by Rebecca York
In the dark, she pressed her fingers against his lips. With her mouth near his ear, she murmured, “I shouldn’t have asked.”
He silently nodded.
She clasped his fingers with hers. When she squeezed, he squeezed back. There was so much she wanted to say, but that was impossible here.
Was the danger around them fueling her feelings for him? Probably, but she knew it was more than that.
She ached to ask what she meant to him. In the darkness, she could only hang on to his hand.
oOo
Ben poured himself a cup of coffee from the dispenser at the side of the operations room, then played the recording again. Every time he heard Cole Mason chant, it raised goose bumps on his arms. It was weird. And rendered with an unnerving sincerity.
“What is it?” Greg asked. Since Mason had escaped, he’d been listening in on the bedroom where the guy and his honey were holed up. He’d heard the conversation, called the security chief in, and played the recording again.
Ben gestured toward a computer screen. “I’ve looked up the words. I think they’re ancient Celtic.”
“What do they mean?”
“I think he’s asking the gods for powers.”
Greg snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”
Ben shrugged. “That’s the best I can come up with.”
“A lot of good the ancient gods are going to do him here.”
They played the recording again.
“Could it be some kind of code?” Greg asked.
“I guess it could be,” Ben acknowledged. “But he seemed to be dreaming when he said it. At least that’s what he told Emma.”
“If he was telling the truth.” Greg sighed. “He said he was interested in ancient Greece and Rome,”
“And Druids.”
“What if he belongs to some ancient cult?”
Ben shrugged again. “I guess that’s possible.”
“If it’s not a code, what other explanation is there for that freaky chant.?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think we should wake up the boss?”
“You want to wake him up for that?”
Greg thought about it. “I guess not.”
“We’ll keep an eye on them at the ceremony.”
“If he’s in shape to get there.”
“I’ll bet you he does. He’s tough. Even drugged, he packed a wallop.”
Greg nodded. “Yeah, he struck me as a macho guy who wouldn’t want anyone to know he was hurting, but you never know how a person will react to drugs.”
oOo
Cole woke. Lying very still, he catalogued his faculties. And his memories.
Last night Emma, bless her, had done something that he’d thought was impossible. With her questions, she’d brought back the memories of the interrogation session. At least he knew what had happened during those missing hours. Or the parts where he hadn’t been passed out.
If he wasn’t fooling himself—and her—he hadn’t given the mission away, although he couldn’t be absolutely sure. Which was making his pulse pound. He still half expected armed men to come charging through the door.
He turned his head and saw that Emma was also awake, and looking at him in the dim light filtering in around the shades.
“How do you feel?” she asked, reaching up to lay her hand against his cheek. He turned his head and kissed her palm.
“Almost human.” It was a joke that she couldn’t get. Not yet. He could give that answer every morning of his life.
She moved closer, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, drawing her close, wanting her and at the same time knowing that they couldn’t get very deep into anything personal now.
When she slid her lips along his cheek, he fought the urge to turn his head again.
Maybe she was reading his thoughts when she murmured, “I know we can’t make love, but could you just hold me.”
He drew her in closer, closing his eyes, wishing they were somewhere else. Wishing he could tell her all the things that he was hiding.
As they lay together, he felt arousal wrapping them together. When he thought it would overwhelm him, he eased away, regret in his eyes.
“I know,” she murmured.
Gingerly he sat up and was pleased to find that the room wasn’t spinning around him.
When he saw that Emma was watching him carefully, he said, “We’ve got a party this morning. Another special treat from our host,” he added, trying not to sound too sarcastic.
“Maybe we should skip it,” she answered.
The suggestion was tempting. He wanted to get Karen off the boat before it was too late. But that wasn’t going to be so easy. Suppose he skipped the party. Then what? His mishap with Stella and Big Ben had put him on the Windward radar screen. He wasn’t going to feel like he could sneeze without the security force knowing about it.
And speaking of security, by now they must know the guy he’d killed was missing. The best case scenario was that they thought he’d joined the rebels or whoever they were. Or maybe he’d gotten off the ship.
Yeah, off the ship. Floating in the ocean.
“We’re paying good money for this vacation, and I want to enjoy it,” he said punching out the words. Maybe Karen would be at the party. Maybe that was the special attraction, and Del Conte wanted to test his reaction. At least he could hope she’d be there. And then what?
Emma answered his spoken comment with a tight nod, then said brightly, “While you were gone, I was looking at some of the information about the ship. There’s a deluxe breakfast buffet on Deck Three. Everything from bacon and eggs to Belgian waffles.”
“Yum. As good a place as any to eat before the party.”
oOo
At considerable risk to himself, a man slipped into a storage room in the maintenance area of the ship. He had urgent business with one of the women who also worked on the Windward.
They had met in person only a few times, but this was an emergency situation.
Because the luxury liner was an environment full of cameras and listening devices, they had to be extremely careful. But they’d both been on the ship long enough to know how to avoid the worst pitfalls. They hoped.
This morning he was dressed in the gray overalls worn by the crew members who kept the ship running smoothly. He’d left his quarters carrying small canvas bags with the overalls and had found a spot outside of camera range to pull on the disguise over his clothing. And he’d made sure that the monitoring system in the seldom used storage room had been disabled long ago.
The meeting had been arranged through a dead drop on Deck Five where a section of paneling in a hallway had been loosened enough to hold a thin slip of paper. With a cryptic message that wouldn’t get anyone tortured or killed if it was discovered.
The man had left a request to the woman, asking for the meeting. He couldn’t be absolutely sure she’d picked up the note. But he was hoping for the best.
He arrived first, his nerves jumping as he waited in the darkened room for the other party to show up. She might or might not make the meeting, depending on her duties and how comfortable she felt slipping away.
That was the worst part about this damn environment. People were always watching you, even people you thought were your friends. They might be spies. Or they might be out to curry favor with Del Conte by reporting suspicious behavior.
The man and the woman were not exactly allies, but they had found it useful to communicate on matters of mutual interest. Perhaps that was becoming too dangerous in the current environment.
There were too many unknowns now, including the wild card that had introduced itself recently.
He stood in the dark, ordering himself not to pace back and forth while the minutes ticked by. He couldn’t stay here all day. He had to report to duty.
He was about to leave when she finally slipped into the room, emitting a thin shaft of light from the corridor before closing the door behind her.
&nb
sp; “What the hell is going on?” he asked. “Don’t you know that the stunts your group is pulling could get us all killed?”
“I’m sorry. The frustration level is so high . . .” Her voice trailed off.
He wished he could see her face, but it was safer to remain in the dark. “Did your group kill a security guard last night?”
“What?”
“Tom Dalhasi.”
“He was a sick bastard, but we didn’t go after him. What happened?”
“I don’t know. I found out a while ago that he’s missing.” The conspirator dragged in a breath and let it out. “You know I’m as committed to stopping Del Conte as you are. But creating chaos among the guests isn’t the way.”
In the darkness, she stepped toward him and put a hand on his arm. “I’ll convey that message.”
“You’ve lost control of the group. Maybe one of them offed Dalhasi as a solo project.”
“It’s possible.”
He waited a beat before saying. “There may be someone on the ship that can help us.”
“Who?”
“I think you’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “Maybe they did Dalhasi.”
“That’s possible. Meanwhile, try to talk some sense into your people.”
“If I can.”
“Tell the hotheads they’ll get us all killed.”
“Not you.”
“You can never be sure.”
“Unfortunately. I’d better go, before I’m missed. I have an assignment in a little while.”
She left first. He gave her a ten-minute head start, then exited the room and returned to his duties, wondering if she was lying about Dalhasi.
oOo
While he showered and shaved, Cole kept evaluating his options—and his condition. He still didn’t know how the hell he and Emma were going to complete the assignment. They didn’t even know if Karen was still in the Tropical Lounge. If Del Conte was worried about a rebellion on the ship, maybe he’d moved her to a more secure location.
He sighed. Nobody had understood how impossible this situation was when Frank Decorah had sent them here. They would have had a better chance with a surprise attack by a raiding party. If they’d known where to find Karen. Now Cole was thinking they’d be lucky to get out alive—let alone with Karen Hopewell.
Unable to come up with firm plans, he switched to evaluating his condition. It felt like he was operating at about eighty percent of normal capacity. Not great, but it would have to do. And they would have to find Karen. Before it was too late.
Wondering about the party attire, he dressed in jeans and a knit shirt. Before they left the room, he gave Emma a confident smile. She smiled back, but he knew that they were both prepared for trouble as he opened the door.
He counted it a good sign when no one was waiting in the hall with machine guns pointed in their direction.
There were a couple of dozen guests in the elegantly furnished room where breakfast was laid out on long tables spread with crisp white cloths. A few single men were scattered around the room, but most were at tables for two. Nobody was striking up conversations with the other guests. Or making eye contact with anyone besides their breakfast companion, if they had one. If he had to evaluate the mood of the room, he’d call it subdued. Not like a bunch of people anticipating a good time.
Maybe the gunshots and the attacks were getting to the guests. What if some of them wanted to go home? Would Del Conte let them, or would he insist that they stay—and pay—for the days they’d booked?
He and Emma found a table near the window where they could look out at the ocean.
“What a beautiful view,” she chirped as she spread peach jam and cream cheese on a toasted bagel.”
“Stunning,” he agreed, then took a bite of the rare steak he’d served himself.
But it was hard to sit there and choke down food. Cole kept his eye out for anyone paying particular attention to him and Emma, but as far as he could tell, no one was going to arrest him while he ate. He’d filled his plate not because he was hungry but because he figured he needed the fuel.
When they were almost finished eating, two of the cast members came up to their table. They were dressed in uniforms, the guy like an English butler in a dark suit, crisp white shirt and vest. The woman was outfitted like a French maid with a short black dress, white apron and black fishnet stockings.
“Cole Mason and Emma Ray?” the butler asked. He looked to be in his thirties, with bleached blond hair.
He and Emma both tensed, although they were both trying to look casual.
“Yes,” he answered.
“It’s our pleasure to get you ready for the party.”
The woman stepped forward and held out her hand to Emma. “I’m Francine. I’ll take care of you.”
The butler walked to Cole. “I am Sidney. Let me show you to your dressing room suite.”
“We’re separating?” Emma asked in a voice she couldn’t quite hold steady.
“To the men’s and women’s dressing areas. You’ll meet again at the party,” Sidney said.
“Okay,” Cole answered, allowing the butler to lead him through the door. He wanted to look back at Emma, but he kept his gaze straight ahead.
This could be some kind of trick. A ploy to get him away from the other guests before they grabbed him.
Maybe, but in the Tropical Lounge the security staff hadn’t been shy about grabbing anyone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Emma followed Francine down a long hallway.
After last night, she hated being separated from Cole. What if they were going to interrogate him the way they had last night? And this dressing room thing was just a way to get him off alone? Or maybe it was her they wanted to interrogate?
That fear wasn’t the only thing making her stomach churn. She’d seen Karen in that cell. Seen her see-through outfit and the terror on the girl’s face. But at least she’d looked unharmed. No bruises or obvious signs of ill treatment.
Francine stopped at an elevator and pressed the button.
“Have you been to these parties?” Emma asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you have a good time?”
The woman hesitated, looking uneasy. “The guests have a good time.”
“It’s no fun for you?”
“The fun is for the guests. The staff does their job.”
Emma waited a moment before taking a chance on saying, “I saw a woman in a cage. Is she a guest? Or does she work here?”
“I didn’t see her,” Francine snapped. “Please, stop asking so many questions.” She lowered her voice. “Are you trying to get me in trouble.”
“No,” Emma answered, pretty sure she wasn’t going to get any useful information and sorry if she really had made trouble for the woman.
The elevator took them to Deck Two where they followed another corridor to what could have been the fitting room in an upscale department store.
Francine gestured toward one of the cubicles. “Go in and take off all your clothes.”
“Everything?”
“Yes, the costuming for the party is authentic. No modern underwear.
Emma nodded tightly. Inside the dressing room, she pulled off her sundress and hung it on a hanger. She had on no bra. After a moment’s hesitation, she took off her sandals, then pulled down her panties and stepped out of them.
Francine knocked on the door, then entered, holding a box full of clothing and taking an appraising look at Emma’s body.
“You have a good figure.”
“Thank you,” she answered, resisting the desire to fold her arms across her breasts.
“And it looks like you keep yourself in shape.”
“Yes. I jog. And rock climb.”
“Don’t neglect the weight machines. We have an excellent gym and trainers on the ship.”
“Okay.”
Francine handed
her a garment. “It’s a tunic. It buttons up the front. And there’s a skirt.”
Emma slipped the tunic on, then the skirt, noting that the lower garment barely covered her naked ass. The neckline dipped low in front, skimming the tops of her breasts. Turquoise dyed feather epaulets decorated each shoulder. As she fastened the row of buttons down the front, she said, “The Maya wore these?”
“I wouldn’t know. I only get the costumes requested.”
“Right.”
The footwear was soft leather boots with rows of ruffles around the ankles.
Finally, Francine helped her attach a decorative headdress.
“You look lovely,” the woman approved.
Emma studied herself in the full-length mirror. “I feel like I’m going to a costume party.”
“You are. You’ll fit right in.”
“What do they do there?”
“It depends?”
“An orgy,” she asked, her chest tightening as she wondered how she’d get through something like that.
“Probably not.”
At least that was something.
oOo
They exited the dressing room into another hallway. “It’s two doors down on the right. Have a wonderful time.”
“Thanks.” With her heart in her throat, Emma walked toward the doorway. Beyond she could hear soft drumming and flute music, also people laughing and talking.
She pushed the door open and stepped into another world.
The room was large. The tropical greenery on two sides was similar to where they’d been earlier. But there the resemblance ended.
Blue light obscured the ceiling and gave the room an eerie cast. High walls of what looked like rough-cut stone enclosed the space. At the far end was a pyramid with primitive drawings carved into the stone.
The place had a strange, ancient quality, making her feel like she’d journeyed back in time. And the air was thick with the scent of incense or perhaps something stronger. Which wouldn’t be out of keeping with Mayan rituals she remembered from some of her reading in college.
About fifteen men and women were scattered around the area, all dressed in outfits similar to her own. Only the men had one-piece tunics, and the women had a top and skirt. Some men and women seemed to be couples. Others were alone and scanning the crowd.
