“I…” Huh. I don’t know what that is. “Bury it and leave a treasure map for posterity?”
He sighs, deeply disappointed, as he so often is, by my lack of ingenuity. “In case you didn’t check the docket, the ship ports at the Cayman Islands at the end of the seven days. Several of the banks there have been in contact to offer a secure vault to the winner, no questions asked. Isn’t that where you keep your money? Or do you prefer working with the Swiss?”
I prefer to squirrel my money away underneath mattresses and inside bus lockers like most petty burglars, but I don’t say so. It hurts my dad’s feelings. Since he abandoned me for most of my adolescence, the gaps in my criminal education are a constant source of guilt for him.
In fact, the only reason he helped me secure passage on the Shady Lady and buy a place at the poker table is because I claimed a wish for family bonding time. Well, that and the fact that I swore I’d sneak inside one of his suitcases if he didn’t. He knows I’m good for it.
“Switzerland is nice this time of year,” I say evasively. “Maybe next time we can take our undercover-sting-operation-slash-family-vacation there.”
Mentioning the sting operation causes him to frown.
“Next time,” he drawls and speeds up the plane, “I’m leaving the entire sorry lot of you at home.”
5
THE SHADY LADY
My dad makes good on his word and abandons me as soon as we board the Shady Lady.
After the traumatic flight from Miami, he suggested I change into something more comfortable before we boarded the ship. I assumed he meant that literally, but he took one look at my cut-off jean shorts and slouchy tank top and renounced all intentions of claiming me as his own. In honor of this vacation-away-from-vacation, I discarded my usual cat burglar chic in favor of a breezier, beachy feel. I thought for sure my flip-flops and high ponytail would fit right in, but apparently, I misjudged my audience.
These people are fancy. Women navigating the observation deck on high heels, men in loose-fitting linen that billows in the clean-scented Caribbean breeze, jewels and glasses of champagne sparkling in every hand… This is much less Gilligan’s Island and more Titanic than I was expecting.
Though I guess neither one of those stories ended particularly well. I should probably find some new metaphors.
“There you are!” Jordan’s voice hails me from across the deck. She, apparently, got the note about Dressing for a Gambling Cruise 101, because she looks flawless in a shimmering gold halter top and tiny white shorts that make her legs seem fifteen feet long. She even has matching gold bangles all up one arm, which glint against the dark, lustrous hue of her skin. “I was afraid you’d miss the boat. We launch in less than ten minutes.”
“My dad likes to make an entrance,” I say by way of apology. He was also probably hoping to avoid boarding the same time as Tara, but I doubt he’d appreciate me saying so out loud. “Here—give me a hand, will you? These bags weigh a ton.”
She does, but with a perplexed frown. “Why are you carrying them yourself? Someone should have taken them to your room for you. There are some pretty strict rules—apparently, the guy running this boat designed every detail according to his exact specifications.”
“I tried, but all I did was end up with someone else’s stuff in addition to my own.” I gesture at a black leather bag slung over my shoulder. “The lady must’ve thought I work here—she gave me a fifty-dollar tip and everything. Speaking of, I need to find room 506.”
She laughs, the throaty trill drawing the attention of several of the classier-looking men in our vicinity. “It’s your blue top. The crew is wearing the same color.”
A quick glance at my surroundings proves her to be correct. Several people in a similar shade are moving neatly through the crowd, carrying bags and delivering drinks. It’s nice to note for future reference, but I wish I didn’t look quite so convincingly menial. If you count the inheritance I’ll get from my father someday, I’m probably one of the richest people on this boat—and that’s saying a lot. I’m pretty sure that lady over by the gangway is wearing a dress made of real gold chainmail.
Jordan hefts the bag. “Do you want me to rifle through and see if there’s anything worth taking?”
“I already did. It’s mostly suntan lotion and condoms.” I sigh, thinking of what a great combination that is. Relaxation and sex—two things I won’t be having much of in the near future. “I guess I should be glad someone is going to enjoy this vacation.”
“Uh-oh. Sounds like you’re missing your dear old hubby.”
Sadly, I am—and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet.
But, “That stuffy bore?” is the response I give, loud enough for anyone eavesdropping to overhear. “No way. After spending two years in that man’s company, the only thing I want to do is enjoy this vacation. Alone.”
This time, it’s the less-classy-looking men in our vicinity who turn in interest.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot how excited you are to be rid of him for a spell,” Jordan says quickly, an apology in her lifted brows. She knows the rules—from here on out, we have to play this thing night and day. There’s a strict no-weapons-and-no-surveillance-equipment policy aboard the boat, but you never can tell what a crowd like this one will do. Some of the tech these guys have access to is next-millennium scary.
“The less I think about that man, the better,” I say with complete honesty. “Right now, I mostly want to find my room and take a nap.”
“You do look awfully tired,” Jordan agrees. She leans in to poke at the bags under my eyes. “When was the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”
It’s been so long I can’t remember. If I had to guess, though, I’d put the date right before Grant’s accident.
Sighing, I do my best to shake off my foreboding sense of doom and gloom. The sun is shining, there’s a twenty-million-dollar diamond somewhere on this boat, and I don’t have to get on another tiny airplane for seven more days. Things could be worse.
“I’m fine,” I say and swat her hands away from my face. “Let’s just go find my room.”
“Aye, aye,” she replies with a laugh. She bustles me off the main deck, which is comprised primarily of the swimming pool and an outdoor bar, to find someone to assist us. She does, too, much quicker than I expect. My initial surprise at her efficiency fades away when I notice the man in the royal blue polo and khaki shorts bears a not-so-remarkable resemblance to Oz.
Oz is, as always, a bland and comfortable vision—and I don’t mean that as an insult. He has one of those faces everyone has seen before but no one bothers to remember. It’s one of my favorite sights in the whole world. He gives me a tight salute and clip of his heels, causing me to almost blow my cover by laughing out loud. I don’t know how he got himself hired on to the Shady Lady’s crew—if he even is an official part of it—but I know better than to question his methods. Nothing could make it easier for him to deliver messages and eavesdrop in places we can’t go.
“This one’s headed for 506,” I say, and hand him the bag along with the fifty-dollar bill. “But I can take my own, thanks. I’m sure you have enough to keep you busy as it is.”
He salutes again, and this time, I give in to my urge to laugh, shaking my head as I watch him depart. I’m almost certain that, like me, he’ll take a look inside that bag as soon as he rounds the corner. He’s probably searching all the luggage he carries, and finding a heck of a lot more than prophylactics in the bargain.
“Damn. For a laugh like that, I’d have volunteered to deliver it myself.” A deep voice hails us from behind, and I turn, expecting to see one of Jordan’s admirers. But the owner of the voice falls into the “less classy” category, his expression difficult to read behind his aviator sunglasses.
Like most of the men I’ve noticed on the cruise so far, this one oozes power without making a mess
of it. I don’t know what the trick is, but it has something to do with the way they carry themselves. I mean, this guy looks more like a gym rat than an elite poker player, what with his deep bronze skin, closely shaved head, and too-tight microfiber shirt, but there’s no doubt in my mind he’s here to play. Not spectate, not hang on the outer edges. Play. Confidence is part of it, the way he’s looking at the pair of us as if sure of his welcome, but there’s also a kind of gritty suavity that can’t be denied.
Riker has it, too. He’s got the hard edge of a man who’s not afraid to fight with his fists—and win—but he’s also a pretty boy who knows all he has to do is smile and the ladies will come running.
This man tries a smile on me now. “Since I can’t be your errand boy, can I at least help you with those—ah, are they suitcases?”
I look at my suitcases with a frown. They’re not that bad. Okay, so the duffel bag I threw my wadded-up underwear into has seen better days, but I love my weathered and slightly frayed hard-shell case. It has a secret X-ray-proof compartment built into the frame for quick and easy jewel smuggling. They don’t make them like this anymore.
“No, thanks,” I say in as repressive a tone as I can muster. “I’ve got arms.”
“I noticed. And legs and a head and everything. The full package.”
I strongly suspect him of mocking me. “I’m sorry—is there something I can do for you?”
“Yeah. You can hand me a tissue. I’m going to cry.”
I look to Jordan to see if she has any idea what this guy is talking about, but she just casts me a helpless shrug.
“Handkerchief?” he suggests when his plea fails. “Napkin? Ah, no. I forgot. How about a pair of gloves? You never used to leave home without them. Didn’t want to leave any messy fingerprints behind.”
My eyes flare as I once again take survey of the man. All the parts are still there and still the same, but once I mentally add a crop of sleek black hair and drop fifty pounds of muscle, realization hits. “Oh, my God. Hijack? Is that you?”
“Penelope Blue.” His arms open, and before I know what’s happening, I’m falling into them. “Guess I won’t be needing that tissue. You do recognize me.”
His hug is a familiar one, though it feels weird to have any arms except Grant’s wrapped so possessively around my torso. It’s a feeling that’s magnified when Hijack pushes me back enough to plant a firm kiss on my mouth. Romantically speaking, it’s not much of a kiss—more of a friendly smack, really—but I pull back, startled at the strange taste and texture of another man’s lips on mine.
“I can’t believe it’s actually you,” I say, making a big show of reconciliation to cover for the awkwardness of the embrace. Also to cover for Jordan’s inquisitively raised brow, which doesn’t fail to notice the kiss or my reaction to it.
“I thought you fell off the face of the earth,” I add. “It’s been, what, six years?”
“Six years, eight months, and I’d say around two and a half weeks, but who’s counting?” He shakes his head before I can answer. “You haven’t changed at all. I saw the hot strawberry blond in cutoff jeans and couldn’t believe my luck. I thought I’d gone back in time.”
My heart gives a dainty flutter at the compliment, even as my brain recognizes it for the ham-handed flattery that it is. That’s what happens when your nearest and dearest gang up and tell you how haggard you’re looking lately—every sweet word is like manna.
“Oh, please. You’re the one who looks amazing. I didn’t recognize you with all that…” I make a vague motion over his body, sleekly outfitted from head to toe, and probably aerodynamic to boot. “Athleticism.”
He glances down at his biceps and grins. “Super fruit and protein powder. Who’s your friend, by the way?”
“Oh! I’m sorry—this is Jordan. She’s an amazing chemist and one of my favorite people on the planet. Jordan, this is Hijack—who, if you can’t tell from the name, is something of a whiz when it comes to vehicle acquisition. Riker and I knew him eons ago.”
“You didn’t tell her the best part.” Hijack smiles again, and even with the sunglasses covering the upper half of his face, it’s hard to imagine how I could have mistaken him for anyone else. Crooked eyeteeth and wide lips give him a charming, if slightly lopsided, grin. “Penelope was the love of my life. At least, she was until she broke my heart one rainy Brooklyn afternoon.”
He places a hand over his pecs as if to prove it.
“Please,” I scoff. “It was Queens, and it was ninety degrees outside. You’re thinking of some other girl.”
“Spoken like a true heartbreaker. It took me years to get over her, and now here she is, as gorgeous and cruel as ever.” He turns to Jordan. “I hope you don’t plan to treat me the same way. I couldn’t handle being rejected like that again.”
I feel myself coloring up, unsure how I’m supposed to respond. While it’s true that Hijack and I were once a thing, it was a very brief thing, neither one of us all that serious or committed. He was my post-Riker boyfriend in my pre-Grant life. Although there’s no denying he’s got his good qualities, I remember him mostly as a scrawny hustler with a wandering eye and the ability to hot-wire a car in under twenty seconds. If it wasn’t for the latter, I doubt I’d have put up with the former.
“What have you been doing with yourself all these years?” I ask. “When we parted ways, you were heading to Germany to join up with a bank crew.”
“I did. You should’ve come with me. Germany is amazing—so much old money, so many old buildings. You can carve through some of those vault walls with a spoon. I won’t tell you my net worth now. It’ll make you jealous.”
“You know I wanted to stay stateside,” I reply, not nearly as jealous as he’d like me to be. Money, though nice, has never been my root evil. Depending on who you ask, that would be willful self-sufficiency and/or a tendency to flippancy. “Besides, the buildings in the U.S. aren’t that hard to get into the normal way.”
“Only if you’re the great Penelope Blue. Your talent is the stuff of legends.”
I can’t help it—my shoulders come up. I’ve always wanted to be a legend.
“Speaking of, I heard you got married.” He casts an obvious look at my left hand, his smile widening when he sees no sign of a ring. “Ha! I knew it couldn’t be true. Especially since they said you married a fed.”
“Oh, um.” My shoulders move back down again. “Actually…”
“You didn’t.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds, I swear.”
“A fed? Come on, Pen. That’s consorting with public enemy number one.”
“I know, but he’s a lot handier to have around than you’d think.” It’s not a lie. Federal clemency is a real boon in my line of work. “And you wouldn’t believe the kind of inside access he gets me.” Also true. Just look where I’m standing right now.
“Shit. You’re serious, aren’t you?” He doesn’t, as I’d feared, appear to be alarmed by that revelation. If anything, he looks intrigued. “I refused to believe it until I heard it from your own lips. Is he here?”
“Are you kidding?” I squeak. “A federal agent on this boat?”
“This is our annual girls’ trip,” Jordan says. “I’m just here for the sunshine and booze, but Pen wants to try her hand at the Luxor.”
Hijack’s interest picks up even more. “Is that a fact? I never took you for much of a gambler.”
“I’m not, but I’d kick myself for the rest of my life if I didn’t at least try to win it,” I admit. “A girl doesn’t get a stab at the Luxor Tiara every day. Besides, I’m no worse than half the people I know are playing. Have you seen it?”
“No one has. Word is they’re going to reveal it tomorrow at the opening ceremonies.” Hijack hesitates, choosing his next words carefully. “When you say you’re no worse than half the people playing, does that mean
Riker is here, too?”
Poor Riker. His terrible reputation precedes him. “Yeah. I haven’t run into him yet, but he should be around here somewhere. Man, he’s going to be happy to see you again.”
“No, he won’t. I know all his tells.”
I laugh. I know all his tells, too. Riker is unable to hide his glower when he’s dealt a bad hand—which is just about always. That’s probably why I was so drawn to Hijack back when we first started dating. Every other word out of his mouth is a lie, and he’d sell his own soul for few hundred dollars, but he’s so charming it’s hard to fault him for it.
As if he’s also remembering the good old days, Hijack reaches over to tweak my nose. It’s an affectionate yet condescending gesture. I’m glad my husband isn’t here to see it.
“Do you have dinner plans yet?” he asks. “If you do, cancel them. I want to walk into the restaurant with the two most beautiful women on this ship.”
I hesitate, unsure whether I should commit myself before I receive any instructions from Grant, but Jordan answers for the both of us. “We’d love to.”
“Perfect. I’ll swing by your room to collect you around seven.” He turns to me and stares for a drawn-out moment, as if memorizing my features. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you again, Pen. Leaving you behind was my biggest regret. We were good together, you and I.”
Until he appeared on the deck of the Shady Lady, I hadn’t given Hijack more than six minutes’ worth of reflection over the span of six years, but I find myself nodding all the same. We had been good together, if only because of how simple it was—casually dating, planning small jobs, enjoying opportunities the moment they knocked. Those were my carefree days, when my biggest worry was whether or not I could remember where I stashed my latest take, and then deciding it didn’t matter, since I could always steal more.
“Life sure was easy back then, wasn’t it?” I agree. “We had some fun times.”
He holds his hand up in a mock toast as he bids us goodbye. “Here’s to hoping we have a few more.”
Saving Mr. Perfect Page 37
