by Dani Pettrey
“Jake says we’re good to go,” Kayden said with the trace of indifference that lingered whenever she spoke of Jake.
“Good, then I know it’ll be done right.” It was true, and it allowed him a jab at his sister.
“Very funny. We both know I’m in charge of details,” she said.
And completely skeptical about Jake’s ability, though the man had never proven anything less than stellar in his work since coming on board with LFA nearly three years ago.
“Trust me, we all know what a boss you are.” Piper nudged her sister with a smirk.
“Just like we all know what a mom you are.” Kayden nudged back.
“I just want to make sure everyone is taken care of,” Piper huffed.
“So do I,” Kayden said. “Just in a different way.”
“You’re both mother hens, and I’m fleeing the coop.” Gage bounded down the porch steps with a grin.
“Just remember if it hadn’t been for these mother hens, you’d have been without socks for the duration of the cruise,” Kayden called after him.
He tried to muster a retort, but she was right. It was a highly annoying habit.
“Darcy St. James, is that you?”
The sound of Landon’s voice filled her with relief. She turned and smiled at the deputy—tall, chestnut brown hair, and every bit as ruggedly handsome as she remembered.
“What are you doing back in this neck of the woods?”
“Another investigation.”
“Here I was hoping you’d come back to visit.”
“I wish that were the case.”
“Come on into my office.” He signaled for her to follow. Deputy Earl Hansen eyed her from the front desk, clearly trying to place where he recognized her from.
She followed Landon down the hall to his office on the left. He shut the door after them and gestured to the open chair. “Take a seat.”
“Thanks.” She sat as Landon stepped around the black metal desk and sank into his swivel chair.
“How can I help you?”
She quickly brought him up to speed. “It’s probably nothing. The ship is large—well, fairly large—and Abby . . . When her scent fixes on something . . . It’s just the timing of a woman going overboard and my not being able to find Abby . . .” She was rambling. She always rambled when nervous.
Landon leaned forward. “What cruise ship did you say?”
“The Bering. Why?”
He sat back, shaking his head with a grin. “You’re not going to believe this, but Gage is starting work on the Bering today.”
“What?” Gage McKenna on the same cruise ship as her?
“Kayden got this idea a couple seasons back about staffing an excursion leader on the ship, so once they dock they can get on with the excursion quicker. The prep, safety instructions, and paperwork are all done on the ship ahead of time.”
“I’ve seen different themes like that on cruises—golf, photography, wine . . .”
“Exactly. That’s what gave Kayden the idea in the first place. Then it was simply a matter of getting a cruise line to give the idea a shot. Destiny Cruise Line agreed and slotted them on their signature Alaskan ship, the Bering, for their photo-and-adventure cruise. Gage is in charge of adventure activities aboard the ship and several overnight excursions while they’re docked.”
“So he’ll be on the ship today?” She tried to ignore how her heart quickened at the thought of seeing him again.
Landon nodded. “What are the chances?”
Slim to none, which meant God was involved. But why? Why Gage? He didn’t want anything to do with Him.
Though, it would be nice to have at least one friendly face on board—that is, if Gage chose to be friendly. The two of them were always setting off sparks. It was simply a matter of what kind—intense attraction or WWIII. Only time would tell.
“I’ll give Kodiak Hospital a call.” Landon lifted the receiver. “I just need Abby’s full name.”
“Her real name is Abigail Tritt, though she’s always gone by Abby. But she was using the name Abby Walsh.”
“Okay, I’ll give them a quick call while you’re here, see if we can’t get her on the phone for you.”
“That’d be great.” But the gnawing in her gut said it wasn’t going to happen. She simply couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very off.
She fidgeted with her purse strap while Landon placed the call. Her hand stilled when his face fell and then tightened around the strap as confusion filled his handsome features.
“What do you mean no one was brought in after falling overboard last night?
“Are you certain?
“What about for near-drowning? Maybe the cruise staff tried to downplay the fact she’d fallen overboard.
“The records show that no young woman was brought in last night?
“Can you check with the doc on call last night just to be sure? Thanks. You can ring me back at the station.” He hung up and looked at Darcy.
“I heard.” Exactly what she’d feared.
“Maybe they took her somewhere else.”
“They didn’t bring her back to the ship’s clinic, and Kodiak was the nearest hospital.”
“The nurse I spoke with wasn’t on duty last night. She was just going by the computer. She’s going to check with the crew from last night’s shift and get back with me. I’ll get word to you if I hear anything.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else I can do?”
“Not at this point.”
“So what next?”
“I show up at the excursion meeting and pray Abby is there.”
5
Gage followed Employee Liaison Theodora Mullins to the Caribou meeting room. “The excursion team has use of this room for the next hour. That should give you plenty of time to coordinate with the team.”
“The team?”
“The Bering caters to a luxury crowd. If they are going camping, they’ll want to do it in style—which is why our activities director, in conjunction with our usual excursion liaison, has coordinated a support team for you.”
“Last Frontier Adventures provides a complete land support team that will be meeting the Bering at each excursion port.”
“For the adventure portion, yes. I’m referring to your camping support team.”
You pitched a tent and made some grub. How much support was required?
“You’ll be assigned a medic.”
“We’re all first-aid certified.”
“Yes, but Clint Walker is also a certified personal trainer and massage therapist. He can assist the passengers with any aches and strains they may encounter after their day of roughing it.”
He didn’t particularly care for the tone Mullins used when talking about his living.
“You will also have a gourmet chef and two activities engineers escorting you.”
“A gourmet chef?” These people really did travel in style.
“Yes. Unfortunately we’ve had a recent shift in our excursion support team,” she said, rounding the bend.
“Shift?” Gage asked with hesitation as he spotted the meeting room at the end of the corridor. A carved scene of a caribou surrounded by evergreens graced the wooden door.
“Our excursion chef and one of our activities engineers have recently departed the Bering. Didn’t even bother giving proper notice . . .” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “But no matter. Replacements have already been found. Oh, and I almost forgot . . .” she said, opening the door. “You’ll have a reporter joining you.”
“A reporter. For wha—?” He took a step into the room and froze. Darcy St. James.
She stood, and his heart seized, his mouth going dry. It can’t be. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m covering the exciting new hands-on adventure angle for the Bering.”
Of all the reporters in all the world . . .
Mullins looked between the two. “You two know each other?”<
br />
“We—” he began.
“I covered the Midnight Sun Extreme Freeride Competition in his hometown this winter,” Darcy cut in.
There’d been so much more. “And—”
“And”—she thrust out her hand—“it’s great to see you again, Gage.”
He cocked his head. What was going on? Why was she so exuberant, and why did she keep cutting him off? He clasped her hand in his, trying to ignore the softness of her skin.
She pulled her hand back and shoved it in her pants pocket.
“Now that we’re all caught up . . .” Mullins pushed a red folder toward each of them and shifted her attention to the door. Two men entered—both tall and fairly athletic in build. “Ted, have you brought George up to speed?”
Ted nodded. “We’re good to go.”
“Wonderful.” She turned to Gage. “These are the activities engineers I was telling you about. Ted Norris has been with us since the Bering first launched, and George Cooper is joining us for the first time, just like you.” Turning to Ted and George, she waved toward Gage. “This is Gage McKenna.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Gage shook each man’s hand in turn.
Mullins glanced at the clock over the door and frowned. “Looks like Clint is late, as usual. Let’s get started. Ted, you can catch him up.”
Ted settled into his seat with a nod.
Mullins tugged the hem of her navy blue jacket and began. “As you all know, this is a new venture for the Bering. One that a lot of weight is resting on. It’s no secret that the Bering hasn’t been performing at peak levels. Our numbers are down, and headquarters believes these hands-on adventure experiences are the answer to drawing in a new, vibrant crowd and thereby boosting our numbers. To that end, they have hired Last Frontier Adventures to handle the kayak and adventure excursions. Alaskan Adventure, our normal provider, will still be outfitting and running the photography excursions, as well as providing support personnel.”
The door opened and another man entered. He was tall like the other two, but much more muscular. Had to be the personal trainer.
“Clint . . .” Mullins rested her hand on her hip, the motion exposing the gold braided belt at her thick waist. “So nice of you to join us.”
“I was catching Phillip up on how the excursions run.” He looked over his shoulder at the robust man trailing behind.
“Phillip,” Mullins said as the squat man entered, “thank you for being so flexible. Trent has assured me he’ll have a replacement on board by the next cruise.”
“It’s no problem.” Phillip plopped into the first open seat. “Might actually be fun to spend some time outdoors.”
Clint paused beside Darcy’s chair and smiled. “And, who do we have here?”
“This is Darcy St. James,” Mullins said. “She’s a reporter.”
“Journalist,” Darcy corrected.
Gage arched a brow.
“Clint Walker, at your service.” Clint slid into the open seat beside her. “A journalist with who?”
“I freelance. Primarily with adventure magazines like Ski Times, Adventure World . . .”
“Ms. James will be accompanying you all on the adventure excursions,” Mullins explained. “She’ll be giving a firsthand account of what future passengers can experience and enjoy. Headquarters thought it would be great for publicity.”
“Wonderful.” Clint smiled at Darcy in a way that made Gage uneasy. “Looking forward to getting to know you better.”
Darcy smiled. “You too.”
“Well, now that we’re all here . . . ” Mullins said, reaching for the stack of papers on the table in front of her, “let’s proceed.”
“All here?” Darcy tilted her head, a mixture of confusion and worry clouding her vivid blue eyes.
Gage had forgotten how startlingly beautiful she was.
“I briefly met the excursion chef when I came aboard yesterday. Abby . . . I believe,” Darcy said, her tone relaxed—a stark contrast to the brief flash of worry he’d seen in her eyes but a moment ago. “She isn’t here yet.”
Mullins lifted the stack of papers. “Ms. Walsh has decided to leave Destiny’s employment. Phillip here”—she indicated the robust man with a lift of her chin—“will be taking over her role as excursion chef until a full-time replacement can be found.”
“Left?” Darcy frowned. “But I just saw her yesterday. I was supposed to interview her last night, but she never showed.”
“It was a very recent decision.” Mullins tapped the stack of papers against the table, getting them perfectly in line. “Phillip has graciously agreed to transition from the ship kitchen to the excursions for the time being, so we’re all set.”
Darcy shifted forward, leaning toward Mullins across the oval table. “May I ask why Ms. Walsh left?”
Mullins chuckled with a shake of her bottle-red head. “You’re definitely a journalist.” The other men joined in her laughter.
Darcy smiled, but Gage didn’t miss the tightness edging her mouth. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the woman who went overboard last night, does it?”
“Someone fell overboard?” Gage asked, his brows arching. Not a great start. This was supposed to be the trip that erased Darcy from his mind, that gave his heart a break and let him immerse himself in ten days of full-on adventure. If some woman had gone overboard . . . His mind flashed back to the rapids and Tommy Moore’s lifeless form.
“The woman who fell overboard is perfectly fine,” Mullins said with utmost confidence.
“Yes, but was it her?” Darcy pressed. “Is that why Ms. Walsh isn’t here?”
Mullins’ shoulders squared. “Like I said, Ms. Walsh decided to leave Destiny’s employ, and that is all you need to know.”
Darcy opened her mouth, but Mullins held up a hand. “I realize you are a journalist and overly curious by nature, but who went overboard has nothing to do with the job we hired you to do. I suggest you focus on the task at hand. The first excursion heads out bright and early tomorrow morning, and we have plenty of items to go over.” Without giving Darcy a chance to respond, she continued, “Now if everyone will turn to the first page of your orientation glossary, you will see the activities and excursion schedule for this cruise.”
Darcy didn’t hear another word Mullins said. Exhaustion eroded her focus, and concern for Abby’s safety consumed her thoughts. Either Abby had fallen overboard or she’d gone missing by some other means—in any case, they were covering up the truth with this “decided to leave” story. There was no way Abby would call her in to help with an undercover investigation and then just take off. Something had happened to Abby.
Darcy had a difficult decision to make and precious little time to make it. She could stay on the ship and try to continue Abby’s investigation with what little she knew about it, or she could get off and hope to track Abby on her own.
She knew the prudent course was to stay on board, to track Abby by her last whereabouts, by following the story she’d been working. If she got off the ship, she could completely lose the trail.
If Abby had fallen overboard and was safely recovering at Kodiak Hospital, she’d want Darcy to continue and would find a way to get word to her. On the other hand, if something sinister had happened to Abby, the people responsible were on the Bering, and that made her decision clear. She needed to stay the course.
Darcy shifted, trying to ignore Gage’s gaze resting on her. He was scrutinizing her. He sensed more was happening than she let on. She could see it in his stare, read it in the tautness of his broad shoulders.
She shifted. Her real intentions aboard the Bering were none of his business. As far as he was concerned, she’d come to report on the adventures and was curious about a missing excursion chef. The fact that the hunger of the hunt, the urge to dig, was nipping at her heels once again could remain her secret. He’d only judge her for it. He’d made it abundantly clear when they met last winter in Yancey that he loathed what she did for a livin
g—loathed the lies reporters told, loathed anyone fake or overly ambitious—and after meeting his ex, she understood why.
Of course, she’d tried explaining she was different, but in the end, it had taken more than words. Finally, throughout the murder investigation, when they’d awkwardly been paired to work together, she’d begun to prove she truly was different, that she had morals and that there were lines she refused to cross, even if it meant her job. But now . . .
She stiffened. Nothing had changed. She still had lines she wouldn’t cross. If he was too bullheaded to see that . . .
She exhaled. She was getting ahead of herself. Gage hadn’t said a word, and already he had her twisted in knots. How did he do that? And why did she care when he hadn’t even bothered to pick up the phone in five months?
“All right,” Mullins said, slipping the papers back into her leather attaché case. “I think that covers everything. Any questions?”
6
Darcy had barely made it around the corner when Gage’s hand clasped lightly on her arm. His palms were calloused—no doubt from his daily kayak rides. But his touch felt incredible all the same. “We need to talk.”
Pulling her thoughts from the warm, innately protective touch of his skin on hers, she glanced around, her gaze fixing on Mullins, Ted, and George headed in their direction. “Fine, but not here.” She spotted the stairwell door out of the corner of her eye and moved toward it. Tugging Gage inside, she shut the door quietly behind them. With every inch blanketed in a dull grayish-white—like a dirty blank canvas long neglected—it was the only space on the ship she’d seen devoid of cheery color.
“I knew it,” he blurted. “You’re on a case, aren’t you?”
“Shhh,” she hissed, stepping to the metal rail. Leaning over, she glanced up and down, and relief filled her at finding no one present. She spun back to Gage, a mix of irritation and attraction heating her limbs. “Do you think you could tone it down a bit?”
Gage leaned against the wall, one knee bent, the sole of his Merrell boots braced against the textured concrete. “I thought you gave up undercover reporting.” Disapproval clung to his tone.
