask’s voice crackled through the telephone.
‘I’m a member of a string quartet that’s part of the ship’s entertainment.’
Her personal reasons for taking the job were none of their damn business.
A Dangerous Arrangement Page 3