Tropical Getaway

  “Nothing concrete.”

  She rapped her knuckles on his arm. “Damn it, quit being vague and protective. I have a right to know.”

  He gripped her wrist and held it in midair. “Do you mind not hitting me?”

  She shook off his hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…I want you to take action, Dane.”

  “I think I took a little too much this afternoon.” His expression softened. “Look, I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. Genevieve is like family to me, and I think she’s in a little over her head. If there’s any way I can help her get out—gracefully and with her pride—I will. Not at the expense of the law, but not with any more risks to the people who work for me, either. Whatever’s being done on these ships can be stopped. And I will stop it. Believe me.”

  “What about Paradisio? What about those twenty-one men who died because she is in ‘a little over her head’? Don’t they matter?”

  A deep and agonizing shade of blue darkened his eyes. “How could you say that?”

  “I don’t like to ponder and worry about someone’s pride when lives were lost. Just attack the problem.”

  “I am. In my own way.”

  She shook her head, unwilling to be quieted. “I don’t know why you don’t march right into the police and tell them what’s going on.”

  “There aren’t police. It’s a constable. And you have no idea what could happen if I do that. First of all, there’s a U.S. senator on this ship. There’s also a cargo of illegal drugs, I’m guessing, in some passenger’s or crewman’s cabin.”

  Her jaw dropped. “There is?”

  “And the constable could be in the chain of command from a cartel, for all I know. You can’t mess around like some kind of vigilante with these guys. Someone could get killed.”

  A sickening wave of déjà vu rolled through her. Of all people, she should know he was so right. “Please tell me what you found out today.”

  “I found a transshipment location, and a Frenchman named Estaphan Calliope who runs it. He recognized Genevieve’s name but, I hope, didn’t recognize me.”

  “Do you think he might have?” she asked, frowning.

  “Maybe. I’ve seen him before. He’s been on a cruise, believe it or not. I have to check the back passenger logs, which I can probably access from my computer tonight.” He squinted in thought. “I can’t remember which cruise he was on, but it wasn’t too long ago. But word travels fast around there. By now he might have figured out who I am and he may even get in touch with his contact on this ship.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  He smiled wryly. “I didn’t stay for tea. Once I found out that the shipment had already been picked up, I told him Genevieve had sent me to check things out, that she was worried about their man. But he wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t give me a name or description. I had to rush out of there, if you know what I mean.”

  She didn’t, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. “When are you leaving?”

  “We’re leaving early in the morning.”

  “We? Do you want me to go?”

  “Are you kidding? You’re not staying on this ship with drugs on board and God knows who trying to get them delivered.”

  She crossed her arms, determined not to let any emotion show. “I don’t need a baby-sitter, Dane. I could still find some things out—”

  “That’s precisely what I’m worried about. You’ll be digging through the cargo bay for clues tomorrow morning.” He shook his head. “No. You go with me.”

  “What will you do when you—we—get back?”

  “Once I talk to Gen and get a feel for how deeply she’s involved and how willing she is to come clean, I’ll decide. It could mean stopping all the cruises for a while. It could mean a lot of cancellations. It could be the end of my business.”

  “Completely? I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

  “Oh?” He narrowed his blue-green eyes. “You came down here to pin the wreck on me and you succeeded.”

  “I don’t believe that anymore,” she said softly.

  “But I am responsible.”

  She looked sharply at him. Was he admitting it?

  He leaned over the railing, watching the waves below, a pained look on his face. “I should have been more vigilant. Drug deliveries are happening in my company, under my watch, on this very ship tonight. If it had anything to do with why Paradisio went down, then I’m as guilty as if I sat in my office and deliberately sent them into the hurricane.”

  She was no stranger to the anguish of guilt, and a sudden surge of sympathy filled her. “We don’t know that for sure, Dane. It could have been conjecture, even from Genevieve.”

  He sighed deeply, from the heart. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. I’m going to go take a shower and get on my computer. It could be a long night.”

  Genevieve ran to Dane’s house every night when he was out of town. It was comforting to see it, dark and quiet. It helped her sleep, helped her dream of him. But tonight the mantra she’d spoken since he’d been in her office continued to deafen her. He has the list. He has the entire list. It was only a matter of time until he figured it out. Then he’d send her away, like all the rest. Even though she wasn’t like all the rest. Ten years, and it all came down to this.

  She pounded up the driveway and wondered for the millionth time about the ship. How did the kid manage to get the captain to turn Paradisio around and sail toward Grenada and into the storm? She didn’t think he had it in him. Such a greenhorn. He must have been determined to prove he could get to Grenada, come hell or high water. She choked back a laugh at her bad joke. Come hell and high water.

  The still night hung over Dane’s house with none of the familiar clues to his activities. She bent over, leaning into her cramped stomach and taking shallow runner’s breaths after the steep hill. She knew what he was doing, though. Rumpling the silken sheets of the Owner’s Suite. The sheets that she’d handpicked in Paris.

  The image of Dane thrusting himself into the dark-haired witch squeezed the breath out of her. Bastard. Bitch. Laughing and fucking. Her gut twisted, and for a moment, she thought she might throw up. More breaths, Gen, take more breaths.

  No, Ava Santori was not the problem. He’d be tired of her before Nirvana dropped anchor back at St. Barts. Her problem was getting out of this hole before she got caught. Before she had to look him in the eyes and admit what she’d done.

  She stood straight, sucked in air, and threw her head back to find the sliver of the moon. What would he think when he learned the truth? Would he feel betrayed? Would he understand that without her he would be nothing, absolutely nothing?

  Of course not. He had no idea what Genevieve Giles did for his business. Or what she could do for his life, if only he’d let her. Then she wouldn’t have been forced to find another way, to use him the way he’d used her.

  He thought he was so damn cool, so smart, but they wouldn’t let him stop them. They wouldn’t let him undo the whole ring; too many millions were at stake. Dane Erikson would be just like that former diplomat in St. Kitts. Disappeared in the night. And the son of the deputy prime minister in Nevis. Burned in a sugar field. Maybe they’d take his new girlfriend along for the fun of it.

  She turned down the driveway. Her heart thumped in rhythm with her pounding feet. Home, home, home. She must get home and as far away as possible. When they realized he’d found the trans shipment points, they’d be certain she gave the names to him. They’d never let him live. And they’d kill her too, if she didn’t get out fast enough.

  Let him die, let him die. It doesn’t matter. He deserved to die. But she could get out tomorrow, far away and safe.

  No, no. The pavement punched her feet in disagreement. He’s too perfect to die.

  She shook her head. Yes. Yes. He deserves to die. He’s never known how to love anyone but himself.

  Yellow fog lights preceded the rumble of an engine, signaling a car coming around the hairpin turn. She stepp
ed off the road, out of the way. But the lights didn’t speed by. They caught her, blinded her, and then the engine screamed in acceleration toward her. She stumbled into the bushes on shaking legs and fell, desperately praying for the screech of the brakes and the wheels to turn away from her. But they kept coming.

  I don’t deserve to die!

  It was her last thought.

  10

  “I miss you.” Dane’s voice on the phone was soft, low, and, dear God, he sounded genuine.

  “It’s ten P.M.”

  “On a cruise ship, that’s early. Come and meet me for a drink.”

  Ava laid down the magazine she was holding but not reading. Why was he doing this to her?

  “I’ve been ordered off the ship tomorrow. I’m packing,” she lied.

  “Do it in the morning. I have a present for you.”

  The roller coaster in her stomach inched up, toward the inevitable free fall. “Give it to me tomorrow.”

  “Nope. I want to bring it over. Are you dressed?”

  “Would it matter?”

  “Good point.” She knew he was smiling. Damn him. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  For one second, she gave into the temptation to lay back on the pillows and savor the flirtatious conversation. Then female instinct took over and she scrambled off the billowing bed to the cabin closet, pausing in front of the dressing table mirror to see herself as he did. Exotic, not ethnic. She smoothed her hands over the soft cotton T-shirt she wore. Sexy, not overendowed. How did he make her feel that way? Passionate, not impetuous. She sighed and smiled ruefully at her reflection. Just one drink, Santori. No harm in that.

  He knocked at her cabin door six minutes later, holding a flat package and wearing a deadly smile.

  “This is for you, princess.”

  She took the feather-light tissue he handed her. “You were supposed to be hunting down criminals, Dane, not shopping.” She lifted a piece of tape and pulled out a long, silky scarf. “Wow. It’s gorgeous. Hermès. Merci beaucoup!”

  “De rien.” He grinned back.

  The silk tickled her fingers, the contrasting colors appealed to her taste. She looked up at him questioningly. How did he know?

  “I was thinking of you.” With his words, she plummeted down the first drop. “And I had to buy something to get the information I wanted.”

  She had no doubt which of the two explanations was the truth.

  He took the scarf from her hand and fanned it against the back of a chair. “Come on. I’ll show you my favorite place on this ship.” He picked up her card key from the table next to the door and dropped it in his pocket. “And I’ll give you the latest on Calliope.”

  He could lure anybody into anything, she thought, closing the door behind her and trying to quell her butterflies. But she wouldn’t be lured into anything except one drink.

  At the end of the main deck, they went down a side stairway and walked toward the pounding rhythm of a dance beat coming from Captain Nemo’s lounge.

  “This is your favorite place on the ship?” She didn’t take him for the disco type.

  He laughed and gave a nod to the steward at the entrance. “Just getting refreshments.”

  She waited with him at the noisy bar, packed with passengers and some off-duty crew, nodding to a few people she recognized from the kitchen. She looked around for Cassie but realized the poor woman was probably sleeping when she wasn’t working. She would have to find her tomorrow morning to tell her they were leaving in Nevis. She wasn’t sure how she’d explain it.

  Dane handed her a crystal snifter and whispered over the music into her ear, “Follow me.”

  They retraced their steps back to the main deck, up to the sundeck, past the bridge, to the bowsprit. It was a tight space, a two-foot-wide finger that hung over the water at the very bow of the ship, accessible to one or two passengers at a time. Tonight there were none. He easily took the oversize step up, then reached for her hand and brought her into the narrow opening with him. A railing on either side locked their bodies into a tight fit. He eased her in front of him, so that she stood at the very farthest point over the water. He kept one hand on her shoulder.

  “This is it,” he said. “The best place to study the night sky.”

  She tilted her head back, inhaling the humid salt air and letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. Every second, more stars appeared. With each movement of the ship she swayed slightly and gripped the handrail to keep from pressing against him.

  “This reminds me of Titanic. You know, the movie? ‘I’m king of the world!’”

  “Titanic?” He choked back a laugh. “Don’t even say the name at sea. A doomed ship if there ever was one.”

  “Doomed?” She was surprised at the force of his words. “That’s just folklore.”

  He took a sip of cognac and shook his head. “First of all, she was never christened. Very bad luck for a ship. Years ago, you couldn’t even find a crew for a boat that wasn’t formally christened.”

  “How do you know? About the Titanic?”

  “Oh, it’s common knowledge. Moments before the ship would have been launched with the official crash of a champagne bottle, a worker was pinned beneath a support beam he’d been cutting. His leg was crushed, and in the effort to free him, the ship went in the water without a formal breaking of spirits on the bow. He died the next day. And the Titanic, well, you know…”

  “Any such superstitions for Paradisio? Didn’t you tell me the captain died on its maiden voyage?”

  “She was an old ship, about eighty years at sea, although she’d been rebuilt and restored several times. She had a pretty colorful history.” He paused for a moment. “There was a star-dogged moon the evening they set sail. That sort of bothered me.”

  “A star-dogged moon?”

  “One star ahead and one towing the moon. It’s an old Irish sign of deadly storms.” He paused and regarded their own moon, a thin crescent that shed little light. “We knew there was a big storm brewing off the coast of Africa, but all indications were that it would turn north. When it kept heading southeast, toward Grenada…” His voice trailed off as the water slapped against the hulls and the winds moaned against the massive sails.

  “Was Marco superstitious?” She shifted her position to see his face in the moonlight.

  “Not at all,” he said. “He was pragmatic. He believed you controlled your own fate and no one had a hand in it but you.”

  “Did he…did he tell you about the hand I had in his fate?” she asked, her voice barely loud enough to hear over the wind.

  “He never said why he left home, only that he did.” At her silence, he continued. “He did say your father was pretty demanding and your mother was sweet and passive.”

  She still said nothing.

  “And that you got him out of trouble a lot.”

  She took a deep sip of the cognac, which burned down her throat.

  “Easy on the firewater, princess. You don’t need it.”

  “Then why’d you give it to me?”

  “An excuse to bring you out into the moonlight and make out with you.”

  She tried to shrug casually and not let him know that the idea made her dizzy. “So, what did you find out tonight that you wanted to tell me?”

  He swirled the amber liquid in his glass and studied it. “I found the cruise Estaphan Calliope was on.”

  “Really? Did he travel under his own name?”

  “He did. And he booked passage about five hours before we sailed. Genevieve pushed his paperwork through without the usual checks of passports and identification. There’s no official record of his travel around the islands. But he stayed in a cabin under that name.”

  “Which ship? When?”

  “About four months ago, on Paradisio. It was a Grenadine Island trip through Barbados, Martinique, St. Lucia, and, of course, Grenada. We’ve removed that itinerary since the hurricane. There’s not much in southern Grenada these days.” He took a sip o
f his drink. “But I have something to take to the authorities, you’ll be happy to know. They can run checks on every crewman and passenger on that ship.”

  “And they can bring Calliope in for questioning.”

  He shrugged. “Hard to say. If the DEA’s involved, they may already know him, but not have enough to bring him in. The local law enforcement probably gets paid plenty to ignore him. Or protect him, more likely.”

  “Was Marco on that ship?”

  “Yes. So was Genevieve. We had a few celebrities on board, a movie producer and some musicians. We often go on those cruises to supervise events.”

  We. Dane and Genevieve.

  The breeze blew a strand of hair across her face and he lifted it away, gently running his hand through her curls as he put it back in place.

  “So, why don’t you tell me the story?”

  She shook her head. She wasn’t ready for his disappointment. “You might not like me anymore.”

  He laughed, deep and honest. “I doubt that very much.”

  The comment warmed her whole body.

  “Come on.” He absently ran a finger over her hand that grasped the railing. He was always touching her, always making some contact with her skin. Each time, it took her breath away. “I want to hear the story. And you want to tell me.”

  A heavy sigh escaped her lips, and she picked a random star to watch while she confessed.

  “I did look out for Marco a lot, like he said. And I guess that was at the root of the whole thing. He was always getting into situations. Nothing major; boyish scrapes. Cutting school, getting in fights, driving recklessly without a license. Nothing I couldn’t help him hide, or at least sway Dominic or Mama into reduced punishments.”

  “Big sister stuff, huh?”

  “I guess so. Marco started college, but a lot of his neighborhood buddies, the guys he’d hung around with since he was a little boy, didn’t go anywhere after high school. They were going the way a lot of Italian boys go in communities like the North End.”

  “Organized crime.”

  She nodded. “More like disorganized, at that age. But yes.”