“Oh, I want to hear it all,” Rowan enthused. “In fact … Quinn, would you get me more crab legs? I think this is going to be an extra long dinner.”
“Sure, sweetheart.” Quinn didn’t put up a fight. He wanted Rowan to enjoy herself and he hadn’t seen her this excited since she first found out about the horror movie awards being hosted on the ship. “It will be my pleasure.”
“Thank you.” Rowan met his gaze for a long beat, something warm and cozy passing between them. Then she turned her full attention back to Drusilla. “Lay it on me. I need to know absolutely everything.”
Drusilla returned the smile. “I hope you’re up for it.”
6
Six
“She’s not so bad after all, huh?”
Rowan leaned against the wall as Quinn retrieved his security pass from his pocket and waved it in front of the art gallery wall sensor. Dinner with Drusilla lasted longer than either of them expected and it was almost ten before they finally escaped. Quinn suggested going to bed early because they had another long day ahead of them tomorrow, but Rowan wanted to see the display. Even more than that, she wanted to spend some time alone with him. Drusilla’s nonstop chatter wasn’t conducive to a romantic evening.
“I honestly can’t decide,” Quinn admitted, holding open the door so Rowan could enter in front of him. “I would say she put on a really good act for the better part of the night.”
“That doesn’t sound very nice,” Rowan chided, her eyes widening when she caught sight of the huge painting by the front door. “Wow.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Quinn’s expression was dubious as he looked over the painting. It featured some sort of hairy monster standing in a sea of dismembered bodies, red claws extended and dripping with blood. “I’m not sure I would consider this art.”
“It’s cool.” Rowan’s lips curved. “I wouldn’t put it up in my room or anything, but it’s definitely art. It’s merely a different kind of art.”
“If you say so.” Quinn held her hand as they walked to the next painting. “I’m sorry she ruined our night. That dinner wasn’t exactly what I had planned.”
“It wasn’t ruined. It was merely … different. I found her interesting. I am, however, interested in why you think she was putting on an act.”
“She was normal and nice this afternoon when I was showing her the space,” Quinn explained. “I didn’t spend a lot of time with her – about forty minutes or so – and then I left two of my guys to make sure everything was secured while she handled the installation. Unlike the camera, it’s unlikely anyone would come in here and try to steal the art.”
“Did she feel the same way?”
“No, she felt as if her art was the big draw and there was a bit of ego tied in with that,” Quinn replied. “I understand that, though, and it didn’t bother me. In fact, she was easy to deal with. That’s why I was so surprised when she approached us at the buffet line. She almost seemed like a different person.”
“Maybe she has multiple personalities,” Rowan suggested. “I’ve seen horror movies featuring characters like that. Psycho, for example. Norman Bates is a total mental case.”
“That’s one explanation.” Quinn had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “I think I’m going to stick with the one where she was putting on a show. She seemed legitimately agitated when she saw you. I’m not sure how to explain her reaction.”
Rowan took a long beat to survey his strong profile. Sometimes he was unaware of his appeal. He often talked big but was genuinely uncomfortable with extended attention from the female persuasion. “You honestly don’t get it, do you?”
Quinn’s expression was hard to read. “What am I supposed to get?”
“Nothing. You’re fine the way you are.” Rowan squeezed his hand and focused on the next painting, wrinkling her nose as she took in the oversized portrait. “This is interesting. Have you looked at it?”
“I saw it earlier,” Quinn answered. “There are like ten different women, all in various stages of death, on there. It’s not my cup of tea. I like my women in tie-dyed dresses … with bare legs and bright smiles. These women look like they’re screaming. I can almost hear them.”
“The art itself is intriguing, but that’s not what I was talking about,” Rowan said. “Have you looked at the women?”
Quinn searched her face for a hint before focusing on the painting. He had no idea what she was talking about. “I guess I’m missing it.”
“It’s the actresses who are up for the big awards at this ceremony,” Rowan said. “That right there is Callisto. That’s Elvira Storm, who is a real nutcase, by the way. That’s the Rebecca woman Drusilla was talking about earlier. That’s Avalon Scythe.”
Quinn arched an amused eyebrow. “Avalon Scythe?”
“I’m sure that’s not her real name,” Rowan teased. “In fact, taking photos has been overly difficult because I know most of the faces from the movies. They’re registered under completely different names, though. I’m going to have to put together a cheat sheet or something.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Quinn released Rowan’s hand and slipped his arm around her waist, tugging her to his side so they could share a bit of warmth. The climate controls in the gallery were turned low so it was barely sixty degrees. The difference from the deck was almost jarring. “You’re going to be busy over the next few days. They have a lot of events planned and I’m sure you’ll be expected to be present at most of them.”
“Are you worried I won’t have time for you?” Rowan teased.
“I think you’re the type who will make time, so I’m not overly worried about that,” Quinn replied. “Even if we don’t get to spend a lot of time together over the next few days, though, the cruise won’t last forever and we can make up for lost time over our next break.”
“You’re surprisingly easygoing for a security stud muffin,” Rowan said, resting her chin on his chest and tilting her head so she could stare into his eyes. “I know this isn’t your idea of fun, and I know you wanted to show Drusilla to another table but put up with her because I wanted to hear the gossip, but I appreciate the effort you’re putting in.”
“It’s not effort. I could see how much fun you were having talking to Drusilla. I would never want to infringe on that.”
“Still, it wasn’t fun for you.”
“Sweetheart, every moment I spend with you is fun. Well, except for the few times you’ve been in danger and scared the life out of me. Those times weren’t fun. They’re the exceptions rather than the rules, though.”
Rowan snorted, rolling to the balls of her feet so she could press a kiss to his jaw line. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to call it a night. I left the photos from earlier today loading through the system, but I need to look at them quickly before I put them up for purchase.”
“And you’re tired.” Quinn cupped the back of her head. He could see the weariness reflected in her eyes. She’d gotten more sun than usual and despite her effortless beauty, she looked dead on her feet. “I’m tired, too. I think we could both use some sleep.”
“Good.” Rowan accepted his soft kiss before sliding her hand in his and following him toward the back door of the gallery. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a private door in this direction. It’s only for security personnel and emergencies. It will get us back to your room quicker, though.”
“Sold.”
There was never any question that he would return with her and sleep in the same bed. They hadn’t progressed to naked cuddling yet, but neither one of them wanted to be without the other when it came time for slumber. They would get to the rest eventually. Both knew they were too tired to head in that direction tonight, though.
“We’ll get up and have a good breakfast and then go over the itinerary tomorrow,” Quinn said. “We can coordinate our schedules and carve out some time to spend together, maybe even lunch.”
“That sou
nds like a plan.” Rowan wasn’t paying attention and slammed into Quinn’s side when he pulled up short. “Ow!” She ruefully rubbed her nose, but Quinn barely looked in her direction. “What’s going on?”
“This door is open.” Quinn was all business as he released Rowan’s hand and strode to the security door, pulling it open and looking through to the other side before shifting so he could scan the gallery. Everything was open and there was no place for anyone to hide. Since there were no sculptures in Drusilla’s show, nothing obscured the floor and every wall was covered with one of Drusilla’s paintings. Nothing looked out of place.
“Do you want to call your men and do a sweep?” Rowan asked, almost scared to hear the answer. She was desperate to crawl into bed with him and shut out the real world for a bit. His expression told her that might not be in the cards. “You’re going to stay here, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to stay here for a little bit and search the entire area – and the storage rooms back that way,” Quinn replied, pointing. “I’m sorry. I want you to go back to your room and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“If you don’t want to come … I mean, if something more important comes up … .”
“Nothing is more important.” Quinn smacked a quick kiss against her lips. “I will be there. I’m sure it was just an oversight. I still have to check.”
“I understand.” Rowan forced herself to remain upbeat. “In fact, I have thirty minutes of work to do myself. Maybe if we time things correctly we’ll be able to go to bed at the same time after all.”
Quinn graced her with a quick smile. “That’s the plan … and the hope. If I’m going to be later than that, I’ll text you.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“I promise I won’t be any longer than necessary.”
ROWAN CHANGED into her favorite cotton sleep shorts and a T-shirt once she got back to her room, making sure everything looked nice and neat for when Quinn joined her. She knew he would crawl into bed beside her no matter how late he worked and she didn’t want to risk him tripping over shoes or clothing on his way to the bed.
In truth, she’d lucked out in the room department. It was absolutely tiny compared to a house or apartment, but for a cruise ship it was downright luxurious. She’d discovered while visiting Sally’s room that she was given something special because Sally’s room was half the size. Since Sally was in charge of the entire kitchen operation – including staff – and Rowan was only taking pictures, the photographer couldn’t help but be confused. Quinn’s room was the same size, but that made sense because he was the security chief. Rowan had no idea how she lucked out in the room lottery.
Once she changed and washed off her makeup, Rowan sat on her bed and focused on her laptop. She’d uploaded more than a thousand photos over the course of the day and she needed to make sure there was nothing embarrassing included before okaying them for the marketplace. Thanks to the digital age, the ship no longer offered proofs. Patrons purchased what they wanted and the photographs were emailed to the account of their choice. It was all streamlined and efficient.
For the most part, Rowan liked the set-up. There were times she missed her job as a photojournalist – the thing she went to college for and made her living at for years until being laid off – but, for the most part, she loved her new life. Sure, Quinn was a big part of that, but she was enjoying the ship’s atmosphere before they paired up. Since getting together she merely liked it more than before.
Rowan was lost in thought, visions of potential ways to seduce Quinn and overcome their final hurdle dancing through her head, when something caught her attention in one of the photographs. The photo was a group shot, a striking blonde taking up residence in the center of it. Rowan couldn’t be sure because the people were so small, but she was almost positive she recognized a familiar symbol in the corner of the photo. Since there were at least twenty people in the photograph, though, Rowan wasn’t comfortable identifying the omen.
She sucked in a deep, calming breath and clicked a button so she could scroll through the rest of the photographs. Rowan kept her eyes focused on the screen, not stopping until she found an isolated picture of the blonde. There, clear as day and over the woman’s shoulder, was the death omen.
Rowan pressed her eyes shut and heaved out a sigh, debating whether she should text Quinn with the news or get dressed and find him. Ultimately she didn’t need to make a decision because Quinn picked that moment to wander into her room.
“Hey.” He smiled when he saw she was ready for bed. “Are you still finishing up? I told you I wouldn’t be too long.” Quinn reached for the back of his shirt so he could pull it over his head, but Rowan stilled him.
“Wait.”
“What?” The look on Rowan’s face worried Quinn and he instinctively moved closer. “Is something wrong?”
Rowan nodded, her stomach twisting. She hated this part. She didn’t want to ruin their night … or this cruise … or anything. He looked so tired. She couldn’t not tell him, though. “I was just finishing going through the photographs,” she explained. “I … found something.”
Instead of reacting with a flash of anger or impatience, Quinn remained calm. “I was afraid that would happen with this group. Who is it?”
“Ironically, we spent half of our night talking about her.”
“Drusilla?” Quinn was dumbfounded. “I thought the first time you saw her was when she was in line at the buffet.”
“Not Drusilla. It’s Callisto.”
“The woman who is supposed to win the best actress statue?”
“That would be her.” Rowan turned around her computer so Quinn could see the screen. She’d discovered over the years that other people could see the symbol when she pointed it out to them. It only showed up because she snapped the photograph, though – she’d tested different cameras to make sure it wasn’t the equipment – and she had no idea where the ability came from. “Do you see it?”
Quinn nodded. “Yup. Is it in more than one photo?”
“I saw it in a group shot first and went looking for individual faces,” Rowan explained. “I can look for more of Callisto to confirm it if you want, but she’s alone in this photo and it’s definitely there.”
“I don’t need to see more. You believe it. That means I believe it.” Quinn rolled his neck and stared at the ceiling a moment before pulling his phone from his pocket. “Hold on. I have an idea.”
Rowan remained quiet as Quinn texted someone, her nerves coming out to play as she watched him stare at the phone. He idly rubbed Rowan’s shoulders and waited for a return text, and when the phone dinged she was so keyed up she almost jumped out of her skin.
“Andrew checked and Callisto is in her room for the night,” Quinn supplied. “She said something about putting on a mud mask and going to bed early because she has a bunch of stuff to do tomorrow. She’s okay for now.”
“Well, that’s good.” Rowan couldn’t help but be relieved. “That won’t last forever, though.”
“No, but we have time.” Quinn pulled off his shirt, revealing his ridiculously chiseled chest. “We can get some sleep and come up with a plan tomorrow. We’re coordinating schedules as it is. We’ll figure it out.”
Rowan wanted to argue, but she had nothing to offer in that department. He was right. There was nothing they could do for now. Callisto was apparently safe. That was the important thing. “I took her photo when she arrived and there was no omen,” she said. “Whatever happened to change that, it was in the afternoon hours.”
“I don’t know whether that’s important or not, but we’ll figure it out.”
“Okay.” Rowan approved all the photos and made sure they were loading through the portal before moving her laptop to the small table against the wall and climbing under the sheets. Quinn killed the light before joining her, slipping an arm under her waist and tugging her body so she could curl up next to him, her head on his chest.
“Everything is going
to be okay. We’ll figure it out in the morning.” Quinn brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Get some sleep.”
“Okay.” Rowan was convinced she would never be able to sleep due to her emotions, but she found herself drifting off relatively quickly. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Ro.” Quinn closed his eyes, waiting until her body went limp against his to let go. “Sweet dreams.”
7
Seven
“Good morning.”
Quinn woke first, enjoying ten blissful minutes of quiet as he watched Rowan sleep. She made little cooing sounds through her nose that he found adorable. It was like listening to a cat purr. He found it so soothing he almost slipped back under. Then she shifted her head on his shoulder.
The first thing she saw upon waking was Quinn staring at her. She wasn’t self-conscious. She was over the whole “bedhead” thing. He’d seen her with out-of-control hair numerous times, often commenting that he found it cute. His hair was short enough that it never looked out of place. It wasn’t fair, of course. Rowan was convinced no one should look as good as him upon waking. Still, since she was the sole beneficiary, she decided it wasn’t unbearable or anything.
“Good morning.”
Quinn kissed the tip of Rowan’s nose, smiling as she stretched before rearranging her body to get more comfortable. Neither one of them was in the mood to face the day quite yet.
“How did you sleep?” Quinn asked, gently pushing strands of tousled hair away from her face. “You didn’t have nightmares or anything, did you?”
Rowan shook her head. “I slept hard. I didn’t think I would. I thought I would be up all night but was out pretty quickly. I didn’t have dreams about Callisto suffering any of her terrible horror movie deaths or anything.”
“I guess that’s good.” Quinn lazily traced a simple pattern over Rowan’s arm. “I’m still coming to grips with this horror movie fascination of yours. I’m not sure I get it.”
“I used to watch them with my father.” It felt odd to admit it, but when she did, Rowan felt a little better. For years she had no one to confide in. Now she felt as if she could tell Quinn almost anything. “When I was younger and started … um, seeing things in cameras that I couldn’t explain … he was kind of at a loss.”
Stormy Seas (A Rowan Gray Mystery Book 3) Page 6
