“He’ll call every time. He always does. It doesn’t matter if he has nothing more than a pair of twos in his hand—if you’re staying in, so is he. He doesn’t like to back down from a challenge. He thinks it makes him look weak.”
Riker’s ire is now full-blown interest. “How do you know this?”
“Daddy plays against him all the time. He likes to know all the latest methods for cheating at cards, and there’s no better way to stay current than to study what Two-Finger is up to.”
Riker opens his mouth to continue this line of questioning, but I’ve got a few queries of my own. Two-Finger and Johnny Francis seem to share a few too many unappealing characteristics for my peace of mind. “What else does Daddy know about him?” I ask.
“Oh, loads of things. He says Tommy is more like a snake than a man, but good luck proving anything against him. He always covers his tracks.”
With that, my suspicion that the two men might be one and the same grows, but Riker has other concerns.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” he growls.
Lola is instantly contrite. “Oh, dear. Was I not supposed to?” She clutches his arm. “I thought everyone knew about Two-Finger’s love of cheating. It’s not great news, but if anyone can beat him, it’s you. I just know it.”
Tara chooses that moment to join our party. A strange expression settles over her face as she notices her boyfriend being soothed by another woman. I take note of it with a sinking heart. Whereas Tara is sharp and cunning and wields her sex appeal like a knife, Lola is sweet and trusting and as unaware of her charm as a kitten. There aren’t a lot of women who could incite my stepmother to jealousy, but I imagine Lola is one of them. Artless innocence is the one thing she’ll never have a chance of competing against.
“How’d it go?” I ask, more out of an attempt to save Lola from Tara’s anger than any real interest.
Tara shakes herself off and turns her attention to me. “It could have been worse. I broke my losing streak there toward the end, but I’m still far enough behind that I’ll have to make up a lot of ground tomorrow. You?”
I shake my head. “Horrible. Eden has it out for me.”
“I’m not surprised. You’ll want to watch out for that one. She’s been asking a lot of questions about you.”
“Questions?” I don’t like the sound of that. Questions lead to answers, which could lead to Grant. “What kind of questions? And who has she been asking?”
“The usual—who you hang out with, what motivates you, why you refuse to act like a normal thief who just takes things and then moves on with her life.” She shrugs. “I think she might try to bribe you into taking the tiara. Don’t do it for less than ten million. She’s not trustworthy.”
“Thank you for that super helpful tip,” I say. Trustworthiness isn’t an adjective I’d apply to most of the people on this boat—Tara included. “Anything else you’d like to inform me of? The color of the sky? My own middle name?”
Tara tactfully ignores me, but Lola giggles. It’s nice to know at least one of my friends finds me amusing.
“So what’s the plan now?” I ask. I know that the answer isn’t all of us should quietly return to our rooms and contemplate the day’s events, but I cross my fingers anyway.
“Observation deck. Alcohol. Party.” Tara rattles off her plans with fearful efficiency. “The night is young, and so are you, my dear. If you want to keep up your reputation as the great Penelope Blue, you’re going to need to put in more effort than this. There’s already talk of your dismal failures at the tables today. People are starting to wonder if you made up most of your successes.”
“I was never the one—” I begin, but there’s no use arguing. Everyone is making plans to change and grab a bite to eat before the festivities begin.
Since I doubt my husband will miss the opportunity to present himself in such an open, crowded, dangerous place as a party full of drunk criminals, I resign myself to going along. One of us, at least, needs to be acting like the responsible adult in this situation.
I just really wish it didn’t have to be me.
14
The Threat
By the time we arrive on the observation deck, the party is in full swing. From afar, I’m sure it looks like a dream—strings of twinkle lights sparkling underneath the darkening sky, men and women dressed to impress, laughter and the clink of free-flowing alcohol lowering inhibitions. From up close, however, it feels more like mass hysteria. Diversions aboard the Shady Lady are scarce enough that it seems everyone came out for a chance to mingle.
I can’t help but wonder if this is yet another part of Peter Sanchez’s master plan—to keep us all where he can see us, corralling us like cattle from one entertainment to the next.
I’m about to declare my intention to buck the herd and go back to the room when Lola’s breathless voice reaches my ears.
“Oh, isn’t it lovely?” she asks, making me feel like a perfect ogre. “It’s so nice to see everyone relaxing and enjoying themselves after a long day at each other’s throats.”
“Yes, lovely,” I murmur, though I see a lot more continued cutthroat activity than I do relaxation and enjoyment. There’s a woman to my right who just lost a necklace to a mustachioed man with light fingers, and if that couple over by the edge isn’t careful, Two-Finger Tommy is going to gently nudge them over the side.
But then, I guess this is like one of those abstract paintings Grant loves so much. You see reflected back at you what’s inside your own heart. Lola sees love and friendship; I see subterfuge and theft.
I blame my husband for that. If I wasn’t so worried about him being the one gently nudged over the side, I might be able to enjoy myself out here.
“They’re starting the music for dancing,” Lola says as the strain of a tango rises above the chatter and carries out over the open sea. “I love to dance. Tara, would it be awful of me to steal your boyfriend for a few minutes? I’m too scared to dance with anyone else for fear they might take the tiara, but with Riker…”
Oh, dear. There’s another area where Lola’s point of view might be discoloring reality a little. If Riker scowls any deeper, he’s going to be dragging his lips on the floor.
“I don’t know how to dance,” he says shortly.
“Everyone knows how to dance!” she says, laughing. “You just move your hips. Here, I’ll show you.”
“I don’t move my hips, either,” he says. “Not if I can possibly help it.” He turns and moves off in what I assume is a search for silence or a stiff drink. Probably both.
Lola sighs as she watches his retreat. It’s not a pained sigh so much as a wistful one, so I don’t worry too much about it. The sooner the poor girl realizes that Riker’s gruff charm is more than just an act—it’s ingrained in his soul—the faster her puppy love will wane. Some painful truths are better to learn from the start.
“I should probably see where he’s going,” Tara says, also with a sigh. Hers doesn’t sound so much wistful as it does pained. I know I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved in the relationships of anyone I’m related to, but I’m starting to feel like there’s more going on than either one of them is letting on. “I’ll come find you two later to walk you to your room, okay? Don’t go wandering the halls alone.”
I nod. I hope later means minutes rather than hours. Jordan abandoned us after receiving a furtive summons from Oz, who was not dressed as a crew member for once, so I’m back on Lola duty all by myself. Well, and all the other watchful eyes, following us like hyenas and their prey.
“So, Lola,” I say with forced cheer. A duty she might be, but I refuse to make her feel like a burden. “Would you like to grab something to drink, or do you just want to hang out for a while? I think I spied an open table over on the other side of the boat.”
“What I really want to do is dance…” she
says.
The answer to all her hopes and dreams comes from an unexpected source. “If that’s the case, then may I have the honor?” Appearing as if from nowhere, Grant makes Lola a formal bow. He’s not in a tuxedo this evening—it’s not that kind of party—but he does more than justice to the white button-down rolled up over his forearms.
I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about rolled shirtsleeves that makes my heart pound faster every time. Maybe it’s the way Grant’s forearms flex and twist under the moonlight, but I suddenly feel a profound jealousy that it’s Lola and not me who gets to feel those arms around her.
“Oh, Mr. O’Kelly, do you mean it?” she asks and doesn’t wait for a reply. “I know you’d much rather ask Penelope to dance, but I’m selfish enough to take you up on your offer.”
I send Grant a grateful smile. Asking Lola to dance isn’t the most chivalrous thing he’s done—not when we’re talking about my white knight of a husband—but it’s in keeping with everything I know about him. He’s always been good at making sure people are comfortable and taken care of, a gentleman to the core. It’s part of what makes his willingness to let Peter Sanchez put Lola at risk so maddening. It’s not like him to sit back and let other people accept danger on his behalf. In fact, it’s the one thing he hates most.
“You don’t mind, do you, Penelope?” Lola asks.
“Not at all.” I give an airy wave of my hand. “I’m sure Kit will have a much better time with you anyway. I’m poor company after my heavy losses today.”
“Uh-oh. Did you get the pants beat off you?” Grant asks, a laugh on his lips and a dark glint in his eye.
Despite my strongest protestations, Tara wrangled me into a dress for this evening’s party. It’s black, which is nice, but it’s also incredibly short.
He appears to have noticed.
“Not yet, but you could say I’ve been stripped to the waist,” I admit.
“In that case, I can’t offer you any condolences.” Grant allows his gaze to drop to my neckline. “There are few things I’d love more than to see you without a shirt.”
“And without my dignity, apparently,” I retort. “Because that’s what going to happen if I have another day like this one.”
“On second thought, if you have to choose between dignity and the shirt, please keep the second one. You’re enough of a distraction as it is.”
Lola giggles. “I don’t know how you’re not melting in a puddle at Mr. O’Kelly’s feet, Penelope. If a man said things like that to me, I think I might die.”
“When men start saying them to you, Lola,” I caution her, “don’t believe a word. Mr. O’Kelly here is just trying to get under my skin.”
“I beg your pardon. I’m trying to get under a lot more than that.” He offers me a devilish grin and Lola his arm. “Shall we?”
She giggles again, pausing long enough to cast a backward glance at me as if to make sure I’ll be okay on my own. There’s no need. I’ve never been so happy to see the back of my husband’s head in my life. He might think it’s nothing but fun and games to make sport of our relationship in front of all these people, but I’m not so easily amused.
“Fuck. I thought that guy would never leave.”
Under normal circumstances, Hijack’s sneaking up on me and muttering obscenities in my ear might cause me to scream. Under these circumstances, I can only agree with him. This is one instance where Grant’s tenacity isn’t doing him any favors.
Still, “What guy?” I ask, as if I’m not watching my husband’s every dip and twirl out of the corner of my eye. He’s light on his feet and strong enough to lead Lola through the most intricate dance steps, making it difficult for me to feign indifference for long.
Being led by that man is a pleasure few women have gotten to experience for themselves, but let me tell you—it’s a pleasure no woman forgets.
Hijack doesn’t buy my indifference. “I hate dudes who show off like that, don’t you?” he asks. “We get it. You can swing a human around a dance floor. No need to rub it in.”
Oh, he’s rubbing it in, all right. He wants me to feel the agony of each step, watch him as he laughs and enjoys himself. It’s my punishment for not falling for his flirtation. So close and yet so far away.
“Aw, Hijack, are you jealous?”
“Of Kit O’Kelly?” he scoffs. “Please. That guy’s got nothing on me.”
“I don’t know. It looked like he was kicking your ass at the poker table today. He must have something.”
“Not really. That man is a lot less important than he’d like you to think.” Hijack drops his voice just enough to cause alarm. He’s not talking about a playful competition between men. “He’s hiding something.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“According to word on the ship, he’s some kind of big-time international securities expert, right?” Hijack’s question is a rhetorical one. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Then how come I’ve never met anyone who’s worked with him before? Believe me, I’ve been asking around, and no one has been able to vouch for the guy.”
“What do you mean? Peter Sanchez vouches for him.”
“So he claims.” Hijack casts me a knowing look. “But the pieces don’t fit. They’ve never worked together in the past, at least not according to what I’ve been able to discover. I can’t figure out why our man Sanchez would give a relative stranger such a central role on his security team. Unless, of course, he has other plans for the guy.”
“What kind of other plans?” I ask sharply.
Hijack’s eyes don’t leave mine. “So the rumors are true,” he says. “You do have a thing for him.”
“I don’t have a thing for anyone,” I say and turn my back to the dance floor. Watching the intricacies of Grant’s body in motion isn’t going to convince Hijack—or anyone else paying attention—of my innocence. “I’m married, remember?”
“Ah, yes. To the unimpressive federal agent whose ring you can’t be bothered to wear.”
I glance at the empty space on my left finger, reeling with Grant’s absence even though he’s literally less than a hundred feet away. “You don’t have to make it sound so seedy. Lots of women get married for money.”
“Is he rich, then? I wasn’t aware federal agents made that much money.”
“Of course he’s not rich,” I mutter before I realize he’s fishing again. I don’t know what Hijack is doing asking about my husband—or why he cares so much—but I don’t like it. I transform my irritation to a bland smile. “I just meant that I use him to get information on big jobs, that’s all. He’s like my own personal spy.”
“How do you know he’s not using you right back? Maybe he just wants you for your contacts.”
There’s enough truth in that statement to leave my head spinning. Although I know Grant didn’t marry me for the access I provide to my father, there’s no denying our relationship began for that exact reason. But there’s no way Hijack can know that, and even if he did, what use would that information do him now?
“He’s not that smart,” I say.
“Really? They must not have very strict requirements at the FBI these days.”
Not for the first time, I wish I was better at keeping my true feelings from showing on my face. All Grant’s safety hinges on the premise that no one will care enough about him—or me—to ask questions. It would take a five-minute internet search to pull up my marriage records and grab Grant’s name, five more to find pictures of him at various ages and in various guises. From there, it won’t take much to pinpoint Kit O’Kelly as my spouse—even with his shorter, darker hair, he’s easily recognizable as the FBI’s golden boy. Our whole mission was predicated on the idea that no one would be able to connect my husband and a quiet, unassuming card player who promised to blend into the background.
“I wish
you’d tell me why you’re so interested in him,” I say. Maybe if we can get all this out in the open, Hijack will stop asking so many questions. “Why does it bother you so much that I married a fed?”
“It doesn’t bother me. I’m just curious, that’s all.” He doesn’t, as I expect, continue his line of questioning. He takes a much more dangerous path instead. “Have you given any more thought to my proposal? I gave you as much time as I could, but I’m going to need a firm answer soon. Everyone else is getting their plans for taking the tiara underway. If you’re not going to help me, I’m going to need to make alternate arrangements.”
Although I knew all Hijack’s allusions were heading this way, I’m surprised he’s willing to say so out loud. And in such a public place, too.
“What kind of alternate arrangements?” I ask.
“You know what I came here to do, Pen,” he says by way of answer. “I don’t care who’s been pulled onto Sanchez’s security team—nothing has changed. You have more skills and expertise to pull this heist off than anyone, and thanks to your friendship with Lola, you’ve got more opportunity, too. At this point, we’re all just waiting for you to take the tiara—and I’d like to be the one to help you do it.”
“Are you sure help is the word you mean to use?”
“I don’t care what you call it as long as you agree.” He shrugs, but it’s a studied gesture—a dangerous one. “I can do it with or without you, but the job will go so much smoother if I have the great Penelope Blue on my side. With careful planning, no one has to get hurt.”
There’s not a doubt in my mind that what he’s offering me isn’t a deal so much as an ultimatum. If I don’t help him steal the tiara from Lola, then he’ll make the attempt on his own—and he won’t be nearly as concerned for the girl’s welfare in the process.
It’s extortion, plain and simple.
“Why not ask Eden St. James?” I ask. “You seemed to be awfully interested in her before.”
Mistaking my comment for jealousy, he smiles. “I’m interested in everyone on board this boat. I have to be. There isn’t anyone on this deck right now I haven’t studied and researched and categorized well ahead of time. Pick someone, anyone.”
Seeking Mr. Wrong Page 16
