She whipped her fingers away from under his and the spark ignited in her eyes. “How do you know what I’ll love?”
“A cruise through the most beautiful waters on earth. Six nights in a three-thousand-dollar suite with private valet service. The chance to whip up some crème brûlée with your hero Arnot. The opportunity to advance your cause, or at least understand it.” He put his hand right back on hers, teasing her with a grin. “And I’ll be there. Now, what’s not to love?”
In spite of herself, she laughed. A throaty, honest laugh that was as attractive as her rare smiles. “You could lure Satan out of hell, you know that?”
He laughed right back. Damn, she made him feel good. Good and whole and happy to be alive. He’d almost forgotten what that felt like.
6
T hree days later, Ava experienced Nirvana.
It had taken very little convincing for her to agree. While they were still at Au Port, Dane had whispered in her ear that they could do a little “investigating” on board. He hadn’t found the answers he needed yet to the questions she’d posed the night before. He felt certain he could find out more—if indeed there was anything to find out—by being on a ship and examining it and the staff at work.
She wasn’t certain if it was his words or the shower of sparks caused by his breath in her ear that sealed the deal. She tried not to think about it.
In the two days that passed, they had talked a few times. Dane called her at the hotel to finalize details of the trip. When she demanded to know if he’d talked to Genevieve, he said she’d flown off the island to make last-minute arrangements for the Nirvana cruise, but he promised he would talk to her before they left. And to some of the other Utopians on the ship. She believed him. She had no choice.
At the hotel, Grayson Boyd conveniently ran into her twice a day. Far more disturbing, she’d found tiny clues that gave her the distinct feeling that someone had been in her room when she’d been out. Finding nothing missing, she’d tried to dismiss the unnerving sensation it caused but double-locked her door at night and checked the placement of her personal belongings every time she entered the room.
But the invasion of her privacy was just the incentive she needed to rationalize taking a cruise on Nirvana. Plus the fact that she could meet some more of the victims’ families. One of those victims was “a boy sent to do a man’s job” in Genevieve’s words. The ship seemed like the most likely place to get some answers, so she agreed to go.
She had checked in with Mama and Dominic, purposely keeping her updates vague but warning her father not to talk to any media people and expressing her doubts as to the validity of the lawsuit. He had mumbled something about lawyers, and when he got off the line, Mama had whispered that he’d been having a very hard time since Ava left. Her mother’s voice had sounded strained and exhausted and not too thrilled that Ava couldn’t call for a few days, since she’d be leaving to meet other family members on the islands.
Nirvana, she discovered as a cabin steward escorted her to her suite, was aptly named. Thought not as large as Valhalla, it rivaled the other sailing ship in luxury and appointments. The decor captured the Edwardian era, with polished woods and plush fabrics. Where Valhalla had been contemporary and chic, Nirvana epitomized old European elegance. Ava loved it.
Nothing on the ship, however, prepared her for the Owner’s Suite. She didn’t even try to hide her gasp when the steward opened the door. The sitting room and dining room combination opened to a private deck overlooking the endless blue water, with rich, inviting furnishings. Beyond it, she found a spacious bedroom with a four-poster bed laden with layers of lavish white-on-white bedclothes. A marble and glass bathroom with an oversize Jacuzzi tub in the middle of it offered another breathtaking view of the water out another set of sliding glass doors.
She tried to smother her guilt. She was supposed to be on a mission seeking retribution for Marco’s death and instead she’d wound up on some kind of dream vacation.
“Is everything suitable, Miss Santori?” the young man asked with all the formality the rooms deserved.
Ava nearly laughed out loud. “Suitable is one way to describe it.” She walked across the Oriental rug toward a huge bouquet of white roses on the coffee table, their potent fragrance drawing her. A card lay next to the vase.
Vikings believed that the color white brought calm seas and fruitful journeys. I wish you both. Dane.
She nearly swayed, but that could have been the rocking of the ship, she told herself. Thanking the steward with a generous tip, Ava wandered through the palatial rooms like a child in a candy store. She ran her fingers along the carved wood of the bedpost and fingered the feather-light silk comforter, afraid to sit on such a work of art. Why did he do this for her? He must really want to keep an eye on her. Maybe he thought he could buy her trust.
The thought was interrupted as Cassie called to her from the sitting room. “You in here, luv, or have you already drawn a bath?”
Ava came around the corner to see Cassie waving a plastic card key. “I’ve got access to every cabin. So I happen to know that no one else on this ship, no matter who they are, has accommodations like this.”
“Cassie.” Ava exhaled a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “It’s amazing. I’m stunned. Out of my league!”
Cassie laughed and spun a three-sixty, her arms extended. “Ah, money. Nothing like it, don’t you think?” Then she nonchalantly picked up the card on the coffee table.
“Mmmmm.” She fanned herself with it after glancing at the words. “Turning up the heat, isn’t he?”
Ava’s stomach did an unexpected flip. “What do you mean?”
“Ava. I know you’re a nice Catholic girl from Boston. But, hon, I assume you’ve been, uh, courted before.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
Cassie smiled and flopped onto the cream silk davenport, her right hand absently rubbing her tummy. “Once he’s got a lady in his sights, very few escape unscathed.”
Ava stared at her. “You can’t be serious. I am hardly Dane Erikson’s type.”
“Not his type? Look at you! You’re all breasts and hair. Gorgeous eyes and creamy skin. Sweetie, you underestimate yourself.” Cassie leaned forward and set the card at a jaunty angle in the flower arrangement. “Don’t underestimate him, though. That’s free advice.”
Ava dropped onto the chair across from Cassie, the swaying from the ship getting to her again.
“Stop it, Cassie. He’s either being kind because I’m Marco’s sister or trying to make me forget why I came here in the first place.”
Cassie’s frown made Ava drop the second option and focus on the first. “You both are being extremely kind to me. Considering my history with Marco…”
“Forget it, Ava. Marco’s gone, and I don’t see any good reason to carry grudges. My baby needs family, regardless of the past. You never have to question that again.”
Ava studied the sweet freckled face of Cassie Sebring and wished to God that her brother had married this girl. What a breath of fresh air she’d have brought to the Santori family.
“Thank you, Cassie.”
“Don’t mention it. And don’t mention my offering you free advice to Dane. He’s never liked me poking in his personal life.”
“I won’t. I appreciate what you’re saying. But I’m certain this”—Ava held out her hands to indicate the luxurious room—“has more to do with his need to have me on his side than attraction.”
“Believe that if you want, luv. But from what I’ve seen, they don’t know what hit ’em until it’s over.” She rolled her eyes. “And it’s always over eventually with him.”
She stood before Ava could speak.
“I’ve gotta go. I forgot I’m working.” At the door, Cassie turned and winked at Ava, who hadn’t yet found the legs to stand. “Enjoy the ride, luv. Call me if you need towels or…anything.”
Ava could swear she heard Cassie giggle as the door closed. Her words—her
free advice—rang in her head. She went to the sliding doors for another view of the water and harbor but saw her own reflection in the blue glass. All breasts and hair. Yeah, but they went out in the eighties.
Ava refused to think of the remote possibility that Dane Erikson had taken an interest in her. She’d never attracted—or even tried to attract—a man like that. Her boyfriends were salt-of-the-earth North End kids, with loud families and louder kitchens. They were also few and far between, and not one could compete with the restaurant for her attention. A fact that, as she approached her thirtieth birthday, was beginning to worry her mother.
She studied the crystalline Caribbean waters and wondered again what motivated Dane. She had no doubt why he was showering her with luxury and roses. A pending lawsuit…and his possible involvement in the loss of that ship. Those were mighty strong motivators. He wasn’t seriously attracted to her. That was out of the realm of reality.
“I can’t imagine why those inventory logs are gone,” Genevieve said, scrolling through the lists of documents on her computer to find something they both knew wasn’t there. Dane stood behind her desk and noticed her free hand fiddle with a few strands of hair.
Genevieve was a cool liar, but he’d only realized it recently. Except for her schoolgirl crush on him, which she’d tried to hide from him since she literally was a schoolgirl, he’d believed her to be honest. He demanded truthfulness from everyone and she had never let him down. Then, about six months ago, light-headed from wine on a cruise they were both supervising, Genevieve had all but taken her clothes off in his suite when they were supposed to be discussing how to handle a last-minute booking change from a passenger.
He’d gently buttoned her blouse and walked her back to her own suite. From then on, she had been more distant and cool. They had put the incident behind them—at least, he had—and she continued her excellent work of handling marketing and so many aspects of operations. Until now.
“Someone in John Bronder’s office must have thought we didn’t need them anymore,” she said. “Maybe when we started taking Paradisio off all the marketing materials last week.”
Dane knew no one in his senior purser’s department would do something so stupid, or care what marketing materials were being altered.
She abandoned the keyboard and turned her chair to meet his direct gaze. “I can check with him. Do you need them for the insurance, Dane?”
“Nope. I just want to see them.” He sat down in the chair opposite her and extended his long legs, clad in his usual khaki shorts and deck shoes. “I can understand why previous records might be gone, but why would anyone destroy the inventory from the last cruise? We’re still conducting an official search.”
“We are?” She seemed surprised. “I thought it ended formally at the three-week mark. That’s why we were able to finally hold the service. That’s why we started sailing again.”
“The Coast Guard search ends, that’s true. But Utopia can fund a private search as long as we like.”
“Dane.” She shook her head and pursed her lips in pity. “It’s just extending the heartache. You’re not going to find anything.”
Or is it that you don’t want me to find anything?
“I need your opinion on something.” He knew he wouldn’t get anywhere with direct confrontation. He’d do better to play up her role as his confidante, his unofficial partner, as he’d overheard her say. “How do you think everyone is doing? Are they handling it? Anybody seem ready to jump ship? I know you’re close with so many Utopians.”
“Everything will be fine, Dane.” She adeptly ignored the question, something he realized she’d done a lot lately. “I know you’re worried about the lawsuit. It’s a nuisance, but I think we’re going to get through this. There will be a few who smell easy money. There always are in situations like this.” She paused and frowned a bit. “Like Marco’s sister. But she’s not one of us, so she doesn’t count.”
Oh, she counts all right. “I’m not worried about the lawsuit, Gen. I’m worried about my people.”
“I understand. I think everyone is anxious to get back to normal.” She picked up a paper on her desk. “Especially Arnot. He’s ordering more exotic delights. I finalized a host of new vendors at my meetings this week so we’ll be able to keep him happy for a while.”
He let her change the subject and rattle on about the chef’s insistence on using only fleur de sel, the hand-harvested sea salt that cost an ungodly fifty-six dollars a pound.
“It really does add a distinct flavor to the food, Dane. You know it’s hand-skimmed from the sea,” she explained.
“At that price, it should be sucked out by mermaids.”
She laughed, clearly relieved. “He doesn’t care about cost, Dane. He’s obsessed with quality.”
Genevieve wasn’t going to give an inch. Dane stood, anxious to study some files that Claire had located and then get to the ship. He picked up the list of new vendors she still held, their hands grazing briefly. “Can I keep this?”
The faintest rose tint brightened her prominent cheekbones. “Of course.”
He hated having that effect on her. “By the way, I’m taking this next cruise, so I’ll be gone awhile. You know how to reach me.”
A shadow crossed her face, but she held her gray eyes steady. “Yes. I saw that you booked the Owner’s Suite.”
“Actually, I took a deluxe on the main deck. I put Ava Santori in the Owner’s Suite.”
Her smile was quick, a little too quick. She already knew that, he thought. “An excellent way to keep her away from the lawyers, the press, and the Paradisio families. Good idea.”
He made no attempt to dissuade her from that line of thinking, and she spun her chair around to face the computer before he could respond.
“Have a good trip.” Her voice was flat. He’d heard it before and always attributed it to a mild case of jealousy. But, today, he wondered if he understood Genevieve at all.
Ava decided to explore the ship as soon as she unpacked. She kept telling herself she hadn’t sold out and abandoned her mission in St. Barts. She could learn more on a ship than lounging around the island. Who knew? Maybe she’d get lucky and run into Genevieve and her Spanish friend again.
She wandered the teak decks and watched the crewmen hustle about. More and more passengers were arriving by the launches, beautiful, rich people ready to start their week in paradise. Restless with all the elegance around her, Ava followed her instincts and found the galley. Maurice Arnot’s welcoming hug warmed her, and he dangled an apron in front of her to convince her to tackle a tapenade for the reception.
“You would trust me? Right off the street?” She waved him off. “I’m sure you have qualified help everywhere.”
“We are shorthanded. Come now, cherie. It’s olives, garlic, oregano, and capers. Italian staples. Show me what you can do.”
She took the apron and tied the strings around her waist with a laugh. “I love a challenge.”
“Bien, bien. Philippe!” He signaled to another sous-chef who responded with lightning speed, as they all did. “Come and show Mademoiselle Santori the side bar, s’il vous plait.” He grinned at her. “I’ll be back to check on you, my friend.”
Ava remembered Philippe Basille from the attorney’s meeting. He’d lost his cousin on Paradisio. Maybe this was a chance to chat about it.
“Hello, Ava.” He put out a friendly hand. “Welcome to Nirvana.”
“Thank you, Philippe. Looks like I’ve been recruited.”
“Good. We need the help.” He touched his clipped mustache in thought. “The tapenade, eh? Let me show you into the cold storeroom and then you can work right here.”
“Sounds good.”
She followed him around the galley, not nearly as spacious as Valhalla’s but still modern and well equipped. In a cold storage room, he showed her supplies and answered her many questions about how they prepared for each cruise.
“Philippe! Vite!”
A
t Maurice’s voice, Philippe jumped. “I’ll be right back.”
“That’s okay, I’ll figure it out.”
Ava found at least fifteen different kinds of rare Italian and Greek olives and took a minute to marvel at the quality and quantity. She spent five more minutes in the caper section, amazed that they had some unusual types that she hadn’t seen since cooking school.
She still needed some spices. They must be in a dry goods storeroom. Ava moved naturally through the galley to the next door, far more at home here than among the jet-setters above deck. In the dim light of the storage room, she picked through the spice shelves. It was beautifully organized, alphabetically arranged the way she loved it, the way she’d been taught. But no oregano. She turned to the crates on the floor, some unopened, and she bent to examine them.
Blinding light filled the room and she jumped.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be cooking.” Phillipe stood near the light switch, a surprised look on his face. “What are you doing?”
“This is cooking.” She grinned. “I’m finding oregano.”
He took her hand and gently tugged her up. “That’s why we hire galley hands, Ava. So we can do the part that takes the brains, not dig through cartons like common kitchen crew. I’ll send someone for it.”
He guided her back to the stainless counter where Maurice worked. “A true Italian girl. Only wants the oregano.”
Maurice gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Just have fun, cherie, and make me a tapenade as beautiful as you are. Then you must go up to the main deck so you don’t miss the party when we set sail.”
She nodded. “I will, Chef. I hear it’s quite the scene.”
“Who knows?” He shrugged with mock misery. “The Viking keeps me down here all the time.”
Ava and Philippe shared a smile at Maurice’s joke and she lost the next hour chatting with him and creating her best tapenade.
The magical combination of music, wind, and laughter floated over the main deck as Nirvana’s elegant guests turned out to watch the ship set sail as the sun dropped into sapphire seas. Dane enjoyed letting the captain and crew show their stuff to the responsive crowd. Leaning back against a rail, he watched them work but kept an eye on the aft stairs until a brilliant, eye-catching color sent a warning flash to his brain. And other parts.
Tropical Getaway Page 9
