Dangerous Allies (The Ruby Danger Series Book 1)

by Rickie Blair

  Bogdan was right. She should stay out of it.

  Chapter Six

  Ruby sat at the bedroom vanity and stared at her silent cellphone, willing Hari to call her back. She chewed on her lip, thinking it over, and then tapped in one word.

  Trouble.

  Within seconds, her phone beeped with a reply.

  What’s wrong?

  I found some papers & things. Investment stuff.

  So?

  Ruby stared at the screen. How much should she tell Hari? He spent more time with Antony these days than she did, so he would know if something unusual was going on. But why hadn’t he told her? Was he covering up for Antony? Would Hari do that? Would he lie to her? There had been a time when they told each other everything, but that had been years ago. Before Mumbai.

  She tapped in a reply.

  If books wonky at Carvon, u wld know, rite?

  Ruby put the phone down and wiped a damp hand on her shirt, watching the seconds tick by.

  In meeting call u 20 min.

  She snatched up the phone and got to her feet, unable to sit still. Food might distract her and help to calm the butterflies in her stomach. She jammed on her baseball cap and sunglasses and headed out.

  * * *

  The server behind the buffet line handed her a steaming bowl of minestrone and a packet of crackers. Ruby added a large iced tea to her tray and walked to a booth in the back. Most of the other booths and tables were empty, so she took off her sunglasses and picked up her iced tea.

  Rivulets of condensation slid down the glass and onto her fingers, reminding her of the iced tea she had served her visitor in Boca Raton—the lawyer who claimed Antony was a crook. He had been lying, of course. Everybody wants something.

  Her phone rang and she grabbed it.

  “Hari?”

  “Is Antony acting up again?”

  Hari’s mellow British accent usually called to mind old Cary Grant movies. Or, if Ruby was being honest, the amazingly sexy Jude Law. Not today, though. She tried to laugh, but her mouth was too dry.

  “No more than usual. That’s not why I called.”

  “How’s the cruise?”

  “Fine. How’s the weather in New York?”

  “Raining. You can get a weather report on the news, you know.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just …” She leaned her head on one hand and trailed a spoon through the minestrone. “Hari?”

  “I’m here.”

  “If Antony was planning something … unusual, would you tell me?”

  “That’s a little vague, Ruby. Planning what, exactly?”

  “If things at Carvon weren’t good, for instance?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Off-balance-sheet assets,” she blurted.

  “What? Where did that come from?”

  “The lawyer who came to the house in Boca.”

  “The one Antony threw out?” Hari said, chuckling. “With extreme prejudice, if I recall correctly.”

  “Yes, but before that happened, he said not all Carvon’s subsidiaries were included in the financial statements. He said they should have been on the balance sheet. He said there were … irregularities.”

  “I see.” Hari gave a heavy sigh. Ruby pictured the rain slanting against the windows of his corner office fifty floors above Wall Street and the nearby buildings looming out of the mist.

  “First,” he said, “that lawyer is managing a class-action lawsuit against Carvon on behalf of hundreds of disgruntled investors. You shouldn’t take anything he says seriously. And second—”

  “Yes?”

  “—why are you bringing this up now?”

  Ruby dropped her spoon in the soup bowl and sat up straight.

  “I found some things in the safe in our suite.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  She picked up her iced tea with a trembling hand, took a sip and replaced it on the table. Maybe she shouldn’t tell Hari. Maybe she should ask Antony first. She swiped a thumb across the condensation on her glass. But where was Antony?

  “Ruby, I don’t have a lot of time. Just tell me.”

  “I broke into the safe in our suite and—”

  “Hang on. You did what?”

  “I figured out Antony’s password. I didn’t physically break in.”

  “Should I ask?”

  “t-i-m-n-c.”

  “He never learns.”

  “Stop shaking your head and listen. Have you ever seen a red leather box, about 9x11, with a gold key, in Antony’s office?”

  “Never. What was in this box?”

  “Travel stuff. And cash, a lot of cash.”

  “How much are we talking about?”

  “Thirty thousand.”

  “Oh. That is quite a bit. But still—”

  “And there were other things, Hari. A travel itinerary, plane tickets, fake passports with Antony’s photo, and …” Ruby glanced at the buffet, where passengers were lining up for lunch, and lowered her voice, “twenty million in bearer bonds drawn on a bank in the Caymans.”

  Tugging on her baseball cap, she checked the nearby tables. So far, no one had recognized her.

  “Hari, are you still there?”

  “Ruby, I didn’t know anything about this, I swear.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Where is this box now?”

  “I put it back in the safe.”

  “I’m not sure I should get involved.”

  “Do you know anything about a blonde?”

  “What?”

  “One of the passports was for a woman.”

  “Ah. I don’t know anything about that, either.” When Ruby didn’t reply, he added, “maybe it’s an employee. Maybe Antony’s going on a business trip. There are plenty of blondes at the office. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

  Ruby picked up her spoon and twirled it in the soup.

  “He’s planning to leave me, isn’t he?”

  “Would that be so bad?” he asked softly.

  Neither spoke for a moment. Hari broke the silence.

  “All right, I agree it looks suspicious. But what does it have to do with Carvon? Or off-balance-sheet assets?”

  Ruby pushed up her cap’s brim and puffed out a breath. She might as well tell him.

  “After I found the bonds, I checked Antony’s laptop and saw deposits to an offshore account.”

  “Does he know you were fishing around in his laptop?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Keep it that way.”

  “All right, Hari, but listen. The offshore bank is the same one that issued the bearer bonds. And it’s the same bank that the lawyer in Boca Raton mentioned, I’m certain.”

  “Carvon is a complicated company, Ruby. You probably misread some of this stuff.”

  “No, I didn’t. I know a little about accounting, remember? My aunt thought I should have a marketable skill aside from acting and she taught me. I know something isn’t right.”

  “Well …”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing. There’s nothing. Things have been difficult in the markets lately and we’re a little concerned about the secondary share issue, but it’s nothing serious.”

  “But Antony said that issue was oversubscribed. Isn’t that good?”

  “When did he say that?”

  “Yesterday. Some investment banker who’s on board the ship wanted more shares and Antony told him there weren’t any.” She paused. “And what about the investors? That lawyer said many are retirees and that if Carvon goes under they’ll never recover. And he said—”

  “Oh, for crying out loud. Forget about that lawyer.”

  Ruby held a wrist to her mouth and stared at her tea. A melting ice cube shifted with a clink. Then another.

  “Ruby, are you still there?”

  “Hari, I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

  “Did you make a copy of this list?”
/>
  “Yes.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “I have it with me. Should I send it to you?”

  “No. Destroy it.”

  “Destroy it? Shouldn’t I at least ask Antony—”

  “Absolutely not.” Hari lowered his voice. “Sorry. I meant it’s probably best not to bother Antony about this. He’s got a lot on his mind at the moment with the share issue coming up. Not to mention that our annual meeting is only a few weeks away. Destroy it. That would be best.”

  “But isn’t it … evidence, Hari? Shouldn’t I keep it? Don’t you at least want to see it?”

  “Evidence?” He chuckled. “Evidence of what?”

  It did sound a little ridiculous when spoken out loud.

  “Okay. But what about the rest? What about the bonds and the passports?”

  “Oh, come on, those passports must be a joke. They can’t be real. And the bonds could be for some business deal.”

  “What business deal would require twenty million dollars in bearer bonds?”

  “Look, Antony doesn’t always keep me in the loop. It could be anything.”

  “Could he be involved with mobsters?”

  “What?”

  “You know, criminals.”

  “Yes, I know what mobsters are. You didn’t ask Antony that, did you?”

  “Of course not. But what else—?”

  “You’re upset. My advice is to destroy that list and then get off the ship and go home. Meanwhile, I’ll try to find out what, if anything, Antony has been up to.”

  “You’re starting to scare me, Hari.” Ruby chuckled, trying to keep her tone light. “Should I sleep with a gun under my pillow?”

  “Why would you say that? Destroy the list. Then get off the boat.”

  Ruby gazed at the blinding sunlight streaming through the far windows. Why did everyone think she should leave the Apollonis?

  “Where’s your next stop?”

  “Pintado Island.”

  “Tell Antony you’re ill and you have to go home. And Ruby?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful. You know how he gets.”

  Chapter Seven

  Far below the main deck, where the staterooms were little more than closets and the huge engines were a constant throbbing presence, Mila Luzhkov soaked her feet.

  Warm water and Epsom salts. Not as fancy as the scented liquids used in the spa on the main deck, but every bit as effective. Mila grimaced and bent over to massage her toes. Not that the women who crowded the spa ever spent fourteen hours a day on their feet.

  Her own day had started at six a.m. with a buzzing alarm clock and the sound of hurried footsteps in the hall. She was alone in the bed although her husband’s shift had ended hours earlier. Mila slipped on her robe and headed for the communal showers. She had dozens of rooms to clean before noon and no time to worry about an errant husband.

  When she returned on her midday break, the room was still empty, the bed undisturbed. She had filled a bucket and lowered her feet into it with a sigh. Her afternoon shift would begin in forty minutes, which left just enough time for a footbath and a brief nap.

  After her soak, Mila pulled her feet from the bucket and reached for a towel. She tugged her uniform off over her head, carefully folded the blue cotton dress, and draped it over the room’s only chair. Kneeling by the night table, she crossed herself before an icon of St. Nicholas, then glanced at the frame that held photos of her parents on one side and her brother, Sergei, on the other. She must call Seryozha tomorrow to see if he had received the shirts she sent him. Now that he was fifteen, he had insisted she stop using the diminutive form of his name, but Mila found it hard to break the habit.

  Pulling open the night table drawer, she took out a tiny accounts book and riffled through the dog-eared pages to the end, frowning at the total. Despite how many hours she worked, it was always a struggle to pay Sergei’s tuition. She replaced the accounts book and clicked off the light, leaving the windowless room dark save for a crack under the door. Mila slipped between the sheets and sank her head into the pillow.

  She awoke to find Dimitri sitting on the bed, nudging her in the side.

  “What do you want?” she said sleepily in Russian. “I have to go back soon.”

  “That’s a nice way to greet your husband.” Dimitri leaned over her, his breath smelling of stale beer and cigar smoke.

  “Where were you this morning?” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I looked for you. I had something to give you.”

  “So? Where is it?” Dimitri pulled down the sheet, revealing her bare shoulder. Grinning, he ran a finger along her arm and snapped her bra strap.

  Mila frowned and pulled the sheet back up.

  “I don’t have it anymore. Bogdan—”

  With a disgusted snort, Dimitri flicked on the bedside light.

  “Bogdan? It’s none of his business.”

  “He’s in charge, you know that.”

  “I don’t answer to Bogdan. And you shouldn’t have to, either.” Pulling bills from his pocket, he riffled through them without looking up.

  Mila sat up and stared at the cash.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “At the game. I had a good night.” Dimitri gave her a self-satisfied smirk and held out the money. “Here, take it. You can add it to Sergei’s fund.”

  Cocking her head, Mila stared at him for a moment. Then she took the cash, leaned over, and pulled open the night table drawer. She tucked the bills into the small accounts book, secured the book with a rubber band and replaced it in the drawer.

  Dimitri watched her, pressing his lips together.

  “It’s not enough, is it?”

  Mila shook her head.

  “Your uncle can help.” Grabbing her wrist, he pulled Mila’s hand to his waist.

  “Viktor?” She pulled her hand away. “No. Never.”

  “Why not? Viktor says it’s time the boy helped out. And Sergei can make some money. What’s wrong with that?”

  “When did you talk to Viktor about Sergei?”

  “Before we left.”

  “Why did you do that? I told you to never, ever—”

  He glared at her. “I do what I want.”

  “Please, Dimitri, don’t get Sergei involved with Viktor.”

  “Viktor is your uncle. He has always looked out for you. Where’s the harm?”

  What could she say? That she didn’t trust her own kin? Mila lifted one shoulder in a quick shrug and flopped back on the bed, turning to face the wall.

  Dimitri stripped off his uniform and climbed into bed beside her.

  “If that’s what you want, you should find a better way to convince me.” Grabbing her chin with one hand, he forced her head around so that she faced him. “Well?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s better.” Dimitri slid over top of her and reached his hand beneath the sheet. A few seconds later, he groaned.

  “Much better.”

  Chapter Eight

  Antony Carver leaned back on his chair in the den of the Emperor Suite with his hands crossed behind his head and smirked at his laptop. The cruise aboard the Apollonis was going exactly according to plan. Two more days and then, out. He scanned the screen and nodded. Two more days.

  Meanwhile, he had a lot of trades to make. But he had stared at the numbers so long they blurred into one another. Pushing up his glasses, he massaged the bridge of his nose. Where the hell was that sandwich? He picked up the phone to blast room service, but before he could dial there was a knock on the door. Finally.

  “In here,” he called, replacing the phone. “Door’s open. Put it on the table.”

  Antony turned to the door. But instead of a club sandwich with no mayo, a tall, grizzled black man in his early sixties stood before him. He wore a bemused expression and a white polo shirt tucked into well-worn khakis, and held two manila envelopes in his hand.

  Antony pushed his chair back and stood up, gritting hi
s teeth.

  “I thought you were room service.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” The visitor reached into his back pocket, pulled out an ID card case, extracted a card and held it out between two fingers. “Detective Pete Osler. NYPD. Retired.”

  Antony took the card, gave it a cursory glance and handed it back.

  “NYPD? A little out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?”

  “I am at that. But what I have to say won’t take long. Mind if I sit down?”

  Antony turned and strolled into the living room.

  “Can I get you a drink, detective?” he said over his shoulder.

  “Sure. A beer if you have one. And call me Pete, please.” Pete sat in an armchair, put the manila envelopes on the coffee table and accepted a Pabst. “Thanks.” After a quick swig, he placed the bottle on the table and picked up the first envelope. “Thing is, I got a call from a colleague, an old friend. FBI. He heard that Russian mafia might be on this cruise and that they might have contacted you.”

  “Me? That’s preposterous. Why would—”

  Pete held up a hand. “You wouldn’t have known who they were. You could have met them through normal business channels.” He slid a sheaf of pictures from the envelope into his hand. “My colleague faxed these photos on board this morning. He would appreciate it if you could take a look and see if you recognize anybody. It won’t take long.” Pete placed the photos on the table. “Humor me?”

  Antony reached for the photos with a blank smile. Humor him? He didn’t even have to talk to him.

  “I doubt I’ll be much help.” Antony leafed through the pictures, tossing them back onto the coffee table one by one.

  “No. No. No. And … no.” He picked up the photos, squared them off and handed them back. “I’ve never seen any of these men.”

  “Are you sure? This one,” Pete held up a photo, “doesn’t seem at all familiar?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Antony locked eyes with the detective. If this cop expected him to blink, he’d wait a long time.

  “Thanks for looking,” Pete said, slipping the pictures back into the envelope.

  The door opened and both men turned. Pete stood up as Ruby entered the room. Her tanned legs flashed under a short sundress and her face was flushed.