Captain's Paradise: A Novel

by Kay Hooper

  “Oh?”

  “Mmm. A man who generally knows what’s going on anywhere around Miami, especially if it’s illegal. He’s helped me out with information from time to time in the past.” She looked at her friend. “Assuming we decided to, we could be down there by early afternoon.”

  Teddy smiled a little. “The guys won’t like it,” she murmured. “If we go down there, I mean.”

  “They won’t like it,” Raven agreed. “But they’ll understand.”

  And that was, after all, the important thing.

  Michael Siran was annoyed at himself. He had no business accepting a partner, however temporarily, and especially when that partner seemed to possess just enough knowledge, experience, and anger to make her dangerous. He didn’t doubt she had picked up useful information as a reporter, but that hardly qualified her to play police officer or detective.

  And Michael was also annoyed at his own inclination to trust her, to talk to her. That was a fine trait to develop in his work, a wonderful trait; he’d end up getting himself killed. It was especially galling since he knew without doubt that Robin Stuart was holding out on him. There was something she hadn’t chosen to tell him, and he didn’t like it.

  “How did your sister get herself kidnapped?” Robin was asking him.

  “Through no fault of hers,” he very nearly snapped. “She wasn’t looking for a hot story three thousand miles from home.”

  “I didn’t mean—” Robin began stiffly.

  Michael gestured abruptly, cutting her off. “Never mind. I’m sorry I said that.” Damn. Now I’m apologizing! He glanced aside to find Robin looking at him with the most beautiful pair of green eyes he’d ever seen, and hastily turned his gaze forward again. This wasn’t going to work, it wasn’t going to work one bit, he couldn’t even keep his mind on—

  “She’ll be all right,” Robin said, obviously trying to reassure him. “They won’t hurt her. At least …”

  “At least not badly?” he finished in a grim tone. “My sister’s in a different position from the other girls, Robin. Lisa wasn’t snatched for sale to the highest bidder. She was taken to use as bait.”

  After a moment Robin said slowly, “Bait … to catch you?”

  “To catch me,” he affirmed.

  “Then you know who has her?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Inwardly cursing himself for telling her all this, he heard himself go on. “I’ve made a few bad enemies, but there was one in particular. Because of some work I did a few years ago, this man was exiled from his own country. He swore he’d get even, swore he’d steal what I cared about the most.”

  “Your sister.”

  “Yes. Lisa.”

  “If you knew he might try to get his hands on her—”

  “Why didn’t I do something to prevent it?” Michael felt, as always, a tightening inside at that question, a surge of emotion that was compounded of fear for Lisa and disgust with himself. “I thought I had,” he said finally, roughly. “I put her in an extremely private boarding school in Europe three years ago, and she’s had special security around the clock. An army couldn’t have gotten to her. But Sutton did.”

  “Edward Sutton?” Robin nearly flinched as steely gray eyes fixed on her.

  “You know him?” Michael asked softly.

  Robin cleared her throat. “His was one of the names I got while I was nosing around the Serendipity.”

  “Connected to the club?”

  “Very loosely, according to what I heard. There was a hint he was more strongly connected to the illegal gambling going on in the back room.”

  “Did you ever see him? At the club or on the yacht?”

  Robin shook her head. “Not that I know of. Certainly not on the yacht.”

  Michael was silent for a moment, piloting the boat automatically, his mind working hard. He kept his eyes off Robin. “Gambling,” he mused softly, almost to himself. “One of Sutton’s hobbies was always high-stakes poker.” Abruptly he asked, “Do you know anything about boats?”

  “I’ve crewed on a sailboat the last three summers.”

  “Good enough. Take the wheel while I change, will you?”

  Robin stepped forward to obey, suddenly conscious of the cramped space on the bridge. She caught her breath as he brushed against her but stood gripping the wheel firmly and staring straight ahead. She didn’t trust her voice enough to speak.

  For a moment, neither did Michael. He had, with an effort, managed to keep his mind off the lovely body he had stripped naked last night, but the tight confines of the bridge made her closeness and his surge of memories inevitable. She affected him like no woman he’d ever met before, both physically and emotionally. Emotionally, her unusual combination of toughness and vulnerability tugged at something inside him. Physically, he was all too aware of a desire for her more powerful than any he’d felt before, a hunger he could only just control.

  His arm still burned from the accidental contact with her breast, and his belly had knotted as if a fist had hit him there. He wanted to reach past her and turn off the engine, allow the boat to drift where it would while he took her below and … He shook off the thought with iron control.

  “Just keep her on course,” Michael muttered, and left.

  One of the things Robin knew about herself was that she was generally attracted to very strong men. She knew that—and she didn’t like it. At least twice during the past few years she had been briefly involved in relationships that had never gotten off the ground because she had quickly begun to resent the very strength that had first attracted her in a man.

  She was afraid it was happening again, and it couldn’t have been at a worse time. She didn’t have the emotional energy for it, even assuming Michael became attracted to her.

  “Another hero,” she muttered between gritted teeth, reminding herself. “He saved your life in the best tradition of heroes, and now he’s going to help you bury the bad guys. Great. Just great. Give him a medal, but don’t, for God’s sake, give him …” Your heart.

  It was a good piece of advice. Robin just hoped she could accept it.

  As the boat began nearing Miami, traffic on the water increased, and she forced herself to concentrate. She watched the course steadily and began drawing tight all the threads of self-control she could muster. She was afraid she’d need every edge she could get.

  Michael hesitated just outside the bridge when he returned, watching her while she couldn’t see him. She was handling the boat well, and he wasn’t concerned about that. What he was concerned about was his own willingness to involve her in a situation that promised to become even more dangerous before it was over. If he had any sense at all, he reminded himself, he’d make sure she remained in Miami when his boat headed back out to sea, probably on tomorrow morning’s tide. But he was somehow reluctant to abandon her.

  She had very likely been on the same yacht with Lisa; she had gone through much the same thing as Lisa; she was a link to Lisa. And that was all there was to it, he firmly told himself, and it accounted for his feeling that he couldn’t abandon her.

  She turned her head suddenly to look at him, green eyes vivid but shuttered against the creamy pale complexion of a true redhead, and he knew he was lying to himself. He wanted Robin, and that had nothing to do with Lisa. This was inside himself, a heavy ache that intensified with every passing hour. And he didn’t know how long he would be able to ignore it.

  “How long have you been there?” she asked, sounding rattled.

  “Just got here.” He stepped inside to take the wheel, consciously trying to avoid touching her—and in consequence touching her all too firmly. She moved a bit awkwardly to get hastily past him, and he heard a muttered “dammit” as she passed with her head bent.

  She felt it too, he realized, and that understanding made it more difficult than ever for him to control his desire.

  Michael took the wheel and said suddenly, “Look, Robin, this isn’t just a fun game you seem willing to p
lay, and if you’re with me, you’re as much a target as I am. If Sutton gets one look at me, we’re both probably dead.”

  Robin ignored that. She had taken in his change of clothing, noting the faded jeans and the T-shirt he now wore under his windbreaker. With forced calm she said, “If we’re going ashore in Miami, I haven’t any shoes.”

  He hesitated, then shrugged with a resigned sigh. “Go below and look in the locker by the cabin door. I think Lisa left a pair of running shoes and a windbreaker the last time she was aboard during her school vacation.”

  Robin escaped, thankful on two counts: that he wasn’t, apparently, going to order her to stay aboard once they were in the marina, and that she’d managed to utter a coherent sentence while her heart was still pounding from an unexpected and somewhat shocking physical reaction to him.

  She stood out on deck for a few moments to allow the breeze to cool her hot cheeks, urging herself to overcome this idiotic obsession with strong men before it destroyed her. Then she squared her shoulders and went below, emerging a little while later wearing a black windbreaker and running shoes.

  As she returned to the bridge, she spoke instantly, reluctant to allow any silence in which to think idiotic thoughts. “Did you say there was someone you needed to see in the city?”

  Michael didn’t look at her, but he nodded. “I’ve changed my mind about who, though,” he told her. “If Sutton’s still playing high-stakes poker, I know someone who just might have played against him.”

  “How could that help us?”

  “The name of Sutton’s yacht, if we’re lucky.”

  Robin frowned, trying to think. “But if you have contacts with any law enforcement officials, they could get the name of the yacht.” Then, before he could respond, she added, “Oh—no police. Right?”

  “Partly right. No police. But anyway, it’s doubtful Sutton registered the yacht in his own name. Extremely doubtful. Chances are, the police have no idea it’s his. Sutton’s a wanted man, and he wouldn’t take a risk that stupid.”

  “So the police couldn’t help. But how would this friend of yours know the yacht’s name?”

  Michael smiled slightly. “If I know Dane, he probably lost the yacht to Sutton in a poker game.”

  Robin blinked. “Really? I thought things like that only happened in the movies.”

  “With Dane, things like that happen every Saturday night. It’s not always yachts, of course.” He looked reflective. “I haven’t seen him in a couple of years. The count must be up to three or four by now.”

  “What are we counting?”

  “Fortunes. Dane’s made and spent several by now. ‘Made’ being a term not to be confused with ‘earned.’ ”

  Robin thought about that. “He didn’t earn his fortunes? Then how did he get them?”

  “Won part of them. Probably stole the rest; I’ve always suspected he’s a first-class cat burglar.”

  Robin thought about that. “Does this friend of yours help the police from time to time?”

  Michael’s smile widened. “Dane goes his own way. However, the intelligence community in this country is a relatively small one, and since Dane has the unique ability to unearth skeletons from locked closets, he sometimes has information available to certain interested parties.”

  “Like yourself?”

  “He’s never been able to beat me at poker. And I always cut a higher card. For some reason known best to himself, that makes him indebted to me.”

  Robin was growing more and more amused. “He doesn’t sound like a garden-variety informant.”

  “No. Oh, no. Dane’s one of a kind. A hundred or so years ago he would have been a pirate. Go back further, and he would have been a king.”

  “So in the modern-day world he’s a gambler.”

  “That’s one facet. An occasional word dropped in the right place is another. Maybe he’s a cat burglar. Maybe not. Maybe he’s rich today, or maybe he’s shooting craps for his next meal. With Dane, you just never know for sure.”

  It appeared that Dane was having an off week. They found him after several hours of Michael questioning some of the shadiest-looking people Robin had ever seen in the seediest part of the city. She watched it all with interested eyes, sticking close to Michael and keeping quiet. She was propositioned twice by passersby, both “gentlemen” retreating hastily after one hard look from Michael; she finally zipped up her windbreaker to hide the lack of a bra, adopted a slouch, and tried to go unnoticed.

  “It isn’t working,” Michael told her as they moved purposefully down the crowded sidewalk.

  “What?”

  He took her hand to guide her around a finely dressed pimp with an interested look on his face. Calmly Michael said, “Your attempt to look less attractive. So far I’ve had four offers for you. It must be those legs.”

  She glanced down at her long, bare legs, and swore softly. “I can’t help that,” she muttered. “The shorts were all I could find.” Then, despite herself, she asked curiously, “What did they offer?”

  Solemnly he replied, “The best was forty percent of your future income.”

  Robin didn’t know whether to laugh or swear. In the end she just shook her head, glancing aside at Michael to find him smiling a little. Highly conscious of his large, strong hand firmly holding hers, she hastily changed the subject. “Did you find out where Dane is?”

  Michael turned them right suddenly into an alley. “Here. I hope.” He led her down the dark alley for some twenty yards, then stopped at a battered wooden door that was the only opening in a sad brick wall.

  Robin looked at it doubtfully. “Do we knock?”

  “No. They’d think it was a raid.”

  She found herself giggling nervously but followed close behind as Michael released her hand, yanked the warped door open, and entered. They were in what looked like a cluttered storage room with boxes piled high, and made their way to a doorway that led to a dark, narrow hall.

  After that Robin lost track of direction in a maze of hallways, all dark and empty. They climbed two flights of stairs and finally wound up at the end of yet another dark hallway and before another warped wooden door. This time Michael knocked with what was obviously a rhythmical signal.

  There were several moments of silence, and it wasn’t until Robin felt the unsettling sensation of being watched that she noticed the tiny peephole in the door. When the door was audibly unlocked and pulled open, she followed Michael into what felt distinctly like a set for a grade B movie.

  It was a small room, thick with cigarette and cigar smoke, and dark except for the single shaded light hanging low over a round table in the center. Half a dozen men were grouped around the table seated in folding chairs, all in their shirtsleeves. With the exception of one younger man, they were middle-aged. There was a profusion of glittering diamond rings, unidentifiable drinks in thick tumblers, and several overflowing ashtrays.

  There was also a pile of money in the center of the table, and none of the bills was less than a hundred.

  The man who had let them in relocked the door in silence and returned to the table, and out of the dimness surrounding the low circle of light a deep, beautiful voice spoke sadly.

  “Michael, your timing is lousy.”

  Robin couldn’t see the man’s face very well from where she was standing beside Michael, but she thought he was younger than the rest, and he was exquisitely dressed in white trousers and vest and neatly knotted tie. He was in his shirtsleeves, with his suit jacket over the back of his chair, and his hands were beautifully long-fingered and graceful holding the cards.

  “Finish the hand,” Michael said. “Then we have to talk, Dane.”

  Robin stood beside him in the shadows near the wall, listening silently as the men continued playing, talking in low voices as the pile of money in the center of the table grew. It was another half hour before the hand finally ended, and it had come down to just two players: Dane and an unnamed man with about six diamond rings and a ha
rsh voice.

  “Four of a kind,” the harsh voice said, laying down four nines.

  There was a beat of silence, and then Dane sighed and stacked his cards neatly facedown before him. “My luck,” he said mournfully, “seems to have deserted me today.”

  With no sign of triumph the winner raked in his money, and the other men gathered their belongings. In a loose group they moved to the door, escorted by Dane, and within moments were gone. Dane crossed the room and snapped up the three shades at the windows and the small room was abruptly flooded with light.

  “It better be important,” he said cheerfully to Michael.

  Robin made her way to the table and sank down in the chair Dane had recently vacated, staring at him. He was a man women would always stare at, she acknowledged silently to herself, feeling a bit numb. He was absurdly young to have made and lost several fortunes, being somewhere in his mid-thirties, and … God, the man was beautiful.

  His size alone made him impressive, since he was easily six and a half feet tall with shoulders to match, and he was lean-waisted and slim-hipped. He looked athletic yet moved with lazy grace as if he couldn’t be bothered to stir himself enough to move quickly. His thick, shining hair was black as a raven’s wing. And in a lean, tanned face with every feature perfect, his eyes were a striking violet. Robin had never before seen such laughing eyes so vividly filled with life.

  “It is important,” Michael was saying, taking a seat to Robin’s left and watching the other man sit across from him. “This is Robin Stuart. Robin, Dane Prescott.”

  “Hello, Robin,” Dane said.

  “Hi,” she managed weakly, and tore her gaze away to look down at the cards he had left stacked on the table. She picked up the cards and looked at them, but she had only a moment before he took them from her gently and smoothly as he was gathering the rest from the table.

  “What’s up?” he asked Michael.

  “Ever play cards with Edward Sutton?”

  Dane shuffled the deck idly, looking at Michael with a slight smile. Without speaking, he placed the deck facedown between them. Michael reached out and cut the cards, producing the king of spades faceup. Dane cut and got a jack. He sighed.