Code Name: Bikini

by Christina Skye

  Quiet footsteps crossed the floor behind them. “They’re kissing again,” Olivia muttered. “Why do they do that so much?”

  “Because they like each other.” Sunny frowned. “When grown-ups like each other they do dumb things like holding hands, and doing tongue stuff.”

  Ford froze.

  Doing tongue stuff? Was it time to tackle diagrams of sex and adult relationships with their three live-wire girls?

  He felt sweat break out on his brow at the thought.

  “Why is Mommy so nervous, Daddy?” As usual, Cleo had a book under one arm. “There’s nothing wrong with red. One of the magazines at school had a whole article about sizzling fashion trends.” She said the three words with the cool detachment of an anthropologist describing a primitive culture. “They said red is the new gray.” She looked confused. “What does that mean, Daddy? How can red be gray?”

  Hell if Ford knew.

  Carly draped a red pashmina shawl over one shoulder. “Red is the new gray, Cleo?” She frowned. “I was at a photo shoot with three fashion designers from Paris last week and none of them mentioned that red is the new gray.” She tossed the red shawl onto the bed. “I hate it. I hate everything. I’m not going.” She closed her eyes. “She’s going to hate me,” she said in a very small voice.

  “No way,” her three girls said in unison.

  “We’ll be stiff and formal, and everything will be awful.” Carly stared at her reflection in the mirror. Sunny ran to her first. Sunny the born leader. Sunny the brave and absolutely unstoppable. “Don’t worry, Mommy. Your friend will remember. Once I didn’t see my friend Mei-ling for a whole month, but when she came back we remembered each other.”

  Smiling, Carly sank down next to her daughter. “Of course, you’re right, Pumpkin. Mei-ling remembered. So will my friend Gina.”

  “You should wear this, Mommy.” Cleo held up a purple T-shirt against her chest. “I’d wear this one if I were bigger. I like that it has just one shoulder.”

  “So do I,” Ford said wolfishly. He gave a low whistle that made his daughters giggle.

  “Maybe purple is the new gray,” Cleo said gravely.

  “It looks good with your red hair, Mommy.” Olivia checked her watch. “And if you don’t go now, you’ll be late.”

  Carly looked at her three daughters. “So wise. Okay, I give up.” She threw out her arms. “Make me beautiful.”

  Immediately she was buried beneath flying scarves and batik sarongs. Laughing, Carly caught the girls and dragged them down onto the bed, tickling each one until they all screamed with laughter.

  Watching the familiar scene, Ford remembered the first day he’d seen Carly, on a cruise ship just like this one. He had saved her life in Barbados and lost his heart completely.

  The work he did was dangerous, making him a target for hatred and violence, but that hatred would never be allowed to hurt his family. He had almost lost Carly once when he’d underestimated a twisted enemy. Worse yet, he had underestimated Carly’s own bravery, but Ford had never made those mistakes again.

  Sunny, meanwhile, had found a black-and-white dress with little red beads around the neck. “Wear this one, Mommy. Olivia, get the red sandals from the closet.” Olivia ran to complete the mission, and Cleo held up a pair of red and purple wooden bracelets.

  “Have I told you three how smart you are?”

  Cleo giggled. “Two minutes ago, Mommy. And last night when we went to bed.” Sunny handed her mother a red straw handbag and a bead necklace that the three girls had made together.

  “Perfect.” Carly toed on her sandals and spun slowly. “How do I look?”

  “More gorgeous than any woman has a right to look.” Ford picked up the bag by the door. “Don’t forget your camera,” he said.

  But his wife surprised him. “Today is for feeling and remembering. No pictures and no camera.”

  STANDING WITH HIS THREE daughters at the edge of the deck, Ford watched his wife cross toward her old friend. The reunion was hard for her, something she would do best alone. There would be time to bring the girls to meet Gina later during the cruise.

  Meanwhile, the three girls were already tugging at his hands. No sign of separation anxiety here, the SEAL thought proudly.

  “Who’s ready for cruise camp?”

  “We are.”

  He took a last look across the deck. His wife had found a table with her friend. Ford thought the pastry chef looked nice. She also looked tired. He figured that running the kitchens of a busy cruise ship had to be a 24/7 job.

  His keen eyes swept over his girls. “Everyone have their pagers?”

  The girls nodded. The ship’s purser provided communication for all families, which was one of the reasons Ford and Carly had chosen this particular cruise line.

  “I’ve got my camera, too.” Sunny held up a small digital unit. “I’m shooting the promenade deck at camp later.”

  “Watch those F-stops,” Ford said.

  “Look, there’s that man who had the book you said was awful, Daddy.” Sunny pointed across the deck. Trace O’Halloran looked a little harassed today, Ford thought.

  A woman stuck a piece of paper in his back pocket, leaning close and brushing her hip against his thigh. Trace didn’t seem happy about it.

  “Why does that lady have her hand on his leg, Daddy?”

  No way was Ford answering that question.

  “I’ll explain later.” In about twelve years, Ford thought.

  TRACE WAS TRYING TO GET through the second chapter of a convoluted mystery when the rich scent of coffee wafted past his shoulder.

  “I figured you could use this.” Tobias Hale held out a cardboard cup. “Free coffee is one of my best crew perks.” He sat down, nodding toward Gina and her friend across the deck. “That seems to be going well.”

  Laughter drifted closer.

  “Yeah, I’d say so.”

  “I’ve got some bad news. Blaine—the woman you met on deck—filed an anonymous report that Gina was drinking.”

  “If it was anonymous, how did you find out?”

  “I’m head of security. Nothing that happens on this ship gets by me.”

  Trace snapped the book shut. “Only a fool would think she was drinking.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The cruise line has a zero tolerance policy for alcohol. Any report of intoxication receives immediate attention.”

  “So, they’ll do a little research and find out it was a problem with her medication. End of story.”

  Tobias studied the passing guests, his gaze always moving, always assessing. “Probably. But there will be blood tests, medical forms. Probably drug testing, too. She’ll be put on probation until everything is settled. She’ll hate that.” Tobias’s eyes hardened. “That means any additional problems in her kitchen will get her fired.” He held up his hand as Trace started to argue. “I agree completely, but those are cruise line rules, and they get broken for no one.” He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his neck as if it hurt him. “I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something here.” He stared toward the horizon. “You know that feeling you get when you’re crouched in a foxhole, waiting for the first artillery round? You’re jittery, and your whole body is telling you that something bad, really bad, is coming.”

  Trace had had that feeling less than two months ago on a cold Christmas Eve in Afghanistan. “I know,” he said quietly. “Anything you can put your finger on?”

  Tobias shook his head. “If I had something concrete, I’d order a cabin search for all crew along with a complete inventory of ship’s stores. Hell, maybe I’m losing my edge and it’s nothing.”

  “Have you turned up anything on Blaine’s contact?”

  “I’ve got discreet surveillance in place. She knows most of my people, so I have to be careful. She’s always in motion, checking stores and overseeing the beverage and bar areas, but if there’s a pattern, I’ll find it.”

  Trace smiled coldly. “I could always toss her ov
erboard one dark night.”

  “A lot of people would like to see that, me included. Too bad we’re the good guys.” Tobias pushed back his chair and stood up. “Stick close to Gina. When she gets the news about her probation, it’s going to hurt. Right now this job is her whole life.” He stared at Trace for long moments. “I’m counting on the fact that you’re good for her, O’Halloran. Don’t prove me wrong or you’ll regret it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CARLY HADN’T MEANT to bring the pictures, but somehow they landed on the table in front of her. “This is Olivia finishing her docent week at the art museum. She was their youngest ever,” Carly said proudly.

  Gina picked up the next picture. “Cleo, right? She likes books.”

  Carly smiled. “She’s going to be a world-class writer or a terrifyingly good diplomat.”

  As the two talked in the sunlight, seabirds wheeled overhead and the years fell away.

  To Gina, it could have been spring of their senior year again. With money tight, they’d made a breakfast of cheap coffee and doughnuts last until dinner.

  “Triplets.” Gina sat back and laughed. “I’m still amazed that you can tell the three apart.”

  “Ford and I were wrecks for months. If Olivia cried too loudly, Ford wanted to call the doctor. If Cleo went through too many diapers, he wanted to call the doctor. We were lucky that one of his friends had medical training. Ford called him on the sly for medical advice.” Carly frowned. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Izzy in ages.”

  Gina lifted a picture of a determined-looking toddler who was trying to climb onto the back of a docile German shepherd. “Riding lesson?”

  “That’s our Sunny, racing through life on three wheels, always the first at everything. You have no idea how close she’s come to being really hurt.” Carly rested the photograph on the table beside the others. “Our girls. That’s pretty much what I do these days.”

  “That and take pictures of the president of France,” Gina said dryly. “I may work on a cruise ship, but I read magazines. Everyone wants to be photographed by you. Somehow you make people drop their defenses and reveal who they really are. It’s an amazing gift.”

  Carly flushed, uncomfortable as she always was when people analyzed her work. “I’ve been blessed with good subjects.”

  “Didn’t you shoot footage for a cruise line? I seem to recall that’s where you met Ford, when he was your model.”

  “It was a little more complicated than that.” A frown worked between Carly’s eyebrows. “But everything worked out fine in the end.” She reached across the table and squeezed Gina’s hand. “I have to say, I never would have guessed you’d become a pastry chef. You were always set on law and justice.”

  Gina shrugged. “Things change.”

  No details. She still wasn’t ready to probe old wounds.

  Carly’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve got burn marks on your hands.”

  “Goes with the territory. Cooking can be dangerous if you do something stupid.” She glanced out over the ocean and vowed she wouldn’t be stupid again, not in cooking or in life. Trace O’Halloran might be a major turn-on, but trusting him would get her hurt.

  “So tell me about this TV series in the works,” Carly said. “And when do I get a taste of your signature chocolate espresso cheesecake?”

  TRACE WAS ON HIS SECOND cup of coffee, sitting in a small lounge near the children’s camp. He had made two rounds of the ship and decided to break for caffeine when he saw Ford McKay’s girls shoot giggling into a neighboring bathroom.

  Whatever they were doing, it couldn’t be good, judging by their guilty looks.

  Trace held up his newspaper, making certain they couldn’t see his face, and his vigilance was soon rewarded. One of the girls in a blue sweater—Olivia or Sunny?—strolled out of the bathroom with a book under her arm. The one who liked books was Olivia, he remembered. He frowned as she raced back into the children’s activity room.

  Where was the other one?

  Listening closely, he heard Ford’s daughter tell a counselor that her sister had an upset stomach, but she would be out in a few minutes. Meanwhile, Sunny crept out of the bathroom, glanced up and down the corridor and shot in the opposite direction.

  He scanned the deck for signs of McKay and found none. Apparently he had just volunteered for babysitter detail, Trace thought wryly.

  Sunny had a small camera hanging over her shoulder, and she darted off to the left down a corridor as if she had been there before, while Trace followed surreptitiously.

  She took some random shots and then checked her watch, pacing restlessly outside one of the unmarked doors to a small utility room. She was obviously waiting for someone.

  As Trace ducked behind a fake palm tree, footsteps approached from the opposite corridor. A pair of legs in a blue crew uniform flashed by. The man was short and appeared to be in his midtwenties. He was carrying a wicker box, and he lifted the lid slightly, showing something to Sunny.

  The little girl beamed.

  Trace’s hands clenched into fists. If the man tried to sell Sunny drugs or entice her into leaving with him, Trace would rip him from limb to limb. He was just about to take charge of the situation when he heard a sound come from inside the basket.

  The muffled cry of an animal.

  He drew back, waiting. The meow of a cat drifted across the corridor.

  Barely able to contain her excitement, Sunny reached into the basket and pulled out a white kitten with icy blue eyes. Cradling the wriggling ball of fur, Sunny slipped around the corner where she couldn’t be seen and began feeding the kitten scraps of food from her pocket.

  Trace revised his plan to break the crewman’s neck, but he wasn’t about to ignore the fact that Sunny was sneaking around the ship unsupervised. Crossing the deck, he knelt beside her.

  Her eyes widened. “Mr. Trace?” Vainly she tried to shove the wiggling cat under her shirt, but the white tail switched back and forth like a windshield wiper.

  Gently, Trace extracted the animal from her grasp. “Who’s your friend?”

  Sunny’s shoulders squared and she looked at Trace with an expression of bull-nosed stubbornness. “You can’t have him. Miguel found him wandering in the engine room and they were going to drown him. I hate them.” Her eyes filled with tears. “He’s not sick or anything. He’s healthy and his fur is beautiful and—and probably he got lost and snuck aboard in San Francisco.” She reached out for the cat and tucked it protectively against her chest. “I won’t let anyone hurt him.”

  The little white ball began to purr loudly. “See? All he wanted was food and water. My sisters and I will take care of him until we reach Puerto Vallarta. Then Miguel will take him to his sister because she’s nice and has lots of cats. Trouble will have a good life there.”

  “Trouble?”

  “That’s what we call him. It was really hard to keep him hidden.” Her eyes shimmered for a minute. “I wish I could take him home with me. He could sleep right on my bed. But there’s probably all kinds of stupid adult laws about taking him back to the United States.” Her lips began to quiver, and she looked away, rubbing a hand quickly across her eyes. “I’d ask Daddy, but I don’t want him to get in trouble.”

  She fed the hungry kitten another piece of food, sniffing furtively.

  Trace tried to harden his heart to the kitten and failed. “What’s that you’re feeding him?”

  “We saved our sushi from dinner because he likes raw fish. Olivia did some research on the Internet, and they said it has to be cut up very fine, so we did that. See?”

  The kitten went right for the mush, smearing tuna all over his white face.

  “It sounds like you three know what you’re doing.”

  Sunny’s gaze shot to his face. “So you won’t tell on us? You won’t get Miguel in trouble, either? He was just trying to save the cat. Then Trouble got free and we found him wandering around outside the spa yesterday.”

  Trace tri
ed to ignore the plea in her big green eyes. “I guess a few hours won’t hurt.” He gave the cat a gentle scratch behind the ears and then stood up. His tone hardened as he looked at the nervous crewman. “You found the cat?”

  The man nodded.

  “You shouldn’t have gotten these girls involved. I’ll keep the cat with me until we reach Puerto Vallarta. Then I’ll make arrangements to give you the cat to take ashore. There’s no need for you to bother the girls again.”

  “Yes, yes. That is very good. I do not like to involve them, but to kill a cat is a very bad thing.”

  “You’re going to take the cat, Mr. Trace? Can I come see him in your room?” Sunny danced from foot to foot. “Can my sisters come, too?”

  “We’ll see. Right now you are heading right back to Cruisers’ Camp. You can’t walk around the ship alone without telling your parents. They’d be sick with worry if anything happened.”

  Instantly Sunny’s smile fled. “I didn’t want anyone to worry and this was the simplest way, don’t you see? My sisters and I have a feeding schedule and a time that we meet Miguel when his cabin is being cleaned. He needs to hide the cat then, so we take turns.” Her little chin rose defiantly. “We had it all figured out. Then you had to come walking by.” Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “You were watching us.” She shoved her hands onto her hips. “You shouldn’t watch people. It’s not nice.”

  Maybe not, but watching people happened to be a big part of his job, Trace thought.

  The young crewman was listening intently. “He is right, Sunny. You should not leave the campers’ class again. Your parents will be very angry. I tell you this already.”

  “Okay.” Sunny moved closer to Trace as he opened his sweatshirt, slid the cat inside, then closed the zipper halfway.

  Little claws kneaded his chest.

  When he looked down, Sunny was giggling at the little white face burrowing out above his sweatshirt.

  “Mr. Trace, he likes you. Hear how loud he’s purring?”

  Trace figured anyone within six feet could hear, which would pretty well shoot any chance of secrecy. “Let’s get you back to camp,” he said gruffly. “Then I’ll take our friend to my cabin and make him a box.”