Going Overboard

by Christina Skye

  Thompson tapped his pencil on his notebook, and McKay had the impression that the man knew he was in over his head. He probably didn't have that many people buying the farm on a luxury cruise, McKay thought. “What happened to her?”

  “Drowned. Her body was floating in the pool on the promenade deck when the attendant went to secure the net covers for the night. That was less than forty minutes after she spoke to Ms. Sullivan in the Crystal Club.”

  “If you know that, you also know she was staggering drunk when we saw her. Is there anyone aboard to do a forensic exam?”

  Thompson shook his head. “It's not something we often require. The cruise physician is making an initial report, but the autopsy will have to wait until we fly the body to Miami. Now, to return to my question—where were you between five and eight tonight?”

  “Together,” McKay said curtly. “We left for the Crystal Club a little after six and arrived about six-twenty We had dinner reservations at La Russie at seven-fifteen and returned here a little before nine. Ms. Sullivan was with me the whole time.”

  Thompson's pencil flew back and forth. “Anyone see you come back here?”

  “Another passenger.”

  “I'll need the name,” Thompson said.

  “Daphne Brandon. She's upset right now because her fiancé had to leave the ship unexpectedly so I suggest you talk to her in the morning. We've just spent the last half hour trying to calm her down.”

  Thompson took more notes.

  “The hall steward will verify that,” McKay added. “He made a meal delivery to her suite while we were there.”

  “Did Ms. Brandon know the deceased?”

  McKay answered before Carly could reply. “If you check, you'll see that Daphne Brandon is the daughter of the governor-general of Santa Marina. I doubt she would know the deceased.”

  “Beyond their connection with the shoot, you mean.” Thompson looked up from his notebook. “Anything more you'd like to tell me?”

  “Have you spoken to Griffin Kelly yet?” Carly asked. “He is—was—Aimee's boyfriend.”

  Thompson nodded. “He wasn't much help. He'd been drinking heavily and he wasn't making any sense after he heard the news. I'll take his formal statement tomorrow.”

  “You can verify the information I gave you by picking up the phone,” McKay said. “The restaurant must keep a record of their reservations.”

  “I'll do my work, and you do yours, Mr. McKay.” The officer scanned the cabin again. “You took Griffin Kelly's place in the shoot, is that correct?”

  “He wasn't happy about it. He'd filed a suit for damages against Ms. Sullivan, then dropped it when his charges were shown to be groundless. That should be in your notes too.”

  Thompson neither agreed nor disagreed. “All the

  information will be checked. Meanwhile, I require that you both be available for further questioning.”

  “It's a big ship, but it's not that big,” McKay said tightly. “Are you finished now? It's been a long night and Ms. Sullivan is too polite to tell you she's exhausted.”

  Thompson looked as if he wanted to ask more questions but didn't know where to start. “Do not attempt to leave the ship,” he said soberly, walking to the door.

  “Guess I'll scrap my plan to jump overboard,” McKay muttered. The man probably relished every hint of power his job gave him, and having a corpse on board gave him more power than he'd had for a long time. “If Ms. Sullivan has a midnight urge to dive from the veranda, I'll be sure to restrain her, too.” He held open the door, waiting pointedly. “Good night, Mr. Thompson.”

  “Very well, but I'll leave my card. If you have anything to add, I suggest you phone my office.”

  McKay placed the card on the table. “We won't.”

  Carly didn't move as the door closed behind the security officer. “He was only doing his job.”

  “He didn't have to like it so much. Besides, you're beat.”

  “Thanks, McKay. Do I look like such a hag?”

  “You look beautiful,” he said gently. “Beautiful and completely beat. Hand over your rose and I'll put it in water. At least we can salvage that.”

  Carly took a deep breath. “I can't believe this happened. Why would anyone want to hurt Griffin's girlfriend?”

  “She wasn't exactly Miss Congeniality.” He slid Carly's rose into a small vase. “There's still no evidence it wasn't an accident. She probably tripped on the edge of the pool, hit her head, and was unconscious by the time she hit the water. The way she was drinking, I doubt she felt anything.”

  “Whether she felt it or not, she's still dead.” Carly rubbed her forehead as if it hurt. “It just doesn't seem possible. I never thought I could feel any sympathy for Griffin, but after this …”

  “No, it's not pretty. No one deserves to die like that. But they're not your problem.” He carried Carly's rose into the bathroom and filled the vase with water. Clicking off the light, he carried the glass outside, resolving that seduction was no longer on the agenda. “Why don't we—”

  He stopped when he saw Carly curled up on the bed. She had one shoe on and one shoe off, and she was clutching a pillow to her chest.

  Sound asleep in two minutes, he thought wryly. If that wasn't beat, he didn't know what was.

  “I guess the midnight tryst is off,” he murmured, setting the vase down beside the window.

  With a pang of regret, he scooped her up into his arms. She was still clutching the pillow when he removed her gown and tucked her chastely beneath the covers.

  She was right. There had been nothing but Chanel No. 5 under her dress.

  So much for his evening of high-seas romance.

  He stroked her hair and heard her say something about moving the gel filters on the key light before she pulled the pillow down over her head.

  Busy night,” Izzy remarked. It had taken him all of three minutes to appear after McKay had called for room service, ordering a dessert he didn't want and a brandy he wouldn't drink.

  “Looks that way. Carly's out for the count.” He glanced next door, where she was sound asleep. “Being involved in a murder investigation isn't part of her usual agenda.” He closed the adjoining door carefully. “Thompson's trying to pin it on us.”

  Izzy muttered one word that showed what he thought of that idea. “Thompson wouldn't know an exit wound from a dinner buffet.” He rocked back on his heels. “I have an update on Daphne Brandon's fiancé. The man's got holdings in oil, wireless technology, and about a hundred genetic-engineering patents.”

  “Where does he run this far-flung empire?”

  “He's got an office in Geneva and another one in London, but I haven't been able to maneuver past his firewalls to get specifics. His electronic security is airtight, and that bothers me.”

  “Hurts your professional pride?” Izzy's handsome features tightened on a scowl. “Hell, yes. The man's gone to a lot of time and expense to be more secure than most small governments. What does he have to hide?”

  “Maybe he's practicing the corporate equivalent of safe sex.”

  “If I were your ordinary hacker, I might agree. But as we both know, I am not your ordinary hacker. I can be inside secure Pentagon systems in under two minutes. No, there's something going on with David Halloran.” Izzy shook his head slowly. “The man shouldn't be this good. There's another thing you should know: I ran a background check, and I can't find anything on him earlier than seven years ago.”

  “That's strange, isn't it?”

  “You're damned straight it is. I can give you name, birth date, data on deceased parents, then nada.”

  McKay jammed his hands through his hair. “What the hell does it mean?”

  Izzy tapped his long fingers on the window. “In the U.S., it means Witness Protection Program and a manufactured identity. I keep telling people they need to create a complete file, not just for the last few years, but no one ever listens.”

  McKay gave a low whistle. “But if this guy is in Wit
ness Protection, wouldn't you be able to find some record of it?”

  “If he's one of ours, he's so high that the strings are invisible except at the very highest levels. Of course, there's another possibility. His identity could have been manufactured by someone else. Someone with all the right moves.” Izzy looked over his shoulder. “Someone who's not a friendly.”

  “Find out which it is,” McKay snapped. “Meanwhile, what happened with the woman in the swimming pool? Thompson seems convinced that we were involved.”

  Izzy shrugged. “Thompson's due to retire next year with twenty years of service, and he doesn't want any black marks on his record when he goes out. What I've heard is that she was having problems with her boyfriend and she was coming on to the bar staff earlier today, bragging how she was going to be a very rich woman. But here's the kicker. She was running up quite a tab, and she paid it off early tonight.” Izzy paused. “In cash.

  Hundred-dollar bills. I managed to snag several and I'm having them checked right now.”

  “Maybe she's one of the leaks,” McKay mused. “She could have pinpointed the shooting schedule and location. Probably a whole lot more.” He stared at the connecting door to Carly's cabin. “I can't shake the feeling that we're being played here. The attack at the waterfall and Carly being locked in the freezer were meant to pressure Brandon, but they were also meant to keep us jumping at shadows while someone launched the real mission. This murder is too timely to be unrelated.”

  “More pressure on Carly, and maybe getting you tied up in a criminal investigation, you mean. But if it's Vronski, he still hasn't made a move that we can tag him for.” Izzy frowned and pulled what looked like a large pager from his jacket pocket. He shook his head as he studied the screen. “Well, I'll be damned. Brandon just withdrew his request for assistance. That ties our hands in the worst way.”

  “He goes from desperate to the cold shoulder,” McKay said. “Maybe Vronski gave him an ultimatum.”

  “Or maybe he decided he can't trust his own security force,” Izzy suggested. He glanced at his watch with a grimace. “Gotta go send a reply. I'll keep you posted.” He rolled his service cart smartly to the door. “One thing for sure, I'll be glad to get off this floating pleasure palace. It's too tempting to break a few rules.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “One reminder.” Izzy looked thoughtfully at McKay. “The first rule I learned was never mix business and pleasure. Somebody always gets hurt.”

  Dishes rattling, he left McKay to ponder his warning.

  Ford awoke in Carly's bed the next morning with her hair against his shoulder and her body draped over him like a quilt. He lay still, savoring her gentle breathing and the soft hint of her perfume.

  He smiled as she shifted, nuzzling his neck, one arm skimming his chest.

  He drew one finger along her shoulder and delighted in her instant, shivering response. Already he wanted her badly.

  Because that need threatened his self control, he made his body freeze. Control had always been basic to him, as automatic as breathing, and no woman had ever come close to shattering that will.

  Until now. The thought left him irritated and confused.

  With a silent oath he slid out from beneath her, amazed at how tempting it was to forget all his discipline and training.

  Exercise, he thought.

  Maybe a few thousand push-ups would clear his addled brain.

  Something cool touched her cheek.

  Carly raised a hand, expecting to feel McKay's hard body beneath her, as it had been all night. But when she opened her eyes, the other side of the bed was empty.

  A muffled sound drew her to her feet. She saw that the adjoining door was open.

  The rustling came again.

  Carly slid a sheet around her and moved closer. McKay was stretched out on the floor with his fingertips turned inward as he did a strange, intricate push-up. Sweat beaded his back and shoulders as his body rose and fell with sleek power.

  He was muttering. Carly realized he'd just said “three hundred.”

  So that's what gave him the chiseled abs and perfect thighs.

  The heat came as a surprise, as did the blind wanting. She had never been keen on voyeurism, but watching his body tighten and flex left her light-headed and punchy with desire.

  The man was dangerous, she thought, and that body of his should have been illegal. Which made all the more reason not to let it go to waste.

  Holding the sheet, she stood in the doorway and whistled their prearranged five-note signal.

  At the first note, he rolled to his side, his eyes going hard.

  Carly raised open hands. “Just me, McKay. I'm unarmed, I assure you.” She smiled as the sheet began to slip down her body. “Oops. Now you've made me drop my sheet.”

  The white cotton shifted, parting over her breasts. McKay's body had relaxed, but his gaze was locked on the falling sheet.

  “I… didn't want to wake you,” he said hoarsely.

  “Very noble. Do you always exercise like that in the morning?”

  He wiped a line of sweat off his chest, looking distracted. “Usually.”

  “Very impressive.” The sheet continued its downward drift, pooling at her waist. “May I put my hands down now?”

  He rose in one smooth movement. “I don't think so. Anything might happen. I'll need to investigate thoroughly.”

  Carly took a step back, measuring the heat in his eyes. As she did the sheet slid down to her thighs. “Tricky thing, sheets.” Her voice was breathy.

  “Damn, Carly.”

  “You shouldn't have gone away.” Not when we have so few hours left.

  “I thought you needed your rest.” He ran a finger along the edge of the fallen sheet, his eyes very dark.

  “I needed you more.”

  He made a hard sound of frustration, pulled her against him, and crushed his lips to her mouth.

  Glorious, she thought.

  His hands rose to her breasts. “I'm delighted to see you're still wearing my necklace.”

  “Along with Chanel No. 5.”

  “An excellent combination. Wear it often.”

  “I intend to,” she said pulling him down for a hungry kiss that left them both panting.

  “Carly, I'm sweaty. I need to shower.”

  “Mmm.” She walked backward pulling him with her, the sheet sliding farther with every step.

  When it fell away, he stared at her body, taking in the flushed skin and the clear signs of her arousal. His gaze tightened as he pushed her back onto her bed and pinned her beneath him. “I'm losing my mind,” he said hoarsely, driving his fingers into her hair and savaging her mouth.

  “I'm delighted to hear it.” Glorying in the instant tension of his wonderful body, she hooked one toe beneath the band of his track shorts and slowly pushed them down, sighing with pleasure as the rest of him slipped into view. Reckless now, she raked him with her nails, then nuzzled his torso and drew him into her mouth.

  He was iron hard.

  His eyes closed on an oath as she savored him slowly, drawing her teeth along every inch. When she bit

  delicately, desire hazed his eyes and he toppled her backward, shoving apart her legs.

  And then he feasted, exploring her thoroughly until she twisted and rocked against him, arms sprawling as desire slammed her up into a hot, glorious wave of release.

  She sank back and took a shuddering breath. “No fair, McKay,” she rasped. “You cheated.”

  “I always cheat.” He slid his hands high, dragging her wrists above her head. A drop of sweat fell from his chest onto her waist. “And I think I'm going to cheat again.”

  He kneed apart her legs, entering her slowly, then driving up the pleasure with powerful strokes that left her breathless and straining.

  “More,” Carly said, shoving urgently against him.

  Only then did she see his face, masked in his effort at control as he held the rose salvaged from the night before. As h
e pulled away from her, the soft petals teased her softer skin. The flower turned, circling her heat, driving her to an exquisite fever of need until she shattered beneath his hands.

  Limp, breathless, she collapsed against the covers, her body misted with sweat. There couldn't be more, she thought dimly. She didn't have the strength.

  The hot slide of his body inside her proved she was wrong. Trembling, she rose against him, shocked at how much she wanted him again, shocked at how effortlessly he twisted her inside out.

  “Hold me,” he ordered, braced above her.

  She wrapped her legs around him, her nails raking his back.

  Blindly, he plunged deep until a wall of darkness tore away the world around them.

  Carly was dressed when McKay emerged from the shower. Papers were lined up on the coffee table and her face looked strained.

  “Mel just arrived,” she said flatly. “She says we need to speed up the shooting schedule.”

  He stifled a groan. “First they fire you, then they expect you to make wine out of water.”

  “Welcome to show business.”

  “How much time do you have?”

  “Not enough. She wants all the body shots finished today.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “I'll have to make it possible,” she said tightly.

  “Hell.” McKay had a nasty vision of more oil being slathered on his bare chest.

  “It should only take seven or eight hours.”

  “Only?”

  “Very funny.” She gave him a pretend right hook. “I'm not exactly thrilled about this. I'd prefer to bolt the door and spend the rest of the day right here.”

  “You've got my vote.” He nuzzled her shoulder. “Let's go back to bed.”

  She stepped out of reach. “We can't. Mel needs this footage finished today, and I made a promise that she'd have it.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Carly, the crew is set up.” It was Hank, her cameraman, sounding very harried. “Mel is waiting and we're ready to roll.”

  “Be right out.” Carly gathered her papers quickly. “We have to hurry. Hank is getting panicky. I can hear it in his voice.”