“Of course. The cruise company said we could add passengers up to twenty-four hours before departure. You can have Leticia’s place. Like the old days when your parents would be off on some adventure and the two of us would spend time on the Jersey shore.”
“No, Nana.” Absolutely not. No how. No way. Sharla was not spending two weeks trapped on a floating hotel in the middle of the ocean. “So not happening, Nana. There is nothing you can say to get me on that boat with you.”
“Maybe Magda would like to join me.”
Except that. The last thing Sharla needed was for her grandmother to reconnect with her old partner in crime. Heaven help her, it looked like she and Nana were going on a cruise.
* * *
Ignoring the burn still present in his side, Luke “Brooklyn” Chapman tried to relax into the stiff guest chair and propped his ankle across his thigh. The thick leather belt he’d worn that day when all hell had broken loose had slowed the knife enough to prevent any serious damage, especially since the damn thing had been dipped in poison. Two years of deep undercover work had finally paid off. A little field needlework, some antidotal treatment and he was good to go.
Too bad the doc hadn’t agreed.
“Thirty days. That’s an order.”
Disregarding the tug from the medic’s stitches, Brooklyn shifted in place and flashed a cocky grin at his supervisor. “You can’t give me an order. I’m not in the navy anymore.”
“You won’t be with anybody anymore if you don’t take some downtime. I don’t care how invincible you damn SEALs think you are. You are made of flesh and blood like everyone else. You cut. You bleed. You die. I don’t want to see your face or hear your name for thirty days.”
In the navy, as SEALs on standby, Brooklyn and his men were limited to two beers a day and an hour-long leash, never allowed to be more than sixty minutes away from base. A few days of true R & R when they would be free to indulge in all the booze and women they could handle was always embraced with much anticipation. But usually after only a few days of rest and recreation, he’d been ready to go back to work. And not just busy work or physical training. Something worthy of his time and all that constant PT. “I’ll take a couple of days.”
“Thirty.”
“But—”
“Listen, Brooklyn.” Phil Conway leaned forward on his desk. “I know you want to see all these bastards fry as much as any of us.”
More. Under the umbrella of the CIA, in a joint task force with the navy commanded by Admiral Cartwright, Brooklyn, along with a former ranger and another spook, had infiltrated the terrorist cell believed to have been behind the faulty intel that had gotten a squadron of SEALs killed almost three years ago.
The recent firefight that had left Brooklyn with a knife in his gut had also taken out the SOBs responsible for the death of his fellow SEALs. But there was always another terrorist waiting to step up and annihilate “the American infidels.” When the terrorists took R & R, then so would he.
“You are running on caffeine and adrenaline,” Conway continued. “Something’s got to give sooner or later, and it’s not going to be on my watch.”
For a spook Conway was a decent guy, but he didn’t get it. Brooklyn could remind his boss from now till the next millennium what every SEAL endured for months of basic training. Constant harassing by professional warriors with one objective: eliminate the weak. Only the strongest and smartest survived Hell Week and BUD/S. Long torturous runs in the soft sand. Midnight swims in the cold Pacific. Arduous obstacle courses. Never-ending calisthenics. Days without sleep. Always being cold, wet and miserable.
And the training didn’t stop there. The training never stopped. In the real world, lack of sleep and physical endurance was a way of life. SEALs thrived on stress and chaos. He didn’t need thirty days with nothing to do.
“Got anyplace you’ve always wanted to go?” Conway asked. “Family you haven’t seen for a while?”
Some downtime home in New York with the family would be good. Even with his mother hovering over Luke, it would be great to see his sisters and nieces and nephews. And it had been a while since he’d had a decent lasagna. But thirty days?
He could always throw a dart at a map and see where it landed. There were plenty of possible destinations where people weren’t trying to kill each other. King Kona’s family owned a dive shop on the Big Island. Going there for a few days could be a nice break. Billy always bragged about the weather, the diving, and how great his family was. Of course his sisters would be off-limits. A guy didn’t hook up with a buddy’s sister; that was an unbreakable code. But Brooklyn couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of lying under a palm tree and watching the coconuts fall.
Conway sat back and steepled his fingers under his chin. “My wife and I are booked on a cruise, but her mother has decided now would be a good time to have the knee replacement surgery she’s been putting off for two years. Martha won’t leave her mother. We’re supposed to sail Thursday afternoon. Thirteen nights. Too late for a refund. You’d have the cabin to yourself.”
“I can’t—”
“You’d be doing me a favor. If you take my place, I can pass the bill on to accounting. Otherwise I have to eat the cost.”
Thirteen days of poolside lounging. The Hawaiian coconuts were looking more appealing. Except…ship pools had babes in bikinis. After two years in another world, he wouldn’t object to skipping Rest and going directly for Recreation. “Okay. I’ll do it. But you’ll owe me.”
Conway’s lips tipped up in a much-too-satisfied grin.
Somewhere deep down in his gut Luke was sure he’d just been had.
Chapter Two
“Stop!”
Luke froze as a three-foot-high whirlwind whizzed by, an exasperated mother trotting along behind the little boy. Though she might have made better progress apprehending the wayward kid if she’d put a little more speed into her stride.
Not far behind her, two older people—a man with a waistline broad enough to hide the whole family and a short gray-haired woman with glasses that ate up half her face—strolled after the mother and child. Their prideful grins could only mean they’d begotten the woman incapable of keeping up with her charge.
Glancing around the promenade level, Luke finally got Conway’s joke. Luke had stumbled over and around enough pre-baby boomers since boarding the ship to populate a metropolitan city. As far as he could tell, the only single unattached female passengers to be found on this ship had yet to attend kindergarten.
When the hell had The Love Boat become Everyone Loves Raymond?
At least Conway had good taste and had booked a cabin with a balcony. And, from the looks of it, the sound of the ocean at night through the open sliding door might be the only comfort Luke would get on this cruise.
“Excuse me.” A short, slight woman—old enough to be his grandmother, or at least his mom’s big sister—stood holding a soft ice cream cone in each hand. “Have you seen my granddaughter? She was here just a moment ago.”
“What does she look like?”
“Pretty thing. Has on a blue sundress. I told her I’d be right back. I don’t want to miss the launch party poolside. Will you be going?”
That was the plan. He’d been checking out the facilities—and the women, or lack thereof—on his way to the upper deck.
“Oh, excuse me.” A tall redhead with boobs up to her neck almost tripped over the old lady dripping ice cream at his side. “So sorry.”
It took Luke all of two seconds to assess the boob job and a rock the size of Gibraltar on her left-hand ring finger before she took off. Some slightly over-the-hill banker had probably paid for the ring—and the boobs.
“You’re good.” The silver-haired woman smiled up at him. “I’m impressed.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Your eyes barely moved. How long did it take you? Three seconds? Maybe two?”
The old bird was on the ball. He wouldn’t have expected a woman of
her age to be so observant. “Two,” he answered.
“Any idea how many carats she was flashing?”
“No, ma’am.”
The woman’s eyes twinkled with amusement.
He had a feeling she wasn’t looking for information so much as testing him. If she needed advice on a jewelry purchase, she was asking the wrong guy. Now, the boob job? Definitely a double D. Thirty-six.
* * *
Less than one hour on the boat and already Sharla had lost her grandmother. When Sharla had envisioned the inside of a cruise ship, she’d drawn upon images from reruns of The Love Boat. Five smiling crew members greeting a handful of passengers strolling through a pretty lobby. Nowhere had she imagined four thousand people on a floating city. Since only two of the ten interior decks crossed the ship, like a freeway in rush hour, they were the paths most of those four thousand people used to get back and forth. She might have to put her grandmother on a damn leash to keep track of her.
According to the daily program they’d found in their cabin, the band would be playing poolside at 5:00 p.m. this afternoon while the ship set sail. Nana had mentioned wanting to be there, so Sharla jabbed the Up button for the elevator. If she couldn’t find her grandmother on this deck, maybe she would find her poolside. Waiting for one of four elevators, she glanced at the heavyset man in a motorized wheelchair with his smiling chubby wife—and turned toward the stairs. Use it or lose it.
Too many of her other parts weren’t being used since Danny died, but she could still use her legs. And if she wanted to continue to see her toes in her old age when she looked down, she should make climbing the stairs a habit at the hospital too. The moment Sharla stepped through the sliding doors onto the eleventh-floor deck, the out-of-place sounds of a steel drum calypso band wafted over her. With every step she felt lighter. Freer. Ready to conquer new worlds.
“I ate your ice cream.”
Out of the throngs of people following the Caribbean sounds like the Pied Piper, Nana appeared almost magically in front of her.
“It was delicious.”
Ice Cream? “What ice cream?”
“I told you to wait a moment while I detoured to the ice cream machine. Maybe you’re the one who needs hearing aids.”
And wasn’t that another bone of contention? Did she or didn’t she? Only her hairdresser—and granddaughter—knew for sure. Though every so often Sharla wondered if the problem was one of selective hearing. Danny had that problem. He could hear a mouse eating cheese in the other room, but, during a football game, Sharla could have used a bullhorn, and he wouldn’t hear a word she’d said until the commercial. She had yet to decide which was the case with Sophia Garibaldi.
Her grandmother slipped through the crowds with nimble ease and leaned against the rail. “I met a nice man while I was looking for you.”
This same tired tune Nana kept singing was getting old. “I don’t need a nice man.”
“Yes, you do, but, as it happens, I wasn’t thinking of you. Herbie is a bit too experienced for a young thing like you.”
There was no way Sharla was letting her mind think about how much experience Herbie or her grandmother might have—at anything.
“You know”—her grandmother kept her gaze on the skyline—“it wouldn’t hurt you to have a little fun too.”
“I thought you already decided Herbie was too mature for me.” Sharla bit back a smile. A chance to tease Nana was irresistible.
“This is a big boat. There has to be at least one fun-worthy young man for you to pass the time with. We are going to be on this ship for almost two weeks.”
“I have a month’s worth of reading to catch up on. I’ll be spending my spare time getting friendly with a deck lounge chair.”
“If I were you, I’d rather get friendly with the fellow I bumped into on the promenade deck.”
“I doubt his wife would appreciate it.” The majority of passengers seemed to already be paired off and, not surprisingly during the school year, fell into one of a few categories—retirees, newlyweds or younger couples with small children.
“Not married.” Sophia continued to stare ahead.
From the age of five, Sophia Garibaldi had been trained to pick the mark. Even as little as ten years ago, Sharla wouldn’t have questioned her grandmother’s assessment, but, now at age seventy-five, Nana’s conclusions were more likely just wishful thinking.
“You doubt me?” This time Sophia turned to her granddaughter. “No ring, no tan lines, no bulge from home cooking, no settled-down man flab. As a matter of fact, with abs like his, he’s either a bodybuilder or military. But the way he sized up the bimbo redhead in two seconds, I’m saying military. Single, well-trained military.”
Great. First day on the cruise and not only was her grandmother already on a matchmaking mission but the woman was picking out a serviceman. Sharla had done that already. Danny had been an MP in the army and, after his four years, had joined the police force. Three years ago his luck ran out in a dark alley with a junkie too strung out to shoot straight, and yet the crackhead still managed to get off a fatal shot.
Next time Sharla walked down the aisle, if she ever did marry again, her new husband was going to have a nice safe career. A teacher. Or baker. Maybe a plumber or dry cleaner. But no policeman, no fireman and absolutely no military man.
* * *
The departure fanfare had been about as expected. Plenty of loud music and a crush of people hanging over the rail or already sprawled out in poolside lounge chairs. Before the ship had even left port, half the passengers had stripped down to swimsuits and staked a claim on their piece of deckside landscape.
It hadn’t taken Luke long to decide not to eat in the dining room this evening. Conway and his wife had booked a private table for two there, which meant Luke would have been eating alone. Something he’d anticipated rectifying quickly but wasn’t so sure anymore. The few eye-catching women he’d wandered past today all wore rocks the size of Manhattan on their left hands. A gaggle of giggling teens had sauntered by, stopping to give him that “holy hotness” look women in foreign ports so often flashed at the sailors with American accents. Some of the girls would no doubt grow into jaw-dropping knockouts, just not before the end of this cruise.
The ship touted some nightspots. After a quick supper he sat a while at the sports bar. Even if many of the men were collecting a pension, sports were sports. He could talk baseball with anyone, as long as they were Yankee fans. Or willing to convert.
By midnight he’d had enough scotch and ESPN. A handful of guys his age stuck around after their wives had turned in for the night, but so far Luke had found no comrade in arms in search of a good time. The club he’d scoped out shortly after departure held a great deal of promise if it were anyplace other than senior citizen-ville. It was dark, with secluded booths, soft music and—despite the barfworthy Middle Ages decor of triangles and armored suits—the place had great potential for a romantic end to a night.
The problem remained one of passenger demographics. At midnight two couples sat intertwined in secluded booths. And less than a handful of women huddled in pairs along the bar. While old enough to avoid jailbait, but not yet old enough to drink, these girls were most definitely too young for him.
It looked like Conway was going to get his wish. Whether Luke liked it or not, he was going to get plenty of rest on this blasted tin can.
Chapter Three
Vacation or not, an early morning workout was pivotal to staying mission-ready. Even for the spooks. And while Luke had expected anyplace named the Shipshape Center to be dolled up for all the vacationing fitness lovers—determined to exercise off the constant flow of food and ten pounds of daily desserts—he hadn’t expected a damn Greek sonnet. Artificial stone pillars supporting a pergola covered in twines of fake ivy in the entryway was almost enough to turn him on his heel and take him back to his room. Or maybe he could simply jump overboard and swim to shore.
“How ya goin’?”
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Luke blinked. Interesting juxtaposition. Greco-Roman trappings and now an Aussie accent.
“Ya okay? Need some help, mate?”
“Thought I’d get in a little workout this morning.”
“Goodo. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.” Luke dragged his gaze past the architectural nightmare before him to the equipment fanned about the room. At the front of the ship the majority of the treadmills faced the ocean expanse. Not a bad place to run ten miles, though he’d prefer the beach. Soft sand was the best for keeping fit. Especially at his age. Soon he’d be given a desk and a thank you very much. Pulled off the field and relegated to merely pushing paper. Not something he cared to dwell on.
If he couldn’t run on the beach, at least he could watch the ocean. The phone in his pocket set to the mood music he and the guys used for parties—favorites like John Meyer, Kenny Chesney and Jimmy Buffet—he stepped onto the center machine. Legs splayed on either side of the belt, he hit Quick Start, set the speed, increased the incline and hopped onto the rolling tread. At this easy pace he could run all day, but the display screen would let him know when he’d hit ten miles.
Almost an hour later Luke moved on to heavy weights, surprised to see the place filling up. From the way some of the women used the machinery, he could tell these were no cruise ship fitness newbies. And considering some were likely old enough to be his mother, they were in damn good shape.
“Here ya go now.” The Aussie personal trainer stepped across the weights area with a rather attractive-looking blonde beside him.
A quick review noted she wasn’t wearing a ring, but few people wore jewelry for working out.
The young trainer rolled out an exercise ball, leaned back on it and—with his knees bent, feet forward and shoulders resting on the large globe—demonstrated lifting three-pound dumbbells in each hand up in the air and back down to his chest. With each rep, as the man held his hips horizontal to the ground and balanced with only his shoulders on the ball, the pretty blonde’s eyes grew larger and larger.
Shell Game Page 2
