“He’ll be here. Have faith.”
“I know. I ... .” She trailed off when a tall man in a blue polo shirt and khaki shorts crossed in front of her. Something about the slope of his shoulders and his slow gait triggered something in her memory, and when she raised her eyes she almost fell over at the rush of surprise washing through her.
There he was. Her father. He looked different from the last time she saw him — vastly different, in fact. His formerly brown hair was almost completely gray, as was the beard he boasted. Rowan couldn’t ever remember him having a beard. He wore glasses, something he only bothered with while reading back in the day, but the blue eyes that twinkled behind the lenses were so familiar they almost made Rowan go weak in the knees.
“Do we check in at the front desk?” the man asked, his voice low.
“Yes.” Quinn smiled. “Right over there.”
“Thank you.”
“Enjoy your stay.” Quinn opened his mouth, a flirty suggestion for Rowan on the tip of his tongue, but when he flicked his eyes to her he found she was abnormally pale and looked as if she might immediately throw up.
“Ro, what’s wrong?” Quinn was on alert. “What is it? I ... did you see him?” The question was out of his mouth before he realized the truth for himself and forced his eyes from his girlfriend’s face to the man who asked him about checking in. “Is that ... ?”
Rowan nodded, nauseated. “I think I might be sick.”
Quinn tugged her closer, anchoring her to his side. “Sweetie, you need to hold it together. Getting sick now is not going to be good for anyone. Just ... keep calm. Breathe in and out. You’ll stop feeling lightheaded in a minute.”
“That’s him.” Tears pricked the back of her eyes. “He’s alive. He’s been alive all this time.”
Quinn didn’t care that they were working and had an audience. He pulled her into his arms and pressed her face against his shoulder as he rocked back and forth. “It’s okay. I’m here and it’s going to be okay.”
“He talked to us.”
“He did, but we can’t question him until he’s segregated in his room. You can’t risk it.”
“I ... .” Whatever Rowan was about to say died on her lips when a scream rang out. It was shrill, short, and loud enough that Quinn was convinced the entire guest contingent on the ship heard it.
“What was that?” Rowan asked, finding her voice.
“I have no idea, but I’m going to find out.”
3
Three
Quinn bolted toward the sound of the shriek, although he was cognizant enough to risk a glance over his shoulder to make sure Rowan followed. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was worried someone caused a scene to separate the two of them so Rowan’s father could get her alone for their big reunion.
The timing felt too odd to be coincidental.
While he didn’t want to infringe on their business, he was determined to make sure Rowan wasn’t dragged into a dangerous situation along the way. That was his primary concern ... as was stopping the noise emanating from the service hallway on the far side of the lobby.
When Quinn landed, he found a fresh-faced maid with tears staining her cheeks making small gasping noises as she flapped her hands and her chest heaved.
“What’s going on?” Rowan asked, catching up with him.
“I don’t know.” Quinn extended a hand to keep her behind him. “I’m not sure. Miss ... .”
“Dead. She’s dead.” The young woman was babbling to the point where Rowan took pity on her and moved closer.
“Are you new here?” She looked the maid up and down, racking her brain to see if she could remember ever seeing her before. “You don’t look familiar.”
“Sylvia,” the maid whispered. “I’m Sylvia. This is my first day here.”
“Okay, well ... what’s wrong?” Rowan had managed to scour the hallway several times and couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. She was convinced the maid saw something out of the corner of her eye, made it out to be something else, and reacted without thinking.
“There’s a body in the bin.”
Quinn was taken aback. “There’s a body in the bin?” He flicked his eyes to his right. “What bin? I don’t understand.”
“In the elevator,” Sylvia replied. “It’s in the elevator. I was about to take it downstairs.”
“Oh.” Even though Quinn remained hopeful this was a mistake, he strode to the service elevator and pushed the button. The elevator was empty when it returned, causing him to turn his eyes back to Sylvia.
“I swear there was a body in the laundry basket,” she said. “I wouldn’t make that up. I ... it was there.”
Quinn wasn’t sure what to believe. She was a nervous mouse, all whimpers and furtive glances. Still, it seemed like an odd thing to lie about if it wasn’t true. There was also another explanation, though, and it was one he didn’t want to give voice to.
“Okay. We’ll find the bin and get to the bottom of this.” He forced a bright smile as he wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts. “You should go to the hospital wing, Sylvia. Tell them I sent you. Quinn Davenport, chief of security if someone asks. I want you to relax, get some fluids in you, and we’ll find you there as soon as we figure out what’s happening.”
“Okay.” Sylvia was eager for escape as she scuffed her feet against the floor and turned on her heel to leave. “I’m not making it up,” she called over her shoulder.
“I know you’re not.” Quinn meant it, although he didn’t elaborate until Sylvia was well out of hearing distance.
“What aren’t you saying?” Rowan asked, instantly alert. She was used to Quinn’s moods and understood there was something he was keeping to himself.
“I think it was probably a prank,” Quinn replied, keeping his voice low. “She’s new and some of the bellhops think it’s funny to mess with new people. They’ve done the body thing before, although not in a laundry bin.”
Rowan’s forehead wrinkled. “They’ve left fake bodies around the ship to mess with people? That sounds ... horrible.”
“Some of the jokes are actually funny,” Quinn hedged. “This is not funny, and I’m going to take care of it. I need to talk to Michael first, though. If it really is a body, we shouldn’t leave port.”
Rowan’s eyes widened. “You don’t think this is someone’s way of keeping us in port, do you?”
“Why would anyone want to do that?”
“To get their hands on my father.”
“Oh.” Realization dawned on him. “I don’t think so. I honestly believe it was the workers messing with her. I’m going to talk to Michael and then track down the culprit, though. I don’t have a choice in the matter.”
Michael Griffin was the ship’s captain and he was tight with Quinn. He also had final say on the ship ... over just about everything.
“Do you think Michael will cancel the trip?”
“No.” Quinn opted for honesty. “We don’t have a body and this is a high-profile trip with a bunch of famous authors. If I can’t find a body, then we’re going.”
Rowan was relieved, but she didn’t want to admit it. “What can I do to help?”
“Stay here and take your photographs.” Quinn was firm. “Don’t go wandering off after your father. Not yet. Promise me.”
She blinked several times and then nodded. “I won’t go looking for him, but if he approaches me ... .” She trailed off. They both knew what she would do under those circumstances.
“Fair enough,” Quinn said, and meant it. “Be careful, though. Text me and let me know where you’ll be. It’s important.”
“I’ve got it. I’ll be careful. We’ll be eating crab legs together over dinner tonight. You have my word.”
“Make sure you keep it.”
QUINN WAS RIGHT. Michael didn’t cancel the cruise. They set sail and Quinn focused his attention on questioning the workers, all of whom denied participating in a prank gone wrong. They were so sincere, Quinn
almost believed them. Then, because it was the only other place to check, he went to the laundry room.
There, about twenty bins deep, was the one in question ... and there most definitely was a body inside. It was a woman, although she was mostly covered by tablecloths and napkins. Her hand was visible, though, as well as the glazed look in her eyes.
“Son of a ... .” Quinn viciously swore under his breath as he nudged the other bins out of his way and stared down at the woman. She looked to be in her forties — maybe fifties, he wasn’t completely certain — and her eyes were fixed on nothing. He could see the obvious signs of discoloration on her neck, and absent of any other wounds, he believed she’d been strangled. He would need one of the onboard physicians to confirm that, though.
“This is not good,” he growled as he shook his head. “How did you guys not notice this?”
Marion Williams, the head of the laundry department, puffed out her chest as she regarded Quinn. “How did you not notice someone was being killed? Isn’t that your job?”
He scowled. “I wasn’t attacking you. I simply don’t understand how someone could’ve grabbed the bin from the elevator and not noticed there was a body in it. If we’d found her sooner, we never would’ve left port. As it is now, we have a mess on our hands ... and it’s not going to make anyone happy.”
“Well, that’s not my problem.” Marion was defiant. “You should’ve found the body sooner. That’s not part of my job description.”
Quinn let loose a growling noise. “You don’t have to be so difficult.”
“I was just about to say the same thing to you.”
“I’m going to have to call Michael down here ... and the medical team. I don’t have a choice.”
“You do your job; I’ll do mine. We’ll see where we end up.”
Annoyance ran rampant through him as Quinn reached into his pocket and jerked out his phone. “You’re a real joy. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“No one who has lived to tell the tale.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
ROWAN THOUGHT IT WOULD be difficult to focus on her work when she knew her father was on the ship ... and she was right. Thankfully for her, the authors as a whole didn’t seem interested in getting photographs taken by the backdrop, so she abandoned her post there and moved to the deck.
In the melee that surrounded Sylvia’s screams, she’d lost track of her father. He checked in while she was distracted and she had no idea what name he was under. She could’ve dug, but it would’ve taken time and was a waste as far as she was concerned, because she knew he would find her.
She simply had to wait for him to select the time.
So, with nothing better to do, Rowan planted herself on the main deck and photographed the authors greeting each other at the tiki bar. They seemed comfortable with one another, as if they’d known each other for a very long time, and they were all delighted to be revisiting past friendships.
She smiled as she snapped photographs of a rather severe-looking woman as she rolled her eyes through a bevy of introductions. At least eight other authors strolled up to her to express their delight that she was there. In each case, she waited until the authors excused themselves, and then made faces behind their backs. She clearly wasn’t thrilled with her lot in life.
“Hey!” Sally Jenkins, the head chef on the ship, caused Rowan to gasp in surprise when the blustery blonde appeared suddenly at her elbow.
“You scared me,” Rowan admitted, absently patting her chest. “Make a noise next time or something. You scared the crap out of me.”
“I’m sorry.” Sally’s eyes twinkled with amusement rather than apology. “I thought you knew I was right behind you.”
“I’ve been focusing on her.” Rowan pointed toward the unhappy woman. “Something tells me she would’ve preferred another venue.”
“That’s Lana Winston,” Sally volunteered knowingly. “She’s huge in paranormal romantic suspense. She’s amazing.”
Rowan couldn’t help being impressed. “You recognize her?”
“I read a lot. We’re stuck on a ship, and no matter how much fun it is to visit the tiki bar, it gets old after a bit. That’s why I always load up my e-reader before we leave port. I happen to love Lana’s stuff. I can’t believe she’s here. That’s kind of exciting.”
Rowan could think of another word for it, but she wisely kept her opinion to herself. “I don’t know that she looks happy. By the way, we had a spot of trouble earlier. One of the maids screamed because she was convinced she saw a body in one of the laundry bins. Quinn is convinced it was a prank, so keep your ear to the ground in case you hear some of the bellhops plotting.”
“A prank, huh?” Sally didn’t look convinced. “That would be a reckless prank given the important people on the ship this go-around, but I guess I can’t rule out someone being dumb enough to try it. I’ll definitely let Quinn know if I hear something.”
“Thank you.” Rowan lifted her camera again.
“Is anything else going on?” Sally asked, her eyes skimming Rowan’s angular profile. “You seem ... edgy.”
As much as Rowan adored Sally — and she did — she hadn’t shared the information about her father visiting The Bounding Storm. She couldn’t. Her father could be in danger and Sally had a big mouth. The gregarious chef wouldn’t mean to say the wrong thing, of course. Sometimes she couldn’t help herself, though.
“I’m fine.” Rowan adopted a bright smile. “I’m just looking forward to dinner tonight. I skipped lunch, which was a mistake. You know how I get about crab legs.”
“I do,” Sally agreed. “You’d bathe yourself in lemon butter if you could get away with it.”
“Don’t give me any ideas.”
MICHAEL WAS POSITIVELY apoplectic when he hit the laundry room and saw the body.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Quinn shook his head. “The maid was right. She did see a body. I found it about twenty minutes ago.”
“Well ... great.” Michael stomped forward and peered into the bin. “What are you going to do?”
“I was just about to ask you that very question. We’re still close to port. We could turn around.”
“We can’t turn around.” Michael was firm. “Half the authors on this ship are famous. They’re Tweeting and posting on Facebook about their trip. It’s like free publicity.”
“And what happens when word gets out about the body?”
“I have no idea.” Michael dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Do we have any idea who she is? She’s attractive … and well dressed. Those are some nice shoes.”
“Are you sad you missed out on your chance to romance her?” Quinn asked dryly.
“No.” Michael made a face. “You know I don’t date anyone over thirty.”
“Yes, you have your standards.”
“It’s not that. It’s just ... women over thirty have certain expectations. I don’t like meeting expectations. It’s about me, not them.”
“Yes, you’re shallow,” Quinn agreed, biting back a snicker. “As for her, we don’t know yet. I’m waiting for the medical staff to declare her dead and then I’m going to look and see if I can find any identification on her.”
“If that’s what you’re waiting for, go ahead.” Max Birmingham, one of three physicians included on this particular trip, was focused on a clipboard as he spoke. “She’s definitely dead. Strangled.”
“Can you give me a time estimate?” Quinn asked, shuffling forward.
“Not long.” Max lifted her wrist and studied the color of her skin. “Three hours, give or take. She hasn’t been dead long at all, though.”
Quinn did the math in his head. “I spent two hours questioning the staff and talking to you,” he told Michael. “That means she was dead less than an hour before that. Twenty minutes of that time was spent dealing with the maid and realizing what was happening. That means forty minutes before the scream roughly.”
�
�How long had check-in been going on when you interacted with the maid?” Michael asked.
“Um ... about an hour and a half.”
“So, whoever she is, she came with the first wave of guests.”
“That would be my guess.” Quinn snapped a pair of rubber gloves into place and tentatively reached into the bin, pulling out several tablecloths and transferring them to a garbage bag before digging further.
“Give me the laundry,” Marion suggested, stepping forward.
“No.” Quinn shook his head, firm. “There might be trace evidence inside. I’m taking everything in this bin.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Thanks for your permission.” Quinn’s hand brushed against something hard, which he dragged through the various layers of linens. It was a small purse, and when he opened it, all the victim’s credit cards and identification were still inside.
“I have a name,” he said, pulling out the New York driver’s license. “Julia West.”
The name meant nothing to him, but Marion let loose a theatrical gasp that caused Quinn to arch an eyebrow.
“I take it you know who that is?”
“Of course I know.” Marion made a big show of making the sign of the cross in front of her chest and looking to the sky. “Lord have mercy. This can’t be happening.”
Quinn knit his eyebrows as he looked to Michael for help. “Am I missing something?”
Michael held his hands palms out and shrugged. “I have no idea. Who is Julia West?”
“She’s a romance author,” one of the other laundry workers volunteered, stepping forward. She looked to be in her thirties and appeared more amused than upset. If Quinn had to guess, it was Marion’s reaction that had the woman smiling.
“Who are you?” Quinn asked.
“Leslie Johnson.”
“Okay, Leslie.” Quinn’s smile was heartfelt. “What can you tell me about this author? You said she wrote romance. Is that bodice rippers? You know ... like pirates getting their booty from behind and the like.”
Farewell Seas Page 3
