Vortex (Cutter Cay)

by Cherry Adair

  “Yeah, maybe. We’ll stay put for tonight. But after I talk to her again tomorrow, we’ll have to head to port to make some discreet inquiries. Someone must be looking for her.”

  “Could be the someone who tossed her overboard,” Jed pointed out.

  Logan agreed. “Based on the way she freaked out when I mentioned heading into Lima, it’s something to take into consideration.” A crime, not an accident? Had she been pushed, not fallen?

  “I’m beat.” Jed stretched and yawned. “Let me know if there’s anything you need me to do.”

  “Let’s all get some sleep, and see where we are in the morning.”

  “We’re going to have to go to Plan B,” Jed pointed out with a rueful shake of his head.

  “That, too.” Logan slipped inside the small cabin, Dog as his shadow, and closed the door. He’d left the light in the head on, and that door almost shut, so that just a sliver of light fell in a golden pinstripe on the carpet between the two bunks.

  He leaned over to check on her. She shot straight up, letting out a bloodcurdling scream, and punched him in the eye. At the same time, Dog scrambled onto the bunk beside her, barking madly, ruff raised, yellow eyes narrowed at his owner as he protected the woman.

  “Hey hey hey. It’s just me. Logan,” he told her quietly, backing away to give her room. As he did so, he made a “down” hand gesture to the protective dog. Dog stopped barking, but still stood defensively beside her, watching Logan with the same suspicious eyes as the woman. Well, hell.

  Her eyes glinted wildly in the semidarkness as she splayed her hand to her throat, breathing as if she’d just been running. Half damp dark hair curled around her shoulders, and her large, expressive dark eyes were stark with fear. A sheen of perspiration made her pale olive skin glow in the dim light.

  Christ. No woman had ever been scared of him in his life. He didn’t like the feeling one damned bit. Especially since it wasn’t warranted.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, eyes flickering nervously from Logan to Dog standing on the bunk beside her.

  He didn’t point out the obvious. His ship, he could be anywhere he damn well pleased. “You have a concussion. Have to check you to see how severe.”

  “Back up, please. You’re too close.” She sat up, cautiously and slowly, holding the cotton blanket to her throat with both hands. Her lifted chin and defiant eyes were undermined by the way she wobbled even though she was sitting. “I’m neither dizzy, nor nauseous, and I can see you quite clearly.”

  Feisty must mean she was doing better. “Can you tell me your last name?”

  “No. Does your wolf bite?”

  “He’s protecting you. Your bodyguard, if you will. He feels responsible for saving your life.” Logan touched a finger to his abused eye. Not buffered by water, this punch was solid. He was probably going to have a shiner for his trouble. “Do you know where you are, Annie?”

  She gave him an are-you-kidding-me look. “A boat.”

  “How’d you get here?”

  She shrugged and lay down again, pulling the blanket up to her chin like a Victorian maiden. “I’m tired.” Dog lay down beside her, flopping his head across her belly with a put-upon sigh. The crafty animal was positioned between Annie and his master. The man who’d saved his scrawny, malnourished hide when he’d been left, tied up, outside a wharf-side eatery in Tokyo three years ago. The man who’d stood between the dog and three dockyard thugs and had the crap beat out of him for his trouble. The man whose bed he shared every night. So much for gratitude.

  To get to her, Logan would have to go through his dog.

  “Please don’t chew on me,” she whispered, not touching the animal, but not moving away. Not that there was anywhere to move in the narrow bunk. “I’ve already had a shitty day.” She turned her head as Logan stretched out on the other bunk. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded in a normal, if irritable tone.

  He stacked his hands beneath his head. “That knot on your head could mean serious business. You probably have a concussion. Someone has to watch you in case you fall into a coma.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I’m sure I don’t, and if I do … I’m willing to risk it. Please go.”

  “Close your eyes. I’ll wake you in half an hour.”

  “I—”

  “I’m not leaving,” Logan told her mildly. Staring into the semidarkness, he listened to her indignant breathing as she fought to stay awake. It didn’t take long for it to slow as she was dragged unwillingly into sleep.

  Interestingly, he didn’t feel in the least bored now.

  * * *

  Directed by a crewman, and with the dog padding down the corridor beside her, Daniela found Logan Cutter’s office. She’d showered and pulled on a fresh T-shirt and the jeans she’d been given. Then she decided that since she had no bra, two T-shirts would be better. It wasn’t that she was large-breasted, she was quite compact. But she didn’t want to wander around the ship with her boobs bouncing. The less of a sexual being she was while she was here, the better. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, or any part of herself.

  Would her amnesia story hold up in the light of day? Especially under the scrutiny of Logan Cutter’s blue eyes? Of course, they couldn’t be as blue, nor as penetrating as her memory painted them. She tried to picture the rest of him, but all she came up with was a murky image of a big, annoying, dark-haired hulk.

  The light had been dim, and God only knew, she was traumatized about being thrown into the ocean. She rubbed her arms. It didn’t bear thinking about—how deep the water was, or what would’ve happened if someone hadn’t come in after her and hauled her to safety. She had absolutely no memory of the rescue, but remembered everything leading up to it in living color.

  Given the choice of nearly drowning and spending the night three feet away from Logan Cutter, Daniela was almost sure which she would’ve chosen. Too freaking bad she hadn’t been given a vote in either decision.

  The dog nudged his nose against her leg to get her attention. He must be half wolf, half some giant dog breed, with a thick pelt of gray-and-black fur and a white muzzle. Just because his pink tongue was lolling as if he was smiling at her, didn’t mean he couldn’t go for her throat at any second. Daniela liked that she could see right off that he was dangerous. No hiding behind the benign appearance of a King Charles spaniel and then ripping out your throat for this guy. He looked more than half wild, and extremely dangerous.

  Daniela had to respect that, though she’d still keep a careful distance. She wished humans didn’t have the capacity to hide their true selves behind civilized masks. It would make spotting a predator much easier.

  He turned narrow gold eyes on her as they stopped outside the door, and sat, politely waiting for her to knock. “Are you really as tame as you’re acting, or just toying with me until you pounce and have me for breakfast?”

  His tail wagged, and he showed sharp white teeth and a long pink tongue.

  Daniela took a calming breath, her fist inches from the polished teak door as she hesitated, girding herself before knocking. Cutter’s dedication to her health meant he’d woken her every freaking thirty minutes to make sure she wasn’t dying. They’d both been relieved when he’d finally decided she was going to make it.

  Despite being the bedmate of a woolly mammoth, Daniela had slept the last three hours, after Cutter left, like the proverbial log. She rapped smartly on the door.

  Her off-the-cuff strategy to lie about not remembering anything was all well and good, but she figured “regaining” her memory—that was, lie a different lie through her teeth—would net faster results. “Come,” a deep voice ordered.

  “Good morning.” Daniela entered his inner sanctum with a smile. It wilted a little when she saw him. Her first real view of him came as a rude surprise. Logan Cutter first thing in the light of day was a jolt to her senses. The fact that she felt an instant, albeit unwelcome, curl of awareness came as a shock. />
  He was everything, and more than, she’d remembered. His slightly shaggy dark hair was several months past a cut, and he needed a shave. The dark shadow on his strong jaw just enhanced the piratical look of him, making him appear untamed and dangerous.

  Fortunately, Daniela had been handling dangerous for quite some time now—not always successfully, but she was getting the hang of it. Still, his bland once-over made her insides contract, and left her feeling decidedly unsettled.

  Never let them see you sweat. She wasn’t sure what to expect. Last night there’d been so many unfamiliar faces that they’d all blended together. Defenses down, she’d reacted without thinking. This morning she had her armor firmly in place. Ready for whatever the day threw at her.

  Just a woman thrown from a moving boat by bad guys. One who’d better come up with a logical explanation fast.

  The dog circled the desk, tail wagging, and Cutter took his hands off the laptop keyboard. “Morning,” he said pleasantly, rubbing the animal’s ears while studying her. “Take a seat. How’re you feeling?” His voice was rich and deep, and unintentionally, she was sure, seductive. Tightly leashed power hummed around him like an electrified fence.

  “I’m—” Her mouth went dry as she suddenly noticed that the skin on his face and strong brown throat were scored with long red scratches. It wasn’t a giant leap. “Are you the one who found me?”

  “Dog pointed you out. He saw the beacon on your vest.”

  “He didn’t manage to get me on board, I know. No opposable thumbs. So, did you…?”

  Cutter shrugged his broad shoulders. “I was in the right place at the right time.”

  She might have known that Logan Cutter himself would swim out to get her. “Thank you. I’m sorry I scratched you. And, I think, gave you a black eye?”

  He touched the slight bruise. “Understandable under the circumstances, don’t worry about it.”

  His eyes were bluer, and far more penetrating, than she remembered. He was more striking than handsome, his expression impassive. She got the uneasy feeling that she’d been judged and found lacking as his eyes brushed over her like a physical touch on her skin.

  The hair on her arms lifted in response to that mild stare. Everything about him was dark except those X-ray eyes. If there was any emotion in them, it was challenge. A trick of the light, she was pretty sure. They’d barely exchanged a dozen words throughout the night. He couldn’t suspect her of lying, she’d hardly told him anything. Yet.

  He was all hard, lean muscle in a black T-shirt that announced in acid yellow, EAT. SLEEP. DIVE. As if he needed a T-shirt to tell the world he was at home on the ocean.

  She looked away, glancing casually at the items on the shelves. Boy, the guy was neat. Everything in its place and shipshape. Her mother, who’d always despaired of Daniela’s housekeeping skills, would approve.

  A slab of unpolished, ancient-looking wood served as his desk. It was positioned beside a large picture window framing a spectacular view so he could look out while he did whatever he did that required an office on a boat.

  Daniela wasn’t interested in the pretty day or the sparkling, infinite, blue water view. She casually looked around as she headed for one of two mismatched black leather guest chairs near his desk. He had some interesting artifacts on the ceiling-to-floor, wall-to-wall shelves. Various ancient tools in enclosed, dust-free cases. A few small fossils, some bones, some kind of stringed musical instrument. Bits of rock and blobs of a mysterious fused metal. Not what she …

  Her heart did a hop, skip, and jump as she saw the translucent jade-green bowl on his desk. The sunlight streaming through the vessel pooled a delicate liquid emerald shadow on the roughly scarred wood surface.

  My God, could it be that easy? If there was a hard way, and an easy way, somehow she always seemed to go for the hard. It was a huge, and unexpected, piece of good fortune to see the bowl she wanted/needed, prominently displayed in plain sight.

  “I’m feeling much better, thanks.” The bowl was why her idiot cousins had risked her life. She shifted the chair a little farther away from the desk, pulled her eyes from the artifact, and sat down. The dog padded away from Cutter to come and flop down on her foot. With a massive sigh, he put his large head on his paws and closed his eyes.

  Her host indicated the dog with a tilt of his chin. “I see your new bodyguard is taking his job seriously. How’s the head?”

  “Apparently pretty hard.” She smiled ruefully as she touched the bump on her forehead. A slight headache was the least of her problems. “Thank you for saving my life. If you hadn’t seen me…”

  Cutter didn’t quite smile. It was an interesting illusion. Daniela suspected that, like his dog, he was making only a nod to civility.

  “As I said, you have Dog to thank. If it was up to me, you’d still be out there. Couldn’t see anything in the dark, but he insisted.”

  Before he asked her about her memory, she grabbed the ball and ran with it. The best offense was a good defense, her dad, a tax attorney, always said. “When I woke up, I remembered.”

  “Remembered…?”

  She gave him her best, most charming, guileless smile. “Hi, my name is Annie Ross.” She’d been using that name for the past week and knew she’d answer to it.

  “Good that you figured out who you are.” The small smile he gave back didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t trust her, and he didn’t care if she knew it. “If you still had that concussion, we’d be heading into port right now, whether you wanted to go to Lima or not.”

  Daniela forced herself to stay completely relaxed. Calm. Friendly. Trustworthy. “I have good reason not to want to go there, so regaining my memory was extremely fortunate for me.” She shrugged, and regretted it when his attention flickered to her chest, making her annoyingly aware of the shape and weight of her unbound breasts. “And it saves you a trip,” she added when his attention returned to her face.

  The dog lifted his head and snuffed.

  “We’ll see. I see you and Dog have bonded.”

  Apparently, the three of them had slept together, all night. Logan on the bunk just a few feet away, the wolf-dog spooned around her body on the narrow bunk like a thermal blanket. She wiggled her bare toes under the animal’s hairy belly to no effect. “His name really is Dog?”

  Logan shrugged broad shoulders. “Couldn’t come up with anything more creative at the time, and it stuck. So, do we head to Lima anyway, Annie Ross? I’m sure people must be worried.”

  She met his stunningly blue eyes, and saw awareness simmering in the ocean-colored depths. That attentiveness made her mouth go dry, and caused the knot in her belly to tighten one more notch. “Nobody will be worried, I assure you,” she told him evenly.

  Not too many details, she reminded herself. Keep it simple. She kept her hands loosely clasped in her lap, and consciously stopped her foot from bouncing by slipping it beside the one wedged beneath the dog’s belly. Nerves hummed through her like live wires. Her palms were damp, her mouth dry.

  She felt as though she had a blinking neon sign over her head proclaiming her a big fat liar. Hell, she kept her eyes steady and her chin lifted, what was one or one hundred more in the grand scheme of things?

  “Do you have family in Peru?”

  Holy crap. What? She opened big, innocent eyes. “No, why do you ask?”

  “Just wondered if you’re Peruvian.”

  “My mother’s from Mexico City.” Sorry, Mom.

  “Won’t she be worried about you?”

  Daniela shook her head. Easier to be an orphan, but she wasn’t willing to kill off her mother to enhance her story. She settled for, “We haven’t spoken for a while.” A month since her parents had left for their Mediterranean cruise.

  “Were you part of a tour group on one of the cruise ships?”

  “I was working on the—on a ship as a cruise director for a wealthy man and his friends. They’ll think nothing of my disappearance.”

  “Does that
man happen to be Rydell Case, by any chance?” His voice was steel, as his gaze went from cool to flinty. Clearly he didn’t like the man he was asking about. She instinctively froze at his tone. Dog’s head lifted from his massive paws, and he looked up at Logan, then swiveled his head to look at her. After a moment he put his head down again, closing his eyes.

  Daniela suspected that Cutter, like his dog, could be a dangerous enemy.

  After a nanosecond spent trying to decide if the other guy he mentioned was worth throwing under the bus, and deciding he was another complication, Daniela said honestly, “Never heard of him.”

  Logan leaned back in his chair. “The name of the ship?”

  “I’m sorry, but I’d rather not say.” She’d considered making up names to fit the story, but the less detail, the less chance he’d find out she was bullshitting. She could tell he wasn’t her biggest fan, and they’d barely exchanged a dozen words.

  “And the name of this ‘wealthy man’?”

  There was a fine line between giving too much information and not enough. It would be harder for him to catch her in a lie with too little information, but she had to give him something. Her mind raced. “I’d prefer not to tell you that either. Look, it was a job that went horribly wrong from the start.” God. Perfect. Yes.

  “It was a three-month cruise, on a ship similar to this one. I was hired to cater to the whims and entertainment of the guests. Arrange card games, excursions, make sure the food and wine were as they liked it…” What else did someone like that do? She had no freaking idea. Not sleeping with the boss was the point here. That would cover evasion, dislike of being too friendly, what she was doing here—Oh, yes. This was the perfect cover.

  Or not.

  “And?”

  “Things were okay for the first few weeks, but he was bored with his current mistress and put her ashore—” Cutter cocked a dark brow for which port, but she repeated firmly, “Put her ashore. Then he decided I was fair game. I wasn’t. I was polite, then I was adamant, then I started getting annoyed, then I was frightened.”

  She shuddered realistically, and, because she couldn’t resist, picked up the bowl from his desk to stroke her fingers over the smooth rim as she spun her story. She’d read a book years ago about how to spot a liar. But she was trying so hard not to show any of the tells—or at least any she remembered—that she probably looked guilty as hell of lying through her teeth anyway.