"I'm sure Juliet won't mind," Emma insisted.
How badly do you want me? Jeremiah was tempted to ask. But what really mattered was her and Sammy's safety. Given the violence he still sensed, it would be better if he accompanied them wherever they went.
A dark cloud drifted past his consciousness, too remote for him to grasp.
What was that?
The dimming lights accompanied the intuitive hit, making it that much more disturbing.
As a striking brunette unfurled herself from a crossbeam overhead, spinning and twirling down a length of diaphanous material, Jeremiah willed himself to grasp what dangers lay ahead. But all he could see was the mesmerizing beauty of the gymnast as she made her graceful, hair-raising descent to the stage. And all he could think of was how little time was left to persuade Emma that love wasn't only real—it was all that mattered.
Chapter 8
Reaching for his tumbler of whiskey, Jeremiah checked his watch before fixing his attention back on Aiden Lawlor. Hurrying from the theater an hour earlier, he had managed to intercept Lawlor just as the musician walked off the stage. It had taken all of his amateur knowledge of jazz and an offer to buy the man a drink at the bar by the pool to get Lawlor alone so he could pick his brain. As it turned out, Aiden Lawlor was quite a talker and a drinker.
Within minutes he had brought up his checkered past and expressed strong political views. However, by the time they'd ordered their third round of drinks, Jeremiah realized that the man seated across from him—however rebellious in his youth—lacked a radical streak that made him dangerous. He wasn't the face behind the slaughter Jeremiah had envisioned.
So, who the hell was?
"Let me ask you a question," he said when Lawlor paused for breath.
"Sure, sure, ask away." A decade of banishment from his homeland had in no way diminished the man's Irish brogue.
Jeremiah pitched his voice lower, though they had the area to themselves. "Is it possible for anyone to have brought a cache of AK-47s on board this ship?"
Lawlor sat back, his face a picture of astonishment. "Now, what kind of question is that?"
"A hypothetical one," Jeremiah assured him, holding his gaze.
"Well, sure there are ways," Lawlor admitted.
The answer turned the top of Jeremiah's head cold. "Tell me."
"Through the maintenance people," Lawlor said, proving he'd given the idea at least a passing thought. "Now and again the ship gets dry-docked and maintenance goes in to remodel or work on the engines. There's no security at those times. Workers could hide weapons all over the ship for later use."
"Huh." Maybe that was how the attack Jeremiah had intuited would go down. But with no more hits since his first day on the ship, he was starting to conclude that he'd imagined everything. His only certainty was that Lawlor wasn't the source of his disquiet. And now he had to extricate himself from the loquacious man, or he'd miss the opportunity to drop by Emma's room and pick up the book on Mayan civilization she'd offered to loan him. As late as it was, she might have given up on his showing up.
* * *
At 10 p.m., Emma lay her book aside, shook off a yawn, and dressed quickly in a pair of workout shorts and a sports bra. Lacing up her tennis shoes, she grabbed a water bottle and headed to the gym in the hopes that Jeremiah would be there. He'd mentioned something about needing to work out before swinging by to borrow her book about Tulum.
Instead of sitting around waiting for him, why not get some exercise herself?
Pushing into the gym, her heart pounded with the expectancy that he might act upon the intent she'd seen in his eyes earlier. Her hopes sank to find the facility completely empty. With a silent pep talk, she proceeded past the elliptical and treadmill machines that faced the windows and an expanse of black sea. She stopped by the mats, put down her water bottle and started stretching.
For the next half hour, she moved through a series of yoga postures, seeking the meditative state she sometimes achieved when working out. But it was nowhere to be found. Her body thrummed with unsatisfied need.
What if Jeremiah, despite the look he'd given her on the tubes, was sticking to his guns? What if he meant to keep his distance until she made the foolish promises that he was seeking? Or had he given up trying to get them from her?
To her surprise, she rebelled at the mere idea. She didn't want him giving up on her. If anything, she wanted him to continue his pursuit and to insist on the "forever" he'd mentioned.
What's wrong with me? She shook her head at the illogicality of wanting the happily-ever-after that didn't exist.
With a heavy heart and a good dose of annoyance, she snatched up her water bottle and departed the gym.
* * *
Jeremiah lurched into the elevator, striking his shoulder on the door when it didn't open fast enough. His bumbling made him realize he was in no condition to drop by Emma's room for a book—or anything else, for that matter. Trying to keep up with Lawlor, he'd had more than one drink too many. Under the whiskey's influence and his body's unrelenting desire, he might say or do something he would later regret.
It didn't help that, as he staggered past her door, he could envision her showering, her body sleek and wet and wonderfully naked. He'd spent the last two hours chasing after a threat that might not even exist, when he could have spent them discussing a book with her, the way they used to pass the time. He could have stolen a kiss, maybe two, laid her back against the bed and persuaded her she was wrong about the nature of love.
"Idiot," he cursed.
Entering his cabin, he caught himself from plowing into Juliet, who stood with her back to the door, arms crossed, waiting for Tristan.
"'Scuse me," he muttered, easing around her as she whirled to face him. His gaze went to where Tristan stood pawing through his book bag. "Hey, that's mine," he protested.
"I need your excursion ticket for the dolphin swim," Tristan said without a drop of guilt.
Snatching his pack out of Tristan's hands, Jeremiah dug into the side pocket. "Where've you been all night?" he growled. "You were supposed to meet me in the bar to talk to Lawlor."
"Oh." Tristan's expression told him he'd completely forgotten. "Sorry, brother. We got chosen to be the contestants in a game show." He glanced over at Juliet and grinned. "We won a free dinner at one of the five-star restaurants on the ship."
Jeremiah rolled his eyes. Finding the excursion ticket, he handed it straight to Juliet. "If you haven't realized it already, Tristan is extremely lucky. We don't call him the Golden Boy for nothing."
"Really?" She flicked a considering frown. "He's not lucky on all fronts," she informed Jeremiah.
"Well, good for you," he said, when he finally processed her meaning.
"Hey, I'm right here you know," Tristan protested.
"Pardon me," Juliet said to Jeremiah, "but where is Emma. Wasn't she with you?"
"Uh, no. Not for the last two hours. I think she's in her cabin."
Her incredulous look made him feel even more like an idiot. "I'd better go check on her," she said on a note of disgust.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Tristan collapsed on his bunk. "That woman scares me," he stated.
Jeremiah nodded. "I can see why."
"She's not like other women," Tristan added. "She's more like one of us, only female and smoking hot."
Jeremiah grunted. He tossed his pack aside.
But Tristan wasn't done talking. "I'm dying to make a move on her, but I feel like it would mess up what we've got. I really like her," he added.
The surprise in his voice pulled Jeremiah out of his self-absorption.
"More than you liked Mariah?"
Tristan cocked his head. "You know, I don't think I ever liked Mariah," he mused.
"Then why'd you stay with her so long?"
The Golden Boy shrugged. "I don't know."
"Security?" Jeremiah suggested. "Looking for a mother figure?" He had all kinds of theories as to why
his teammate needed female companionship so badly, and he was just drunk enough to mention a couple of them.
Tristan glared at him. "What are you, my therapist?" He snatched a pillow off his bed and lobbed it at Jeremiah's head. "Worry about your own love life," he said without much heat. "You're the one scoping out terrorists when you should have been getting laid."
With a smirk on his face, he darted for the door. Jeremiah caught up the pillow and hurled it back at him. The pillow struck the wall, way off the mark, as Tristan darted through it.
"And that's why I'm going to bed," Jeremiah said to himself. He was batting zero tonight, and he had no one to blame but himself.
* * *
Emma searched the empty corridor as the announcement for their excursion came again over the loudspeaker. No sign of Jeremiah yet.
"Passengers taking the excursion to the Mayan Ruins of Tulum, please exit the ship at level two to catch the ferry to the mainland."
"Are you sure we have everything we need?" she asked her daughter as they hurried down the stairs. "Did you put a water bottle and the sunscreen in your bag?"
"Yes, Mom," Sammy answered on a tedious note.
Emma shot her a frown. "I should have made you go to bed earlier."
"I'm fine," Sammy retorted. "I just wish I were swimming with the dolphins instead of going to visit some stupid old ruins."
"They're not stupid," Emma insisted. Peeking into her bag, she verified that she'd brought along the book from the library.
They came across Jeremiah at the bottom of the stairs on deck two. Recalling that he'd stood her up the previous night, Emma quelled her leaping heart and sent him a cool nod.
He grimaced back at her. "Hey, sorry about last night," he said. "I ended up doing some stuff related to work."
Searching his gaze, she wondered what he was keeping from her.
"Here's your ticket," she said, handing it to him as a peace offering.
His somber expression vanished as he took it. "Thanks. I have to admit I'm excited about this."
In the face of his enthusiasm, it was impossible to hold a grudge. Today, they would share another adventure together. Life didn't get much better.
"Ready?" she asked.
He grinned and gestured for her to lead the way.
A warm breeze threatened to lift her skirt as they crossed the gangplank onto the pier in sunny Cozumel. Wanting to look desirable for Jeremiah, she had donned an impractical yellow sundress, pairing it with only slightly more sensible sandals. Holding her dress down to keep from doing a parody of Marilyn Monroe, she searched for the ferry.
Jeremiah pointed. "I think that's ours over there."
Another day of living a little bolder than she had been in the past few years. She found herself looking forward to it. And sharing it with Jeremiah and Sammy both made it that much sweeter. This was all she needed to be happy.
Well, this and one of Jeremiah's heart-stopping kisses and maybe his fingers brushing across her—
Limerence, she told herself.
If you say so, sighed a voice in her head.
* * *
Jeremiah's optimism soared as they approached the ferry. The choppy sea would make for an exciting boat ride over to the mainland. Emma, who seemed to have forgiven him for not showing up the night before, might be nervous enough to reach for his hand. He had an entire day in which to convince her that love could last forever and anything was possible—even a relationship with a Navy SEAL—if she just believed it.
As they sidled up to the ferry, his step slowed. Oh, no. The crewmember doling out life vests was the same Malaysian who had handed them out during the drill—the man he'd envisioned as a corpse. Jeremiah took note of the life vest around the man's own neck.
"You're going with us?" he guessed. Dismay trickled down his back like a drop of ice water.
"Yes, my first time to Tulum," the young man answered with a twinkle in his eyes.
Jeremiah nodded. Dark doubt assailed him as he helped Sammy and Emma step off the pier onto the ferry. They occupied three seats near the front while rows filled up behind them. The pilot shouted brief safety instructions while his assistants scurried about to unmoor the craft. As they drifted into the sea, the pilot revved the engines and turned toward deeper waters. Then the ferry accelerated, and they were off.
"You okay?"
The soft question brought his head around. Emma's blue eyes, shaded by the brim of the straw hat she held with one hand, searched his profile.
"Perfect." He managed a smile for her then at Sammy as they hit a series of waves. "Do either of you get seasick?"
"We haven't before."
Sea spray wet them all. Sammy blinked and smiled.
Emma reached for his arm, then took hold of his hand. "But I guess we'll find out."
He nodded. They would also find out if he'd completely misinterpreted his intuitive hits.
What if the blood and bullets he'd envisioned weren't connected to the boat but rather to the people involved? The sobering thought had him glancing over his shoulder. To his dismay, he recognized the couple behind them as the one he'd envisioned being flattened with bullets when they'd had their picture taken.
Overhearing their excited banter, he could tell they were French Canadian. Picturing them dead and covered in gore, he swallowed the bile that rose suddenly up his esophagus.
Think positive! He tried reining in his worries. As a cold sweat filmed his upper lip, he withdrew his sunglasses from the backpack wedged between his thighs and put them on. That way Emma wouldn't notice his darting gaze.
Relishing the reassurance of her hand in his, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the soothing rhythm of the boat rising and falling as it soared over the white caps. The bold Caribbean sun heated his shoulders, relaxing him as they closed in on the Yucatan Peninsula.
The last time he'd been in Mexico, his platoon had assisted in a DEA-driven operation to capture El Cuchillo. That man had spent a whopping six months in jail before escaping with the help of corrupt jail guards. He'd probably gone right back to the streets controlling every narco and pimp in the region, if not the entire country.
But that had nothing to do with their trip to the mainland today. Cancún was still relatively unaffected by the violence overtaking the other states. He, Emma, and Sammy would spend a beautiful day exploring the mystical ruins of the ancient Mayans. He had nothing to worry about.
"You're the one who gets seasick," Emma guessed, raising her voice to be heard over the throbbing engine.
He seized the excuse for his odd behavior gratefully. "Don't tell anyone," he begged in her ear.
She squeezed his hand while sparing him a worried once-over.
Please let me be wrong, he prayed.
Chapter 9
"How did they get up there?" Sammy asked while staring up at the red handprints to the left of the door leading to the Upper Temple.
"What's the book say?" Jeremiah asked.
Emma thumbed through the pages of the library book searching for an answer. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jeremiah scan the archaeological ruins for the hundredth time that morning. His ultra-vigilance struck her as over-the-top. He hadn't been this tense on the tubing excursion—although he'd obviously been paying close attention or he wouldn't have seen Sammy slip through her tube.
"Here it is." Having found a photo of the famous red handprints of Tulum, she scanned the paragraph below it. "It says, 'The left hand appears to have seven digits. It is claimed to be a characteristic of the grandfather god, Itzamna—along with the supernatural height that would have been required to place the prints where they are.'"
"Well, there you have it," Jeremiah said to Sammy. "He was obviously a tall god. Or an alien," he added, "if you believe in the Ancient Astronaut Hypothesis."
Given his sarcastic tone, he gave little credence to the theory that alien beings had been the ones to inform the Mayans about advanced architecture and knowledge of the stars.
>
"That's silly," Sammy declared, turning her attention back to the six-foot iguana sunning himself on the parapet beside them.
Emma shut the book with a snap. "I'm more inclined to believe that all those fingers were an unfortunate side effect of inbreeding," she retorted, putting the book way.
"Can we go swimming now?" Sammy begged.
The bright azure waters lapping the cliff nearby beckoned them. A swim sounded like heaven. But when Emma looked at her watch, she was startled by the time.
"It's ten minutes to three," she marveled. "We have to be back on the bus in ten minutes."
Put out by her mother's answer, Sammy threw herself onto the ledge in a pout, startling the iguana into running off.
"I'm sorry we can't swim, honey," Emma apologized. "But beaches are a dime a dozen, and there's only one Tulum."
"Thank God," her daughter retorted.
"Come on. You found it interesting. I know you did."
"We should go," Jeremiah said.
His tense tone wrested her gaze upward. She wished she could see his eyes better through the opaque triathlon sunglasses he'd worn all morning. The flat line of his lips was telling enough. Something bothered him. Was it Sammy's petulance? Unlikely. He didn't seem like the kind of man who'd let a child's bad attitude affect him.
Perhaps it was the fact that only three days remained of their cruise. Soon, they would go their separate ways. He'd go back to guarding the free world while she... she would go back to living a life of safe seclusion. Safe and boring and loveless.
"Let's go, honey." Emmy tugged Sammy off the ledge. They chased Jeremiah's shadow down the steep temple stairs and along the raised walkway, heading out of the ancient, walled city. Nacho, their guide, had said that the bus would leave the parking lot without them if they were late.
To her relief, she spotted several others in their group trooping in the same direction. Their gray and white passenger bus idled in the same spot as where they'd climbed off. The door opened at their approach, letting out a breath of air-conditioned air from the bus's interior. The couple in front of them boarded immediately.
Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3) Page 9