Veritas

by Duncan, MJ

  Veritas

  MJ Duncan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by MJ Duncan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author.

  Cover art © 2014 MJ Duncan

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  CHAPTER 51

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Chapter 1

  It was getting late, and Lauren Murphy knew that she had to be up before dawn the next morning to begin her new job, but she was content to enjoy what was left of her first night in Saint Thomas sitting on the sweeping patio at Jack’s. The restaurant was across the street from her hotel, and it fronted the western edge of the harbor in Charlotte Amalie, which gave her breathtaking views of both the boats moored in the harbor as well as the island’s lush mountains.

  The sound of plates shattering against the concrete patio behind her had her turning in her seat to inspect the damage, and she shook her head as she forced herself to turn back around. Not my kitchen, not my problem, she thought as she smoothed her hands over the napkin on her lap.

  It was still hard for her to believe that she was not in the kitchen at Clarke’s on the Upper West Side, her black chef’s coat buttoned primly to the neck and her sleeves rolled to her elbows. It was, after all, what she had done every night for the last ten years. She had dedicated herself to her craft, spending practically every night since she graduated from the Culinary Institute of America in one high-end kitchen and then another, steadily working her way up through the cutthroat New York restaurant scene, until, at thirty-two, she was considered amongst the best of the best—despite the fact that she still only held the title of sous chef. The recognition was nice, it certainly made the hours she put into her career worthwhile, but she had reached the point where she was too exhausted to care.

  She stretched her legs out beneath the table and sighed as she ran a hand through her hair. New York was the last thing she wanted to think about. She had taken the job as a private chef aboard a charter yacht for a few weeks to take a break from the stress of constantly trying to be the best and just enjoy cooking again. And, as a bonus, she would get to explore a part of the world she had always been fascinated by as a girl growing up in the Midwest.

  A lithe figure cutting purposefully through the tables just to her right drew her attention, and a slow smile tweaked her lips as she studied the new arrival. The woman was tall, with an athletic build and luscious sun-bronzed skin, both of which were shown off to utter perfection by her tight jeans and fitted tank top. Her hair was cut in a shaggy pixie style, the short auburn strands windblown in a most appealing way, and the smile on her face was absolutely enchanting. Lauren unabashedly ran her eyes over the woman’s body, lingering on the ample swell of her breasts and the taut curve of her ass. It had been far too long since she had taken a woman to bed.

  Her ogling was interrupted by her waiter setting the glass of wine she had ordered in front of her. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “Just the check, please.” Lauren nodded her thanks as she reached for her glass, and the moment he was gone she immediately looked for the beautiful brunette.

  It did not take Lauren long to find her standing at the bar, chatting up a leggy blonde in a red spaghetti-strap sundress. The light from the bar made it easy for her to see the way the brunette leaned in closer to the blonde, tan fingers trailing lightly over her forearm as she said something that made her laugh.

  The return of her waiter with her check forced Lauren’s attention away from the women, and she cleared her throat softly as she dug in her purse for her wallet. She slid her credit card into the leather folder he was holding out for her without even bothering to glance at the tab, and dropped her wallet onto the table. “Here you go.”

  He nodded and hurried off to the register beside the kitchen to run the card, and her eyes drifted back to the two women at the bar. The brunette leaned in to brush a light kiss over the blonde’s cheek before whispering something in her ear. Though Lauren knew her staring was incredibly rude, she could not look away. The blonde nodded in response to whatever it was the brunette had suggested, and Lauren bit her lip as she watched the blonde drag a playful finger down the middle of the brunette’s chest before sliding sensuously off her barstool and sauntering toward the parking lot.

  The brunette flashed a friendly wave at the bartender as she followed the blonde, and Lauren’s eyes widened in surprise when she saw the bartender and some of the waitstaff exchanging money in the wake of her exit.

  “Did they seriously bet on whether or not she could pick that girl up?” She shook her head, leaned back in her chair, and picked up the wine glass she had been idly spinning on the tabletop as she had watched the two women at the bar. Lauren sipped at the drink and gazed softly at the spot the brunette had been standing only minutes before, wistfully thinking that she would have quite liked to trade places with the beautiful blonde.

  Her waiter returned a few minutes later, smiling politely as he held up the back of her card to her. “I’m sorry, but you wrote on here that I’m supposed to check your ID?”

  “Of course.” Lauren pulled her driver’s license from her wallet and held it out for him. “Here you go.”

  “New York,” he observed, making a show of holding the front of the credit card to the ID to double-check that the names matched.

  “Yep.”

  He handed her both her credit card and the receipt for her to sign. “I hope you enjoy your vacation, then.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not on vacation. I’m going to be chef on the Veritas for a couple of cruises.” She waved a hand at the gleaming red and white catamaran that was moored at the end of a dock near the mouth of the marina. “I start tomorrow.”

  “I see,” the waiter drawled, a slow grin tweaking his lips.

  Lauren frowned. His smile was entirely too knowing and amused. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head. “I’m sure you and Grey will get along just fine.”

  Lauren’s frown deepe
ned. There was definitely something going on that she did not understand, and it apparently had something to do with the captain of the Veritas. “What do you mean? Do you know Grey Wells?”

  The waiter laughed and nodded. “Everybody knows Grey, but just forget that I said anything. Don’t worry about whatever you’ve heard, most of it isn’t true. People like to make up stories to amuse themselves, but even Wells can’t sleep with that many women. Good luck on your first sail tomorrow,” he added, smirking as he knocked lightly on her table before turning on his heel and heading over to another table where the customer was waving a hand to catch his attention.

  Lauren chewed her lip thoughtfully as she slipped her credit card back into her wallet, and could not help but wonder what, exactly, she had gotten herself into by accepting the chef’s position aboard the Veritas.

  Chapter 2

  The barest hint of sun was beginning to peek over the eastern horizon, setting fire to the cobalt sea that seemed to stretch to infinity, when Lauren made her way down an otherwise empty dock the next morning. A light onshore breeze tickled her bare legs, and she marveled at how nice it was to be wearing shorts in early November.

  She slowed to a stop beside the stern of the Veritas, and hitched the duffel bag she was wearing like a backpack higher on her shoulders as she studied the yacht that would be her home for the next two and a half weeks. Light from the main salon poured out onto the back deck through open sliding glass doors, casting a golden hue over the two tables that framed the surprisingly roomy space. Modern classical music, full of lilting flutes, heavy beats, and energetic violins was playing over the yacht’s speakers, and Lauren knew that even if she called out to make her presence known, whoever was inside the yacht would not hear.

  Nerves she had managed to subdue until that moment flared inside her, making her stomach flutter uncomfortably, and she drew a deep breath to solidify her resolve before she climbed aboard. Her arrival was effectively masked by the music playing, and she made her way slowly across the deck toward the open doors in search of the yacht’s captain.

  The salon was empty, which gave her time to just stop and take it all in for a moment. A gleaming banquette dining area with cream-colored leather cushions was at the far left side of the room, and a matching sofa filled the right. Bookshelves were built into the wall behind the banquette and the sofa, and a colorful red and gold rug covered the floor in front of the couch. To her right was a small desk area with a computer and what she imagined had to be a satellite telephone. The galley was on her left. It was U-shaped and a much smaller space than she was used to working in, but very modern, with stainless appliances and black granite countertops. From where she was standing, she could see a decent-sized fridge, as well as a four-burner stove with a built-in grill above a single oven, and the sink anchored the peninsula that separated the galley from the rest of the room. Three barstools with leather seats that matched the banquette and the sofa were tucked under the overhanging counter, and Lauren’s mind instantly imagined using the space as both a prep-area and an eating area.

  Lauren was so lost in her examination of the galley that she failed to notice when she was no longer alone, and she jumped with someone cleared their throat behind her.

  “May I help you?”

  The voice was a low, rough alto that sent pleasant shivers rolling down Lauren’s spine. “I’m sorry…” she began to apologize as she turned around, but the remainder of her apology died on her tongue when she found herself looking at the woman from the bar the night before.

  If Lauren had thought the brunette was beautiful from a distance, it was nothing compared to how she looked up-close. She was perhaps an inch taller than her own five foot ten inch frame, and her eyes, the one feature Lauren had not been able to catalogue the night before, were a warm brown, flecked with streaks of gold that gave them a hypnotic depth that was nearly impossible to look away from. Lauren was acutely aware of the way the brunette’s eyes swept slowly over her body, and her stomach lurched at the almost horrified look that was on her face when their eyes met again. The brunette’s face seemed to pale as they stared at each other, and Lauren found herself thrown completely off-balance by the entire situation. The woman in front of her did not look upset at finding a stranger on her boat. She looked stunned. Like there was something about Lauren that absolutely terrified her.

  The strange silence seemed to go on forever, until Lauren blurted, rather inelegantly, “I cook.”

  The brunette nodded slowly, a look of understanding and panic flashing in her eyes. “Lauren Murphy?”

  “Yeah.” Lauren looked back over her shoulder at the galley and shrugged. “I’m the, uh, new chef.”

  “Right,” the brunette muttered, forcing a small smile as she held a hand out in greeting. “Grey Wells. Welcome aboard the Veritas.”

  “Thank you,” Lauren murmured as she reached for Grey’s hand, and it was then that she remembered her waiter’s words from the night before.

  Not even Wells can sleep with that many women.

  But, Lauren surmised as she shook Grey’s hand, her waiter was wrong. She had no idea how many women Grey was rumored to have bedded, but she had no doubt that the brunette could pick up pretty much any woman if she tried. Grey was simply too beautiful to ever be turned down. Lauren smiled shyly at Grey as she released her hand and turned back toward the galley. “I’ll need to check the pantry to make sure I have everything I need before I head over to the farmer’s market to pick up the fresh produce for the trip.”

  Grey nodded, clearly relieved that Lauren seemed more interested in examining the boat than making nice with her. “It’s stocked with pretty much everything that I think you could possibly need, but I’ll let you look for yourself after we get your things stowed away. So—” she clapped her hands, grateful for the opportunity to look anywhere but at Lauren, “—I’ll give you a quick tour, and then we can get to it. This is the salon.” She waved a hand at the open space they were standing in. “Galley, dining room, lounge, and navigation center. Through there—” she pointed at a narrow oval-shaped doorway that was nestled between the dining area and the lounge, “—are two guest cabins that share an en suite. The other guest cabins are along the starboard side, both with full en suites.”

  Lauren looked at the stairs by the desk Grey had called the navigation center and nodded. Grey was obviously trying a little too hard to sound upbeat, and when she glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Grey was studiously avoiding looking at her. There was a stiffness to her posture that told Lauren she was anxious about something, and Lauren could not help but wonder what in the world she had done to make her act that way.

  “Crew cabins are this way,” Grey continued, waving a hand for Lauren to follow her as she made her way past the galley and down five narrow steps to the landing that separated the Veritas’ two other cabins. Floor-to-ceiling cabinetry filled the outer wall of the small area, and she pointed at the door that was at the stern. “My cabin is there, yours is at the bow. You have your own en suite, and there is a closet with drawers inside it for your things. All cabins have televisions that are wired to the boat’s electronic entertainment system, so you’ll have full-access to the digital library. The boat also has WiFi via satellite, if you need to check emails or go online while we’re out on the charters. The WiFi network is called Veritas, and the password is opensesame—all lowercase, no spaces.”

  Lauren looked at the oval doorway that led to her cabin. “Got it.”

  Grey nodded and tried her best to appear calm. Her heart rate spiked as her eyes locked onto Lauren’s, and she immediately looked back toward the salon, desperate for some kind of an escape. “Excellent. Well, the Muellers won’t be here until midday, so you have some time now to stow your gear. I’m assuming you have a copy of the food profile they filled out when they scheduled their charter?”

  Lauren nodded, even as her mind clicked through the basics. Family of five. No allergies. Three young
boys who are adventurous eaters but do not like anything too spicy. “I do.”

  “Awesome. Well, when you’re done unpacking, I’ll show you the pantry. You can dig around in there and the fridge, make notes on whatever it is you’ll need that I haven’t already bought, and then we can go to the farmer’s market in town. There’s a fishmonger I like who always has a stall there, and we can pick up the steaks, chicken, and whatever else you’re going to need from the butcher on the way back to the boat.”

  “Okay,” Lauren said, her brow furrowing slightly.

  Grey forced a smile that was more akin to a grimace, and hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Great. I’ll be on deck, just come on up when you’re ready.”

  Chapter 3

  Standing at the Veritas’ helm, the one place that had been her sanctuary over the last three years, Grey ran her hands through her hair and looked out over the familiar expanse of Charlotte Amalie’s harbor. Now that she was no longer fighting to control herself for appearance’s sake, her hands shook, and she was seriously tempted to fire Lauren before she had prepared a single meal. Grey knew that it was not really an option—there was no way she was even close to being capable of preparing the meals for the next two cruises that Lauren had signed-on for—but that knowledge was not enough to keep her from thinking about it.

  She took a deep breath, held it for five seconds, and then let it go. And then she did it again. And again. Eventually, the regulated breathing calmed her racing heart and eased the shaking in her hands, but it did little to stop her mind from spinning.

  The past came back to her in flashbacks. A warm smile. Gentle eyes. Tender touches. Whispers of affection that were laced with so much emotion that her heart would skip a beat. Harsh fluorescent lighting. Beeping Machines. And then nothing. Always nothing.

  If there was one road Grey could not allow herself to travel, it was that one. She knew that time was supposed to heal all wounds, but the gaping hole in her heart was just as all-encompassing as ever, and she had yet to find anything that could make it go away. Drinking herself into a stupor worked to a degree, as did losing herself in the desperate embrace of a woman whose name she never particularly cared to learn, let alone remember, but neither of those coping mechanisms were going to work for her now because she had guests arriving in a few hours and a new chef making herself at home below deck.