Читать книгу Perilous Waters - Sandra Orchard - Страница 12

TWO

The fog didn’t look like it’d lift any time soon...in more ways than one.

Sam stood at the ship’s rail, scrutinizing the latecomers rushing up the gangplank as he listened to his deputy director on the other end of his cell phone. “It won’t be a problem, sir,” he assured.

“See that it’s not.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Understood.” He clicked off and shoved the phone into his pocket. The guy had been gunning for him ever since he showed him up on the Carlisle case.

And the fiasco with Jezebel—as his brother fondly called her—had given his boss the ammunition to take him out. He couldn’t afford to mess up again, especially on a case with a couple of beautiful women involved.

Jake sidled up beside him and slapped him on the back. “Looking for a certain someone?”

“Just waiting for you guys,” Sam said, refusing to rise to the bait.

“Right.” Jake chuckled as his four-year-old son bounced up and down, tugging on his arm, begging to explore the ship.

Sam pressed his fingertips to his forehead and massaged the dull throb that had been there since seeing that note in Jennifer’s car.

“Hey, you okay?” Concern replaced the amusement in Jake’s voice.

“Yeah.” Sam dropped his hand and returned his attention to the wharf. He’d be a lot better if he knew who’d left Jennifer the note and why. Unlike her hysterical sister, Jennifer had kept a tight rein on her emotions, but he’d felt the tremble in her hand, seen the quiver in her lips. The guy had gotten to her. Thrown her off her game.

Maybe left her too spooked to make this trip.

“Hey, relax. You’re supposed to be on vacation. Remember?”

Yeah. The other night when Jake questioned him about giving Jennifer his undercover name, Sam had told him it was a precaution. He posed as a buyer in the art world too often to be known to people in it by any other name. Jake clearly hadn’t bought the excuse.

And Mom and Dad would not be impressed if he bailed on the trip.

But if Jennifer and Cassandra didn’t board, he’d have no choice. He couldn’t afford to let them off his radar.

Tommy tugged on Sam’s pant leg. “Can we explore now?”

“Sure.” Sam took one last look at the gangplank. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

“They headed up to the buffet for something to eat,” Jake said. “I told them we’d meet them there.”

“Hey, strangers!” a friendly female voice chimed from behind them.

“Look who’s here.” Jake leaned back, his arms resting on the rail, and nudged Sam’s arm. “Good to see you.”

Cassandra flounced toward them in a multicolored, artsy-looking getup with an uneven angular hem that reminded Sam of a court jester.

But when her sister didn’t appear behind her, Sam didn’t feel like laughing. “Jennifer’s not coming?”

“Sure.” The twinkly smile in Cassandra’s eyes conveyed almost a giddy pleasure in his interest in her sister, which could nicely work to his favor. Cassandra fluttered her hand in the direction she’d come. “She just wanted to make a few phone calls before we left port and lost cell phone reception. I’m meeting her at the buffet in twenty minutes.”

“That’s where we’re headed, too,” Jake piped up. “Would you like to join us?”

“Love to.” She hooked her arm through Jake’s. “Do you mind if we zigzag through the middle decks? Check out where everything is?”

“Sounds good.” Jake reached for Tommy’s hand.

Cassandra paled as her gaze dropped to the boy she clearly hadn’t connected to them.

“It’s okay. I’ve got him,” Sam reassured. When Jake hesitated, as he always did since losing his wife, Sam added, “He’s safe with me.” His mind flashed to Jimmy, and he strained to swallow the lump that rose to his throat.

But Jake nodded as if he had no doubts, then led the way with Cassandra on his arm, leaving Sam and Tommy to trail behind. At least the woman was dressed in something more modest than the outfit she had on the other night.

The main lobby atrium, with its four-story ceiling and glass elevator, was even more crowded than when they’d boarded an hour ago. They took the spiral staircase to the next level, admiring the opulent crystal and brass fixtures, then rode the glass-walled elevator up another level to the promenade deck.

Tommy pressed his nose to the glass, entranced by the glittering lights.

“Ooh, I hear music. Let’s go this way.” Cassandra led them to an open lounge where a gifted musician played nostalgic tunes on a shiny baby grand.

Tommy tugged Sam toward brightly colored paintings lining the next hall. “Tommy and I are going to check out the art gallery.” He’d already scoped it earlier, but another look wouldn’t hurt.

“Sure, be right there. Be good for Uncle Sam, okay?” Jake called after them.

Sam wasn’t convinced his brother had actually registered his own words. Not that Sam begrudged him the flattering attention of a beautiful woman. It’d been almost five years since Jake’s wife had died. Sam just wished the woman wasn’t one of his suspects.

Tommy tugged free of Sam’s hold and veered toward the biggest and brightest painting—rainbow-colored air balloons floating in a pure blue sky—propped at floor level outside the gallery door. Along the way his foot caught the easel of another painting. Sam lunged to stop it from teetering over as Tommy skidded to a halt in front of the air balloons. “Look, Uncle Sam, there’s a dog riding in the balloon!”

“Oh, we can’t touch them,” a kind voice singsonged. Jennifer Robbins. She squatted beside his nephew, her pleasant smile tempering the swiftness with which she’d caught his arm before he danced his grubby finger over the canvas. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Tommy bobbed his head up and down.

“Makes me wish I could ride in such a beautiful balloon.”

The balloons weren’t the only thing that looked beautiful. Sam almost hadn’t recognized Jennifer with her blond curls spilling over her slender shoulders and wearing a casual, earthy-looking skirt and blouse that reminded him of commercials for romantic beach getaways.

“Do you like to draw?” she asked, and Tommy’s head-bobbing grew more exaggerated.

Sam stepped behind him.

Jennifer glanced up, her warm smile turning to surprise. “Sam, hi!”

He placed a cautioning hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Sorry about that. He got away from me.”

Her glance skittered to his left hand and back to his face. “This adorable little boy belongs to you?”

“He’s my nephew, Tommy. Jake’s son.” The ease with which she interacted with Tommy stirred an unwelcome appreciation for the woman. Her sister had scarcely looked at the boy—a fact that would eventually cool Jake’s interest, he was sure. “We were heading up to the buffet to meet my folks.”

“Well, hi, Tommy! I’m Jen,” she said then turned to Sam. “Let me see if the gallery has any coloring books and then I’ll walk with you. I told my sister I’d meet her there.”

“Yeah, we ran into her on deck.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “She and Jake stopped to listen to the piano player.”

Jennifer frowned. “Tommy’s mother isn’t here?”

“She died when Tommy was an infant.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sadness shadowed her eyes as she rose. “Let me get that coloring book.”

As Jennifer spoke to the balding middle-aged man behind the counter, Sam took the opportunity to scan the gallery for the two contributions the Robbins sisters were to bring aboard for auction. Contributions that might also prove to be pivotal to his case. Cruise lines normally auctioned prints, not originals, and would ship a comparable one from their warehouse to the winning bidder, rather than the actual item displayed. The fact that the cruise line had agreed to ship the Robbins Gallery’s actual contributions to the winning bidders, suggested they were originals, or if not, begged the question—was there more to the items than there appeared?

Jennifer knelt in front of Tommy and offered him a booklet of ship-themed coloring pictures and a package of four crayons. “For you.”

Tommy grinned. Sam gave his shoulder a squeeze. “What do you say?”

“Thank you!” He threw his arms around Jennifer, who toppled back onto her behind then laughed at his exuberance.

Sam’s heart squeezed uncomfortably at how good she was with the boy. He scooped Tommy into his arms then offered Jennifer a hand. “Sorry about that.”

Laughter continued to brim in her eyes. “No need to apologize. That’s the best hug I’ve had in a long time.”

“How have you been? Did the police catch the jerk who vandalized your car?” Sam knew they hadn’t, but he hoped his concern would win her confidence.

“No, but thankfully there haven’t been any more incidents.” She fussed with the delicate gold cross resting on a fine chain at her throat, and Sam wondered if the symbol actually meant something to her. She bit her bottom lip, looking way too vulnerable for his comfort.

She’s a suspect, he reminded himself. Just because she got threatened didn’t mean she wasn’t guilty. Criminals threatened other criminals all the time. For all he knew, she was aware of who was behind the attack and couldn’t identify him without revealing her own crimes.

“Except...” She let out a breath. “Last night someone kept calling my apartment and not saying anything.”

That wasn’t good. “You tell the police? Try getting the number from the phone company?”

Her rejected grant applicant hadn’t had an airtight alibi for the night of the attack, but without fingerprints or security video to connect him to the scene, the local PD hadn’t been able to charge him.

“No, I just unplugged the phone.” She offered a self-deprecating smile.

“That works, too.” He didn’t want to examine too closely why seeing that smile made him happy. She’d confided in him. It was a good start. His job was to gain her trust. Pure and simple. He set Tommy down as they stepped out of the gallery.

“Hold up a sec.” The clerk hurried over and pressed a small note into Jennifer’s hand. “The information you wanted.”

“Thank you.” She quickly tucked the note into her pocket before turning back to Sam.

Instinctively he knew the exchange had to be connected to his case. Another piece of the puzzle falling into place. So why did he feel so disappointed?

* * *

Jennifer fingered the paper in her pocket, debating how to get away from Sam for a few minutes to make the call in private. She’d recognized the ship’s curator from the Seattle gallery where he used to work—one that had had a scandal he’d exposed, much to the owner’s dismay. He’d seen right though her veiled questions about his experience and offered her the number of the PI he’d used.

Sam steered his nephew a wide berth around the art displays lining the hall. “I guess the art world’s tight-knit?”

Reflexively Jen’s hand crumpled the paper with the PI’s number. “Pardon me?”

Sam motioned to the ship’s gallery curator. “You all know each other.”

“Oh, yes, he used to be at a Seattle gallery, but I’m not actually all that involved with the gallery, aside from attending the odd opening night for special exhibits.” She glanced around at the ship’s eclectic collection. There were few pastoral scenes like her mother’s beloved early works. “My uncle insists I put in an appearance. Says it’s bad for business if the owners don’t show.” Why was she telling Sam all this?

“Your uncle?”

“The gallery’s curator. He’s not really an uncle. He was our guardian after our parents died, so we call him Uncle.” She bit her lip to stop her nervous rambling. She wasn’t sure what had her more rattled—the idea of hiring a PI to spy on him while they were away, or the thought of what other illegal activities he might be up to. “Um... could you excuse me a minute? I need to make a phone call before I catch up with my sister.”

“Go ahead. Tommy and I will browse for a few minutes.”

Jennifer moved to the groupings of couches and chairs on the other side of the wide hall opposite the specialty dining room next to the gallery and, turning toward the ship’s windows, pulled out her cell phone.

The same sense of being watched that she’d felt outside the gallery last week shivered down her spine. Surreptitiously she scanned the wide hall and dining area beyond. A waiter in a crisp white shirt and black pants and vest approached. A linen napkin lay draped over his arm, and a glass of amber liquid on ice sat on his small round tray. He presented it to her with a slight bow.

“You have the wrong person. I didn’t order a drink.”

“It is complimentary,” he said in broken English.

Jen glanced toward the bar, wondering if he meant someone had bought it for her, but she didn’t see anyone looking her way. Her gaze skittered down the hall to the gallery where Sam stood with a cell phone pressed to his ear, frowning at the waiter. His attention jerked back to Tommy.

“Thank you,” she said to the waiter without reaching for the glass. “But I don’t drink.”

“Not alcohol. Ginger ale,” the waiter assured.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

She scanned the bar area again, but no one seemed ready to take credit for the offering. “Did someone buy this for me?” she enunciated each word slowly, hoping the waiter would understand.

He shook his head. “First day. First drink free.”

The ice tinkling in the glass sure looked tempting. Everyone else sitting along the window seats held similar glasses. “Thank you.” She accepted the drink and took a sip.

After a slight bow, the waiter withdrew.

Jennifer dialed the PI’s number, but the call rolled immediately to voice mail. She waited a minute and tried again. Then a third time. She glanced at her watch. Five-thirty. They had two and a half hours before the ship left port and perhaps another hour after that before she lost cell phone reception. She’d try again later.

She stuffed her phone back in her purse and rejoined Sam and Tommy, who’d plopped himself on the floor and started coloring.

“Get ahold of who you were after?” Sam asked.

“Busy. I’ll try again later. Ready to go?”

“First, what do you think of this piece?” Sam pointed to a Native American sculpture. “I’ve heard the artist’s work is internationally sought after.”

She shrugged. “Not really my taste.”

“But for what it is, do you think it’s a good value or overpriced?”

She eyed him speculatively. Men—the kind who were guaranteed to be wrong for her—inevitably tried to gain her attention by feigning an interest in art. That or they really were connoisseurs. Yet the curious sparkle in Sam’s eyes didn’t give away any hidden agenda. Then again, her track record for spotting them wasn’t the best. She glanced at the four-figure ticket price. “I don’t know what its market value is. Sorry.”

He studied her intently then chuckled. “But you’d never pay that much for it.”

She let a smile slip. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hey, you found her.” Jake’s voice boomed from behind them.

“Dad-eee,” Tommy snatched up his coloring book and scurried into Jake’s waiting arms.

Jake scooped him up in one smooth sweep, his face glowing with fatherly pride.

Cassie’s complexion went pasty, but to her credit she didn’t give away her discomfort in any other way. Jen hadn’t been surprised that Cass had attached herself to someone aboard. She never could stand to be alone. Of course, now she’d probably want to hunt down someone more her type—not a man tied down by a child but someone wild and daring...a playboy. Definitely not the kind of guy Jen wanted to spend ten days around. And if Cass spent all her time flirting, Jen would never get the chance to broach the subject of selling the gallery.

“Can we eat now?” Tommy squealed.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam and Jake said in unison.

As they made their way down the hall, Jen admired the view through the ship’s windows—clear blue skies, sunlight dancing on the choppy water, the odd sailboat gliding by. She misstepped, feeling as if the ship had dipped over a wave, but the ship wasn’t moving yet.

Sam caught her elbow. “You okay?”

“Yes. I—” She swayed, and not just from the tingle skittering up her arm at Sam’s touch. “Whoa. Um, I guess I got a little dizzy looking at the water.”

He held her steady. “Do you get seasick?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been on a ship. I put on a patch, just to be on the safe side.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and pointed to the seasickness patch she’d put on last night—twenty-four hours before setting sail, like the directions had said.

Sam moved to her other side, between her and the window. “Maybe just focus on the hall for now, until you get your sea legs.”

“Good idea.” She tried not to think about how sweet Sam was being. Her sole mission this trip was to convince Cass to agree to sell her half of the gallery. Maybe one day, after their names stopped being synonymous with wealthy heiresses, she could trust a man’s attention again.

They soon reached a bank of elevators and Cass hit the up button. The numbers above each door all hovered around fourteen. “Looks like everyone has the same idea about hitting the buffet,” Jake said.

A group jostled past them, glanced up at the numbers and then climbed the spacious stairs. Jen hoped the men wouldn’t suggest they do the same. She suddenly didn’t feel so good.

They stepped on the first elevator that opened. It stopped one deck up, where a waiter stepped on—the waiter who’d served her the drink. He nodded then turned to the front. The elevator’s movement made her brain feel like Jell-O jiggling in a bowl. She pressed her palm to her temple.

“You getting a migraine?” Cass’s face swam in front of Jen’s eyes.

“I don’t know.” Jen’s muscles turned as jiggly as her brain. “I suddenly feel weird.” Her head seemed to be floating. She felt her legs give way in a kind of detached, surreal way. As she was sinking, the lights went out. Strong arms came around her—solid, unwavering.

Cass called her name as if she were far away. A male voice, too. Sam’s. But she kept sinking until she couldn’t hear anymore.