Marina’s legs seemed to disappear from beneath her.
She sank into the chair recently vacated by Eli.
‘I know all about your condition. I have copies of bills, doctors’ appointments and medical reports. In future, change your password to something more difficult than ‘music.’ It took me six seconds to get in.’
‘You goddamn son of a bitch.’
‘You keep your mouth shut and hang onto that drive, or I’ll forward everything I have to the SSO. You can’t afford to lose your position. I’ve seen what you send to your family.’
Fury rendered Marina speechless.
‘I will contact you, and you will give me the flash drive. Understood?’
The walls seemed to close in until the cabin became a cage, cornering her like an animal whose rights had been taken away.
‘Understood?’
Marina jumped. ‘Yes. I understand.’
‘I’ll watch you before I approach. If I see any sign of the police, you can kiss your tenure at the SSO and that million-dollar instrument goodbye.’
‘When …?’
The line went dead.
Marina stared at the silent phone, squeezing the USB in her hand like a stress ball.
So this was what it felt like to be blackmailed.
After a while, she rose on unsteady legs and moved to where her laptop was set up on the bench. She tapped out her password with shaking fingers and slid the USB into the port. A long list of files appeared. One by one, she tried opening them. Every single one was password protected.
She swore and ripped the memory stick from the port.
Not fully understanding the logic, she swung around and made sure the chain was on the cabin door.
Victor’s threat changed everything.
Heart pounding so hard she could feel it between her shoulder blades, she opened the wardrobe and entered the four-digit code that unlocked the safe. Taking out her travel wallet, she zipped the USB inside and returned it to the safe.
She paced the cabin, hands clenched at her sides. There were files upon files on that USB, more content than simply a key to unlock encrypted files. Something so valuable Victor had been willing to commit a range of crimes to obtain. Something that would put him behind bars for a very long time if he were caught.
The Logan Mach V designs.
Marina stopped pacing, raised her left hand and opened and closed her fingers. She knew what it was like to lose something you loved, something you’d strived for, something you’d sweated blood over.
And she liked Dean Logan. How could she hand those files to Victor and let Dean lose everything he’d worked for when it was in her power to do something about it?
She had to call him—come clean about her reasons for taking the gig, inform him that Victor was now blackmailing her.
Even if it meant exposing herself.
Equal amounts of excitement and fear bloomed in Marina’s chest. This could save Logan Luxury Craft, but if the police failed to capture Victor before he divulged her medical history, it would come at the expense of her career.
She drew in a deep breath. She couldn’t trust Mooney or Rask with her secret. They had Dean’s best interests at heart—not hers. She brought her fingers to her lips and thought about the kiss they’d shared. Could they help each other?
She picked up her phone. One bar of signal, and even that was fading in and out.
Groaning with frustration, she threw it on the bed. They had too much to discuss to risk getting halfway through the conversation only to have the signal drop out.
She looked around for her room key. She had to use the ship’s satphone. Otherwise, the call would have to wait until she got a strong enough signal, and that mightn’t be until they reached Sorrento tomorrow.
And by then, it could be too late.
Victor held her future in his hands.
Just as she held Dean Logan’s.
Chapter Eleven
Sorrento
Dean leaned over and inspected the assortment of beers in the minibar. Peroni? Asahi? He was in Italy. He should go for the Peroni.
In the end, he took one of each. It had been a bloody long ride from Taormina, but he was here now and the yacht was only ten hours away. By the time he woke in the morning the Orion would be docked in port.
And so would Marina.
Dean cracked the top off the Peroni and took a long drink of cold beer. He was deluding himself if he didn’t admit Marina was the reason he’d given Alain instructions to dock in Sorrento. He could have chosen any number of ports along the coastline to meet up, but no, he’d told him to drop anchor where the cruise ship was coming in.
Shit! It was pathetic.
What did he plan on doing exactly? Hanging around the dock like a bloody shipyard dog until she disembarked?
He took another swig of beer and wandered out to the balcony, wincing as he lowered his stiff body into the wrought iron chair. Judging from his aching legs and arse, it had been too long since his last bike ride.
As he’d been inclined to do all the way to Sorrento, he wondered why he couldn’t let Marina Wentworth go. Her reaction to his paparazzi comment was extreme, like she had another guy or something, and didn’t want to get caught out. But his gut said his theory was flawed, and not because she’d bruised his ego. ‘Single by choice’ she’d said on the dock—before she knew who he was. Then during the phone conference with Rask and Mooney ‘where I go, and with whom, is entirely my business.’
She’d been feeling the heat then and had fired off a contradiction, so he’d hand delivered the images instead of sending them to her.
He wanted clarification, needed it because Marina Wentworth made him feel good. In the midst of all the chaos, she reminded him there were other things in life. She was a mystery, and he loved talking to her, even if she called a yacht a ‘boat’ and he couldn’t tell Schubert from Schumann.
Dean rested the beer bottle on his thigh and looked out over the bay.
Some clarification. He was more confused than ever now. She’d kissed him passionately after confirming Vlad and his wife were her best friends. Then she’d changed completely, bolting like a scared rabbit at his mention of the paparazzi.
His phone buzzed.
He lifted it to his ear. ‘G’day, Rask.’
‘How’re you travelling?’
‘I’m in Sorrento—a little hotel by the harbour.’
‘Any sightings of the press?’
Dean drank some more of his beer. Rask carried out his job with all the friendliness of a Doberman. ‘Got a bike. My helmet’s barely left my head. I’m virtually unrecognisable.’
It struck Dean then that the yacht had become a gilded cage, something he hadn’t realised until he found himself throwing a lot of money at a vintage Harley and chasing a violin teacher across Italy. For the first time in years he’d acted on the spur of the moment, and it had taken a catastrophe for him to do it.
‘I have news you’re not going to like.’
Dean put the Peroni on the table and sat straighter in the chair. ‘What?’
‘Remember when we were speaking to Wentworth in Venice? She said her landlady, Mrs McCarthy, was a busybody.’
‘Yeah.’ He’d thought it strange Marina hadn’t told the woman she was going overseas.
‘Hmm. Mooney and I figured if McCarthy was a snoop, she might have seen someone visiting the apartment. She hadn’t, but she dropped a bombshell when Mooney spoke to her again. Said Marina was hardly ever home because of her work with the symphony.’
Dean frowned. ‘The symphony? Isn’t she a teacher?’
‘Oh, she’s a teacher alright, at the Conservatorium of Music. But she’s also a first violinist and concertmaster of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra.’
Dean’s ears buzzed as the blood left his face. ‘What?’
‘Her stage name is Marina Lane.’
‘Her stage name? What are you saying? That she’s fucking famous?’ Dean jumped
to his feet and went back inside, struggling to kick his brain into gear.
He switched his phone to loudspeaker and tossed it on the bed. Heart thumping, he unzipped his backpack, took out his iPad and typed ‘Marina Lane’ into the browser. Instantly, the screen filled with pictures of Marina.
She’d lied.
Lied from the very beginning.
‘I thought there was something odd about her having that priceless violin,’ Rask was saying. ‘A Stradivarius is worth millions. Most of them are handed down in families. The one she has is a grant from the symphony, for her exclusive use, as long as she has tenure.’
‘Jesus, Rask. Why would she be playing on a cruise ship?’
‘I don’t know. We’re working on it, but it looks like she could have been part of this from the beginning.’
Dean sifted through the facts in his mind. ‘The itinerary we found on her computer was planted.’
‘I know.’
‘It doesn’t make sense. Why would she hang around in plain view if she had something to hide?’ And why the fuck was he playing devil’s advocate and defending her? Two minutes ago he’d been doing the same thing—questioning her behaviour.
‘She could be trying to take the heat off Yu, while he disappears.’
‘You’re wrong, Hektor! She’s not committed to him. She wouldn’t be looking through those images and trying to help us. She got spooked today when I mentioned the paparazzi. It’s something else.’
There was a long pause. In the end, Rask broke the silence. ‘There’s a lot of content there, boss. It’ll be quicker if you read up on it yourself and give me a buzz back. We can work out a strategy from there.’
The moment Rask hung up, Dean clicked on the Wikipedia link. A photograph of Marina appeared in the top left-hand corner. Dean ran his eye over the accompanying article.
Marina Lane studied violin at the New England Conservatory, Boston, and as a student won numerous awards and national competitions. She undertook postgraduate studies at the Vienna Conservatory and performed as soloist with the Cologne Symphony Orchestra. Later international experience included a first violin position at the Royal Opera House Orchestra in London, before taking up the position as associate concertmaster for the Sydney Symphony Orchestra three years ago.
She holds a teaching position at Sydney Conservatorium of Music, holds regular violin masterclasses throughout Australia, and in the past three years has recorded four solo albums. She has toured extensively throughout Europe including several appearances at the Royal Albert Hall, London.
Dean moved onto the next link, and the link after that, surprised to find his hands clammy and his heart vibrating against his ribs.
Many critics raved about her form, intonation and musical insight, while others said she was so precise she lacked musical depth. One particularly scathing critic said much of her success was due to looks rather than talent. The same critic went on to list three other female violinists who, in his opinion, were more deserving of the position of concertmaster.
‘Arsehole,’ Dean muttered, though it did nothing to diminish his boiling anger at being deceived.
After a while he put the iPad down and phoned Rask. ‘I’m getting the picture.’
‘Our girl can’t be trusted.’
‘I disagree. I think she’s keeping something from us because she’s afraid.’
Rask hadn’t seen her standing on the dock, lost in her private reflection as the wind lifted her hair and the gondoliers shouted around them. He hadn’t seen the way she’d looked him in the eye and said, ‘I’m so sorry this has happened to you.’ Those words were heartfelt and sincere.
And the way she’d kissed him!
Dean’s body hardened at the memory. He could have sworn she was as affected as he was. And there’d been real fear in her eyes when she’d left.
‘It’s your call,’ said Rask. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘Get to the bottom of it.’ Dean flinched as a call alert vibrated in his ear. ‘She’ll disembark around midday. Order a hire car and pick her up. Bring her to the yacht. I’ll be waiting.’
‘No problem.’
‘And Rask—don’t let her out of your sight.’
‘Got it. We’re due to dock around six in the morning. I’ll call at five if that changes.’
Rask put Alain on the line then, and Dean spent the next few minutes sorting out some fuel consumption issues with his first mate.
When Alain hung up, Dean checked his phone.
One missed call.
One voice message.
Jaw clenched tight, he returned to the balcony and rang his voicemail. The computerised voice droned its instructions, then Marina began to speak.
‘Hello, Dean, it’s Marina. I’m calling on the satphone. We’re in some sort of dead spot and I have no signal. I need to talk to you urgently. Can you call me back? They’ll let me know when the call comes through. It doesn’t matter what time, just—call me.’
Dean shook his head. He was too angry to call her tonight, and what he planned to say was best said face to face.
He had research to do.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning Marina stood ready to board the tender and let Harmon catch her up in a hug. At 11.45 am, his hair was ruffled and he looked barely awake.
‘Why are you leaving so early?’
‘I’m taking the train into Rome.’
‘She has five days to see the ruins.’ Eli shouldered his brother out of the way, then leaned forward and kissed her on one cheek, then the other.
‘Let me know what you decide,’ Marina whispered in his ear before he drew away.
He gave her a conspiratorial smile then stepped back while Vlad came forward. A little weightier than he’d been in college, threads of grey textured his hair and beard.
A lump built in Marina’s throat. ‘Vlad …’
‘You’re welcome—as you Americans say.’ Big hands closed over her shoulders and he looked into her eyes. ‘Don’t start—or you’ll have me blubbering too.’
She nodded, aware of the twins moving away, giving them space.
‘You’re one of the best, Rina. You have nothing left to prove. Overpractise at your peril.’
She nodded again, hot tears pricking the backs of her eyes. How she wished they lived closer. ‘I’m coming back as soon as I can. I want to see Elena and the kids.’
He wrapped his arms around her in a massive bear hug, rocking her from side to side, his beard tickling her face until she smiled through her tears. ‘Thank you so much.’
He let her go, and she took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. She’d come through the performances, and it was a massive relief, but she could still lose her job if Victor made good with his threat.
But she wouldn’t burden Vlad with that news.
A luggage porter approached and pointed at her suitcase. ‘Is your bag ready to go, Miss?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘The violin?’
Marina shook her head. ‘I’ll take that.’
The porter grasped her case and carried it towards the waiting tender. Vlad picked up the Strad and handed it to her. ‘You’d better be on your way. The train waits for no-one.’
She smiled a little, and with a final wave to Eli and Harmon prepared to board the tender.
‘Marina!’
She swung around at the sound of Vlad’s voice. ‘What is it?’
‘Stay away from hot-looking guys on Harleys. Come off one of those and you’ll be in trouble.’
‘I thought I was going to escape without you mentioning it.’
‘Not a chance.’ He raised a hand. ‘Be in touch.’
***
Fifteen minutes later Marina was on the dock wheeling her suitcase towards the exit. From behind the shield of her sunglasses she scanned the area looking for Victor. If he approached she was ready, the USB tucked inside her bra.
She pressed her lips into a straight line, conscious of her hamme
ring heart. Goddamn Dean Logan! She’d tossed and turned all night waiting for him to ring back. Even her call this morning had gone through to voicemail. Okay, so she’d been a bit abrupt yesterday, but he was a big boy—surely she hadn’t pissed him off that much.
She exited the terminal and followed the signs to the cab rank. Ahead of her, around twenty tourists formed a queue, passengers from the blue and white clipper that had moored beside them. She’d have a five-minute wait at the most.
She pressed on, eyes peeled for Victor. Maybe she’d try calling Dean again while she was waiting.
‘Need a driver, Miss?’
She jumped. A slightly built, swarthy civilian had joined her on the sidewalk.
‘No, thank you.’
‘It’s a nice comfortable Fiat, air-conditioned. Good price.’
She shook her head and kept walking. Victor had gone to extreme lengths, who knew how far he’d go? Despite having to wait in line in full view of everyone, she’d stick with a licensed cab company.
The instant the man gave up, another appeared, this time taller and younger. ‘Going to the airport? Rail?’
‘No.’
She quickened her step, a sheen of perspiration breaking out on her skin. Her gaze flicked left to right.
No sign of Victor.
‘Miss Wentworth. I’d like you to come with me please.’
Marina froze, pulse sprinting, body hot beneath her cool summer shift. A heavily set man had approached her from behind. He had a barrel chest, deep-set eyes and an accent she recognised.
She stood up her suitcase. ‘You’re Rask?’
He blinked.
‘I’m a musician. I have an excellent ear.’
He raised his eyebrows and gestured towards a general parking area off to the right. ‘I have an excellent car.’
Marina looked him up and down. ‘I’ve only spoken to you on the phone, once. How do I know I can trust you?’
‘Mr Logan sent me.’
So Dean hadn’t bothered coming himself.
‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better?’
‘I’ll take your suitcase,’ said Rask, puffing a little.
Marina bristled and tightened her hold on the violin. ‘I’d planned on taking the train to Naples, then continuing to Rome and going directly to the police.’
A Dangerous Arrangement Page 8