Code Name: Bundle!

by Christina Skye

  The minute she finished, Andreas set a brioche in front of her. Imogen added a cup of herbal tea.

  Family, Gina thought. Not the kind of family you grew up with from birth, but the sort you grew into over time, which was the best sort anyway. You bickered and nudged, supported and one day you turned around to find out you were family in the truest sense. Pride made her smile.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s called buttering up the boss.” Imogen crossed her arms, frowning. “If you keep forgetting to eat, you’re going to be sick, girl.”

  She already was sick, Gina thought. All the food in the world wouldn’t help that. She forced the thought out of her mind. “No sign of Cruella De Vil yet?”

  “No. She probably didn’t get her blood delivery yet.”

  The running joke about Blaine being a vampire had taken hold after she had summarily fired three employees in an hour without showing a hint of emotion. It was no secret that morale was bad, and jobs in beverage services were nearly impossible to fill now.

  A plate slipped somewhere behind Gina, bouncing across the floor and cracking. A tall ex-soccer player from Argentina bent over to reach it and swayed.

  “Edouardo, are you okay?”

  “Tired. My stomach’s been a little off since last night, too.”

  Andreas jerked a finger toward the door. “Get up to the infirmary. It might be that new flu Tobias mentioned.”

  “I’ll be fine,” the ex-athlete said stubbornly.

  “Go.” Gina gripped his arm as he swayed again. “You should have called us, then gone straight up to be examined. I’ll take over your morning station. I’ll call Carly and change our breakfast date to lunch.”

  “No way. It’s almost eight now. I’ll take over for Edouardo.” Imogen swung past, cradling a tray of fresh croissants. “Get moving, Chief.”

  “I’ll fill in from eleven,” Andreas called, busy rolling dough for apple pie.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Not a problem.”

  Gina stared down at the brioche on her desk as she rubbed her face and wished for a long nap. She had food in plenty; it was energy she needed. The excitement the night before had taken its toll, and she was fading fast.

  Not that spending the night in a man’s bed was earth-shaking. After all, nothing had happened between them. She’d gone blotto and he’d carried her off. End of story.

  At least she didn’t think anything had happened.

  She took a deep breath. No, Trace wasn’t the kind of man who would take advantage of weakness. He had a code of ethics a mile wide.

  “Why are you still here?” Imogen was making shooing motions. “Go. And where are all those cute presents you made for the girls?”

  “Back in my cabin. I forgot in all the…rush.”

  In all the distraction of escaping from Trace’s bed.

  “Move it, girl.”

  “I’m on it.” Gina pulled off her apron, tossed it over her chair and swore to forget all about Trace O’Halloran.

  “THIS COLOR MAKES ME look washed out.” Carly McKay held up an aqua silk blouse. “See? Awful,” she stated.

  “You look great, honey.” Ford McKay wasn’t sure whether to curse or smile. His wife had photographed presidents and poets, athletes and generals. As long as he could remember, she’d never broken a sweat at meeting anyone.

  Now she looked a little crazed.

  “I hate red. Why did you let me buy all these red things?” She tossed a pair of fuchsia capri pants over her shoulder, followed by a crimson jean jacket. Abruptly she made a sound of distress and dropped all the clothes on the floor. “It’s me. I’m nuts. Why am I going to pieces here?”

  Gently, Ford pulled her into his arms. “You’re not nuts, you’re perfectly normal. You haven’t seen your friend in almost a decade, and you want it to be right because it matters.” He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “Things matter to you. I’ve always loved you for that.”

  She huffed out a little breath. “Just because we were best friends once doesn’t mean that things won’t change. Gina probably doesn’t remember anything about college, and I’m fine with that.”

  Like hell she was, Ford thought, hiding a tender smile.

  “Like hell I am,” Carly muttered, slipping her hands around his waist.

  Quiet footsteps crossed the floor behind them. “They’re kissing again,” Olivia muttered. “Why do they do that so much?”

  “Because they like each other.” Sunny frowned. “When grown-ups like each other they do dumb things like holding hands, and doing tongue stuff.”

  Ford froze.

  Doing tongue stuff? Was it time to tackle diagrams of sex and adult relationships with their three live-wire girls?

  He felt sweat break out on his brow at the thought.

  “Why is Mommy so nervous, Daddy?” As usual, Cleo had a book under one arm. “There’s nothing wrong with red. One of the magazines at school had a whole article about sizzling fashion trends.” She said the three words with the cool detachment of an anthropologist describing a primitive culture. “They said red is the new gray.” She looked confused. “What does that mean, Daddy? How can red be gray?”

  Hell if Ford knew.

  Carly draped a red pashmina shawl over one shoulder. “Red is the new gray, Cleo?” She frowned. “I was at a photo shoot with three fashion designers from Paris last week and none of them mentioned that red is the new gray.” She tossed the red shawl onto the bed. “I hate it. I hate everything. I’m not going.” She closed her eyes. “She’s going to hate me,” she said in a very small voice.

  “No way,” her three girls said in unison.

  “We’ll be stiff and formal, and everything will be awful.” Carly stared at her reflection in the mirror. Sunny ran to her first. Sunny the born leader. Sunny the brave and absolutely unstoppable. “Don’t worry, Mommy. Your friend will remember. Once I didn’t see my friend Mei-ling for a whole month, but when she came back we remembered each other.”

  Smiling, Carly sank down next to her daughter. “Of course, you’re right, Pumpkin. Mei-ling remembered. So will my friend Gina.”

  “You should wear this, Mommy.” Cleo held up a purple T-shirt against her chest. “I’d wear this one if I were bigger. I like that it has just one shoulder.”

  “So do I,” Ford said wolfishly. He gave a low whistle that made his daughters giggle.

  “Maybe purple is the new gray,” Cleo said gravely.

  “It looks good with your red hair, Mommy.” Olivia checked her watch. “And if you don’t go now, you’ll be late.”

  Carly looked at her three daughters. “So wise. Okay, I give up.” She threw out her arms. “Make me beautiful.”

  Immediately she was buried beneath flying scarves and batik sarongs. Laughing, Carly caught the girls and dragged them down onto the bed, tickling each one until they all screamed with laughter.

  Watching the familiar scene, Ford remembered the first day he’d seen Carly, on a cruise ship just like this one. He had saved her life in Barbados and lost his heart completely.

  The work he did was dangerous, making him a target for hatred and violence, but that hatred would never be allowed to hurt his family. He had almost lost Carly once when he’d underestimated a twisted enemy. Worse yet, he had underestimated Carly’s own bravery, but Ford had never made those mistakes again.

  Sunny, meanwhile, had found a black-and-white dress with little red beads around the neck. “Wear this one, Mommy. Olivia, get the red sandals from the closet.” Olivia ran to complete the mission, and Cleo held up a pair of red and purple wooden bracelets.

  “Have I told you three how smart you are?”

  Cleo giggled. “Two minutes ago, Mommy. And last night when we went to bed.” Sunny handed her mother a red straw handbag and a bead necklace that the three girls had made together.

  “Perfect.” Carly toed on her sandals and spun slowly. “How do I look?”

  “More gorgeous than any woman
has a right to look.” Ford picked up the bag by the door. “Don’t forget your camera,” he said.

  But his wife surprised him. “Today is for feeling and remembering. No pictures and no camera.”

  STANDING WITH HIS THREE daughters at the edge of the deck, Ford watched his wife cross toward her old friend. The reunion was hard for her, something she would do best alone. There would be time to bring the girls to meet Gina later during the cruise.

  Meanwhile, the three girls were already tugging at his hands. No sign of separation anxiety here, the SEAL thought proudly.

  “Who’s ready for cruise camp?”

  “We are.”

  He took a last look across the deck. His wife had found a table with her friend. Ford thought the pastry chef looked nice. She also looked tired. He figured that running the kitchens of a busy cruise ship had to be a 24/7 job.

  His keen eyes swept over his girls. “Everyone have their pagers?”

  The girls nodded. The ship’s purser provided communication for all families, which was one of the reasons Ford and Carly had chosen this particular cruise line.

  “I’ve got my camera, too.” Sunny held up a small digital unit. “I’m shooting the promenade deck at camp later.”

  “Watch those F-stops,” Ford said.

  “Look, there’s that man who had the book you said was awful, Daddy.” Sunny pointed across the deck. Trace O’Halloran looked a little harassed today, Ford thought.

  A woman stuck a piece of paper in his back pocket, leaning close and brushing her hip against his thigh. Trace didn’t seem happy about it.

  “Why does that lady have her hand on his leg, Daddy?”

  No way was Ford answering that question.

  “I’ll explain later.” In about twelve years, Ford thought.

  TRACE WAS TRYING TO GET through the second chapter of a convoluted mystery when the rich scent of coffee wafted past his shoulder.

  “I figured you could use this.” Tobias Hale held out a cardboard cup. “Free coffee is one of my best crew perks.” He sat down, nodding toward Gina and her friend across the deck. “That seems to be going well.”

  Laughter drifted closer.

  “Yeah, I’d say so.”

  “I’ve got some bad news. Blaine—the woman you met on deck—filed an anonymous report that Gina was drinking.”

  “If it was anonymous, how did you find out?”

  “I’m head of security. Nothing that happens on this ship gets by me.”

  Trace snapped the book shut. “Only a fool would think she was drinking.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The cruise line has a zero tolerance policy for alcohol. Any report of intoxication receives immediate attention.”

  “So, they’ll do a little research and find out it was a problem with her medication. End of story.”

  Tobias studied the passing guests, his gaze always moving, always assessing. “Probably. But there will be blood tests, medical forms. Probably drug testing, too. She’ll be put on probation until everything is settled. She’ll hate that.” Tobias’s eyes hardened. “That means any additional problems in her kitchen will get her fired.” He held up his hand as Trace started to argue. “I agree completely, but those are cruise line rules, and they get broken for no one.” He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his neck as if it hurt him. “I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something here.” He stared toward the horizon. “You know that feeling you get when you’re crouched in a foxhole, waiting for the first artillery round? You’re jittery, and your whole body is telling you that something bad, really bad, is coming.”

  Trace had had that feeling less than two months ago on a cold Christmas Eve in Afghanistan. “I know,” he said quietly. “Anything you can put your finger on?”

  Tobias shook his head. “If I had something concrete, I’d order a cabin search for all crew along with a complete inventory of ship’s stores. Hell, maybe I’m losing my edge and it’s nothing.”

  “Have you turned up anything on Blaine’s contact?”

  “I’ve got discreet surveillance in place. She knows most of my people, so I have to be careful. She’s always in motion, checking stores and overseeing the beverage and bar areas, but if there’s a pattern, I’ll find it.”

  Trace smiled coldly. “I could always toss her overboard one dark night.”

  “A lot of people would like to see that, me included. Too bad we’re the good guys.” Tobias pushed back his chair and stood up. “Stick close to Gina. When she gets the news about her probation, it’s going to hurt. Right now this job is her whole life.” He stared at Trace for long moments. “I’m counting on the fact that you’re good for her, O’Halloran. Don’t prove me wrong or you’ll regret it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CARLY HADN’T MEANT to bring the pictures, but somehow they landed on the table in front of her. “This is Olivia finishing her docent week at the art museum. She was their youngest ever,” Carly said proudly.

  Gina picked up the next picture. “Cleo, right? She likes books.”

  Carly smiled. “She’s going to be a world-class writer or a terrifyingly good diplomat.”

  As the two talked in the sunlight, seabirds wheeled overhead and the years fell away.

  To Gina, it could have been spring of their senior year again. With money tight, they’d made a breakfast of cheap coffee and doughnuts last until dinner.

  “Triplets.” Gina sat back and laughed. “I’m still amazed that you can tell the three apart.”

  “Ford and I were wrecks for months. If Olivia cried too loudly, Ford wanted to call the doctor. If Cleo went through too many diapers, he wanted to call the doctor. We were lucky that one of his friends had medical training. Ford called him on the sly for medical advice.” Carly frowned. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Izzy in ages.”

  Gina lifted a picture of a determined-looking toddler who was trying to climb onto the back of a docile German shepherd. “Riding lesson?”

  “That’s our Sunny, racing through life on three wheels, always the first at everything. You have no idea how close she’s come to being really hurt.” Carly rested the photograph on the table beside the others. “Our girls. That’s pretty much what I do these days.”

  “That and take pictures of the president of France,” Gina said dryly. “I may work on a cruise ship, but I read magazines. Everyone wants to be photographed by you. Somehow you make people drop their defenses and reveal who they really are. It’s an amazing gift.”

  Carly flushed, uncomfortable as she always was when people analyzed her work. “I’ve been blessed with good subjects.”

  “Didn’t you shoot footage for a cruise line? I seem to recall that’s where you met Ford, when he was your model.”

  “It was a little more complicated than that.” A frown worked between Carly’s eyebrows. “But everything worked out fine in the end.” She reached across the table and squeezed Gina’s hand. “I have to say, I never would have guessed you’d become a pastry chef. You were always set on law and justice.”

  Gina shrugged. “Things change.”

  No details. She still wasn’t ready to probe old wounds.

  Carly’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve got burn marks on your hands.”

  “Goes with the territory. Cooking can be dangerous if you do something stupid.” She glanced out over the ocean and vowed she wouldn’t be stupid again, not in cooking or in life. Trace O’Halloran might be a major turn-on, but trusting him would get her hurt.

  “So tell me about this TV series in the works,” Carly said. “And when do I get a taste of your signature chocolate espresso cheesecake?”

  TRACE WAS ON HIS SECOND cup of coffee, sitting in a small lounge near the children’s camp. He had made two rounds of the ship and decided to break for caffeine when he saw Ford McKay’s girls shoot giggling into a neighboring bathroom.

  Whatever they were doing, it couldn’t be good, judging by their guilty looks.

  Trace held up his new
spaper, making certain they couldn’t see his face, and his vigilance was soon rewarded. One of the girls in a blue sweater—Olivia or Sunny?—strolled out of the bathroom with a book under her arm. The one who liked books was Olivia, he remembered. He frowned as she raced back into the children’s activity room.

  Where was the other one?

  Listening closely, he heard Ford’s daughter tell a counselor that her sister had an upset stomach, but she would be out in a few minutes. Meanwhile, Sunny crept out of the bathroom, glanced up and down the corridor and shot in the opposite direction.

  He scanned the deck for signs of McKay and found none. Apparently he had just volunteered for babysitter detail, Trace thought wryly.

  Sunny had a small camera hanging over her shoulder, and she darted off to the left down a corridor as if she had been there before, while Trace followed surreptitiously.

  She took some random shots and then checked her watch, pacing restlessly outside one of the unmarked doors to a small utility room. She was obviously waiting for someone.

  As Trace ducked behind a fake palm tree, footsteps approached from the opposite corridor. A pair of legs in a blue crew uniform flashed by. The man was short and appeared to be in his midtwenties. He was carrying a wicker box, and he lifted the lid slightly, showing something to Sunny.

  The little girl beamed.

  Trace’s hands clenched into fists. If the man tried to sell Sunny drugs or entice her into leaving with him, Trace would rip him from limb to limb. He was just about to take charge of the situation when he heard a sound come from inside the basket.

  The muffled cry of an animal.

  He drew back, waiting. The meow of a cat drifted across the corridor.

  Barely able to contain her excitement, Sunny reached into the basket and pulled out a white kitten with icy blue eyes. Cradling the wriggling ball of fur, Sunny slipped around the corner where she couldn’t be seen and began feeding the kitten scraps of food from her pocket.

  Trace revised his plan to break the crewman’s neck, but he wasn’t about to ignore the fact that Sunny was sneaking around the ship unsupervised. Crossing the deck, he knelt beside her.