10

The Seduction

Riker is hot on my heels as I push my way out of the cabaret lounge to the stairwell beyond. “Holy shit. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to us,” he says.

“The best thing that’s happened to you?” Hijack protests. He’s also on my heels, both men close enough that I can feel the excited tension in their bodies. “You’re not on her team for this. I am.”

“I’ve always been on her team. Tell him, Pen. We never do this kind of thing without each other.”

I ignore them both. The implication behind their misguided enthusiasm is that all I have to do is saunter up to Lola, ask her for the tiara, and depart the ship a very wealthy woman. In theory, I suppose that makes sense, but they’re obviously not picking up on the nuances of this situation.

“If you think this is going to be another Tailortown job you can cheat me out of, you’re way off the mark,” Hijack says to Riker.

“I didn’t cheat you out of anything,” Riker protests. “You left. It was your decision.”

“Well, I’m deciding to stay put this time. But I don’t know why we’re heading to the pool bar. There’s not going to be any chance of grabbing the tiara now. It’s going to be a madhouse up there.”

“He does have a point, Pen.” Riker slows his steps. “We might be better off going back to your stateroom and discussing our options first.”

I pause on the landing, so angry that I’m tempted to push the pair of them down the stairs in hopes their thick skulls crack together.

“I’m not going to the bar to grab the tiara, you idiots,” I say. “I’m going to see if Lola’s okay. I don’t know if you noticed, but she looked like she was going to pass out up there on the stage. The poor thing is frightened out of her mind.”

Riker has the decency to appear ashamed of himself, but Hijack just blinks at me. “Oh, good thinking,” he says. “You’ll want to stay on her good side, build trust. She likes you.”

I open my mouth to tell Hijack exactly what I think—that building Lola’s trust is a self-serving, cruel approach only the worst kind of human would resort to—but I stop myself before the words pass my lips. He’s already suspicious of my FBI husband and the fact that I’ve shown myself so reluctant to return to our former life of crime. Until I know what Grant’s trying to do with this dangerous and highly visible Kit O’Kelly persona, I need to keep Hijack as far away from him as I can.

“She does like me, and I intend to keep it that way,” I say. “Which is why I’m going up there alone.”

“But—” Hijack begins.

I shake my head, stopping him short. “But nothing. We don’t want to overwhelm her or make her think we’re plotting anything. She’s young, but she’s not stupid, and neither one of you showed her the least bit of interest before the ceremonies. If you go up there and start flirting your heads off, she’ll know something’s up.”

I recall the way Lola swooned at the sight of Riker’s handsome, glowering face, and add, “And yes, Riker, that includes you. If you so much as bat your gorgeous eyes at that girl…”

The right side of his mouth pulls down in a frown. “I wouldn’t do that.”

I frown back. There’s not a doubt in my mind that all Riker would have to do is croon a few soft-spoken words to have her eating out of the palm of his hand. She’d trust a cyclops if I said he was a friend of mine.

“Riker…”

“I wouldn’t,” he repeats, his voice hard. “She’s practically a kid. I might be an asshole, but I’m not a monster.”

I’m instantly contrite. Riker has his share of faults—there’s no denying it—but taking advantage of people’s innocence for personal gain isn’t one of them. In fact, he devoted most of his adolescence to making sure my innocence couldn’t be used for anyone’s personal gain—a thankless and tiresome job few men would have been willing to shoulder at such a young age. Or ever, really.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “That was insensitive of me.”

Riker tilts his head in acknowledgment of my apology. “Yeah, well. You’re an insensitive person. I’m used to it by now.”

I flash him a grateful smile. Riker has never been one to hold a grudge. His anger burns hot and fast, but it rarely lasts.

“The one thing I want to do right now is make sure she’s okay,” I say. When neither of them moves, I make a shooing motion with my hands and add, “I mean it. You two aren’t welcome. Can’t you find something to entertain yourselves for a little bit? Go…play shuffleboard.”

The look they share indicates that playing shuffleboard is less appealing than putting their heads together to try and figure out a way to convince me to steal the Luxor, but I can’t find it in me to protest. Let them plot and plan and argue. I don’t care so long as they plot and plan and argue somewhere I don’t have to look at them.

As predicted, the pool area is overflowing with people by the time I arrive, though no one is in the water. Almost everyone is chatting politely and casting wary glances toward the bar at the far end. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that’s where I can find the tiara—and the unlucky girl attached to it.

I expect there to be an even bigger crush surrounding Lola, which is why I’m surprised to pop out of the wall of gawkers to find a wide, empty arc surrounding her. It’s as if a circle has been drawn around the barstool where she’s perched. Her small form shakes under the combined weight of the tiara and the pressure she’s been forced to shoulder, but I’d still peg her as the bravest person out here. From the dark and suspicious glances everyone is sending each other, it’s obvious they’re scared out of their minds.

These fully grown adults, professionals who shoot people and steal money for a living, are scared. Of Peter Sanchez, of each other, and most importantly, of Lola.

“Oh, for crying out loud, she’s just a child,” I say to no one in particular. I cross the imaginary line and plop myself on the barstool next to her. She might be a child with a devil for a father and no one in a gathering of five hundred guests willing to come to her aid, but she’s a child nonetheless.

“How’s your breathing?” is the first question to cross my lips. “Do you have your inhaler?”

There’s a glitter of unshed tears on her lashes, visible to anyone with eyes in their skull and a heart in their chest, but her lungs seem to be functioning fine.

“I’m okay,” she says in a weak voice. “I don’t need it.”

“You’re sure?” I know virtually nothing about respiratory diseases, but any ailment that could cause a person to stop breathing seems worth checking up on. “Because I can go grab it if you need. I don’t mind.”

And it just so happens I have the ship’s master key tucked in my bra.

“No, I’m good, thank you.” Once again, her voice is weak and her words short. I find I don’t much care for her newfound restraint. Her bright, easy chatter was infinitely preferable to this.

“Well, this is a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, isn’t it?” I ask and heave a mock sigh. Lola appears startled, but I don’t back down. “I wish you’d have asked me before you decided to take up jewelry modeling, because that tiara is ridiculous on you. Your head looks like it’s going to topple over at the first sign of a strong wind.”

She hiccups on a laugh.

“Then again, it could prove useful if we find ourselves stranded on a desert island somewhere. With a rock that size, we could find all kinds of uses for it. Starting fires, scaling fish, slicing open coconuts…”

Her laugh turns into a giggle. “Isn’t it awful?”

“Hideous,” I declare.

“It’s so heavy, too,” she confides. “I bet when ladies used to wear it back in the olden days, they only had to keep it on for a few minutes at a time. You know, for ceremonies and stuff.”

“Ten-pound weaklings, every last one of them,” I proclaim. “If I were fortunate enough to have that sucker placed on my head, I’d never take it off again. They’d have had to bury me in it, like ancient Egyptians and their cats.”

She giggles again, but with a wary smile that has me inwardly cursing my clumsiness. Reminding her of my mad love for that tiara probably isn’t the smartest move while she’s sitting here alone and unprotected. For all she knows, I’ve come up here to do exactly what Riker and Hijack wanted.

I grab her hand and squeeze it.

“I’m not going to steal the tiara from you, Lola, so you can stop worrying. You’re safe with me.”

Her smile is watery and fleeting, so I continue in a blasé tone, “And if you want my opinion, I doubt anyone else on board this ship will be stupid enough to try for it, either.” I think but don’t add, at least while your father is watching. “It’s going to be a huge pain in your ass—and neck—to have to lug that thing around everywhere you go, but you’ll be fine.”

She squeezes my hand back. “Do you promise?”

I have no idea how to respond. I’m not the sort of woman to make promises easily—you wouldn’t believe the kinds of persuasions Grant had to pull out to get me to agree to marry him—and I have no physical way of ensuring this girl’s safety. Not only is it going to be impossible for me to follow her around when I have Johnny Francis duties to attend to, but I’m hardly an ideal bodyguard. I can’t even open a jar of pickles without my big, strong husband coming to my aid.

But the words “I promise” come out of my mouth anyway. I’ll have to deal with how Hijack and Riker and—oh, God, I forgot about Tara—are going to react to that bit of news later. They’re not going to take this twist lightly.

“Well, well, well. I see you’re being well taken care of,” a low, rumbling voice says from behind us. “And here I hurried to the bar, thinking you’d be all alone.”

I don’t turn right away. The sound of that voice fills me with equal proportions of joy and anticipation and righteous, seething fury. Lola, however, brightens so much that I assume she and the suave Kit O’Kelly have already met.

“Mr. O’Kelly!” she cries and jumps to her feet. The quick action jostles the tiara so much that gravity takes hold, sending all two hundred of those carats tumbling to the ground.

Grant and I reach for it at the same time, the pair of us diving as if in slow motion. Just before his fingertips graze gold, he withdraws, allowing the full weight of it to land in my waiting palm instead.

Man, it feels good. Several hundred years under the ocean mean nothing when it comes to the solid beauty of precious metals and gems like these ones. They could stay buried for millennia and never warp, never change, never bend to the ravages of time. I like how constant diamonds are. People change and circumstances get turned upside down, but a flawless gem always remains the same.

And this gem, my friends, is flawless.

Grant lifts the tiara from my hand. “Okay, tiger. That’s enough—the rules state it has to stay on Lola’s head for the duration of the tournament.”

The amusement flickering in his eyes indicates that he’s well aware of how mesmerized I am by the thought of taking this sucker home with me, and that he won’t stop until he’s wrung out as much of my agony as possible.

“I was going to give it back,” I say irritably.

“Sure you were,” he says and places it on Lola’s head. “There you go. Good as new. Penelope and her quick hands saved you from disaster.”

“Oh, do you two know each other?” Lola asks, glancing back and forth between us.

I want to admonish her to stop moving her head so much, but I manage to keep the impulse under wraps.

“Drat. That means I don’t get to introduce you. And I was so looking forward to it.”

Grant clears his throat. “Yes, I had the pleasure of making Penelope’s acquaintance last night when she and her boyfriend joined me for dinner.”

“I never said he was my boyfr—” I begin, but Lola cuts me off breathlessly.

“Oh, then you’ve met Hijack, too? He’s awfully good-looking, but I prefer her friend Riker. Have you seen him?” She doesn’t wait for Grant to reply. “I’m sure you have—he’s hard to miss. Wears all black, kind of grouchy, probably the most beautiful person I’ve ever met… Am I allowed to say that about a man?”

A scowl descends on Grant’s previously unruffled brow. Despite the fact that I’m still annoyed with him, I laugh to see such patent jealousy taking hold. That’s what he gets for taking stupid risks with his life.

“Of course you can say that,” I say, my voice syrupy sweet. “Riker is one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met, too. I know some women prefer a coarse kind of ruggedness in their mates”—I’m careful to avoid Grant’s perfectly coarse ruggedness as I say this—“but there’s something about a chiseled set of cheekbones that gets me every time.”

“Attraction is a strange thing,” my husband counters. “Take me, for example. I’ve always preferred tall, subservient brunettes.”

I choke.

“I knew you two would get along!” Lola says with an excited clap of her hands. “Don’t ask me how. I think it’s because you both have such laughing eyes.”

Our laughing eyes meet over Lola’s head, impeded only by the impressive scrollwork of the tiara. My instinct is to back away and let a professional disinterest fall over our exchange, but Grant leans into it.

“I hate to correct a lady, Lola, but Penelope’s eyes don’t just laugh,” he says. “They dance.”

“They do, don’t they?” Lola sighs. “I wish she would tell me the secret. All my eyes do is see the way people keep staring at me. I can’t help thinking they’re all trying to figure out how to slip into my room tonight and bash me over the head while I sleep.”

The reminder of her precarious situation has me sending a glare my husband’s way. He has some nerve, sauntering over here and pretending he’s Lola’s friend. She might be too innocent and trusting to understand the kind of havoc Grant can wreak on a girl, but I’m well acquainted with what can happen once he decides on a course of action.

“It does seem awfully risky, leaving you to fend for yourself with so many hardened criminals on the loose,” I say. “It leaves one to wonder what kind of an imbecile was put in charge of security.”

“Oh, Penelope, no…” Lola begins, but Grant cuts her off with a short laugh.

“You’ll have to acquit me of such an honor,” he says and bows slightly. “All credit for this scheme goes to Lola’s father. I’m merely helping him with some of the more…complex details.”

Complex details? Is that what he’s calling this disaster? So far, he’s bound himself to the owner of this ship, tied himself to the tiara’s fate, and notified virtually everyone of his false name and even falser importance. If his goal was to keep a low profile on board this ship, he’s earned a big fat zero points so far.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I ask.

He shrugs with maddening calm. “Time will tell, I suppose. We can’t all of us be as famous and daring as the great Penelope Blue.”

Okay, now he’s goading me on purpose. “How great could I possibly be?” I mutter. “You’d never even heard of me until yesterday.”

His brow lifts in a faintly mocking gesture. “Yes, but that was before I started to hear the rumors of your exploits. A whole truck full of gold, was it? I’d love to hear how—and when—you managed that.”

“Oh, me too!” Lola chimes in. “Please tell us, Penelope.”

As Grant knows very well I haven’t done even half the things currently being credited to my name, I assume he thinks I started those rumors myself. Which is ridiculous. While I might have found the attention flattering at first, I’ve since learned that my newfound notoriety is nothing but trouble. Not only is Hijack on my case about stealing the Luxor Tiara, but I’ve also been brought to the attention of people like Peter Sanchez and Eden St. James.

Between the pair of us, Grant and I couldn’t have pulled this thing off any worse.

“That’s a story for another day,” I reply with a prim lift of my chin. “Right now, I think the most important thing to do is figure out how to keep Lola out of harm’s way. Or is that not part of the complex details you’re attending to?”

Grant’s jaw clenches tightly before he forces it to relax. “No, actually, it’s not. You heard Peter. The burden of her safety rests on the general population of this boat. My assistance would interfere with his plans.”

I’m unable to miss the spasm of fear that crosses Lola’s face—nor the determined way she tries to stifle it.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine in my room,” she says, her smile wobbling. “All the locks on the Shady Lady are unpickable. My father had them specially installed.”

My hand moves automatically to the top of my bra, where the press of the master key against my skin feels tight and hot. Unpickable the locks may be, but I have one very distinct advantage in that arena. In fact, I imagine Hijack is regretting his decision to saddle me with this responsibility—unless, of course, he has another backup key he’s not telling me about.

It would be so easy for him to slip into the poor girl’s room while she’s unconscious, take whatever he wants and damn the consequences…

“Why don’t you stay with me tonight?” I ask.

The words are out before I can stop them, and I instinctively look to Grant to see how he’ll react. I expect to see another one of those angry jaw flexes, his natural protective instincts rising up and demanding I play a more cautious game, but there’s no mistaking the warm regard I see there. His eyes aren’t laughing, and they definitely aren’t dancing. If I had to pick an action, I’d say they’re admiring.

Flustered at the heat of that dark, liquid gaze, I quickly add, “I won’t be able to do much if someone comes at us with a club, but you’ll feel better knowing you’re not alone. And my father is right next door—we can open the passageway so he’ll be able to hear if anything happens.”

“Oh, Penelope, can I?” Lola gasps. “You wouldn’t mind? Really and truly?”

“Really and truly,” I say. “But you should probably check with your dad to make sure it’s allowed. I don’t care what Kit says—I find it hard to believe that he doesn’t have other plans for securing you and that tiara tonight.”

She frowns deeply and shakes her head, the transition from happiness to despair so fast, it seems unreal. “No, Mr. O’Kelly is right. Daddy isn’t going to help. He told me so as we were leaving the stage. He wants me to show some responsibility and backbone for a change.”

Oh, man. I’d like to show him what he can do with his backbone.

Grant must see some of my murderous intent, because he clears his throat. “You don’t have to ask his permission, Lola, but you should probably let him know what you’re up to. I’m sure he’ll rest easier knowing you’re among friends.”

“I suppose,” she says and surveys the bar for a sign of her father. He’s not difficult to spot, as he’s seated at a corner booth in the company of what looks like a tall, subservient brunette. I guess he and Kit O’Kelly have that in common. “I’ll be right back. You won’t leave without me, Penelope?”

The heartbreaking way she voices the request almost has me marching across the bar with her to give Peter Sanchez a piece of my mind, but Grant stills me with a slight shake of his head. I guess upbraiding a criminal overlord will have to wait for later.

Without Lola there to act as a buffer, a heavy tension settles between us. There are so many questions I want to ask Grant, so many things I don’t understand, but this is hardly the time or the place to voice them. Even with the arc of emptiness around us, several heads are turned our way, watching us interact. If we show too much familiarity, people will start to ask questions.

“That was a good thing you did, offering to stay with Lola tonight,” he says, leaning back against the bar with an air of calm assurance.

“Yes, well, someone had to. What Peter is doing to that girl is unconscionable. I find it hard to believe that anyone could be so—”

Another shake of Grant’s head has me quelling my rage to a more controllable simmer. With a deep breath, I change my tack. “You and he seem awfully close,” I say as neutrally as possible. “How long have you known each other?”

“We go way back,” he says. “A whole day, in fact.”

Gee, how helpful. “And did you know ahead of time what he was going to do?”

His sharp look contains yet another warning, which adds to my mounting frustration. I’ve never been great at blindly following orders, especially when they come from him, and feeling as though I’m missing an important part of the puzzle doesn’t help. Especially not when there’s so much at stake.

“Dammit, Kit, I know you’re more involved in this than you’re letting on,” I hiss. “If we’re going to make this work, you have to give me something.”

He looks pained at my indiscretion, but there’s not much he can do about it in a public venue. I don’t care. I want answers, and I don’t know how else to get them. A terrycloth swan isn’t going to cut it this time.

“Lola was right, you know,” he says in an overloud voice. At first, I think he’s trying to cover for my slipup, but he’s moving in. One of his arms is on the bar top; the other reaches for me, stopping just short of my face as he tucks a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. That small brush of his fingers against my lobe is enough to set my heart skittering.

“About what?” I ask, trusting neither his fingers nor my heart. Both have a way of getting me in trouble where this man is concerned.

“About the two of us getting along.” He leans in closer, though his voice doesn’t lower any. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way you looked in the moonlight.”

I jolt back as if burned. Is my husband flirting with me?

“And again this morning at the track, all grumpy and rumpled as you struggled to keep up with us. How are your wounds?”

Instead of allowing me to answer, he takes one of my hands in his. Cupping the appendage gently, he runs his fingers over the edges of the scrape. He also leans down and blows, the cool air of his breath skimming over the surface of my palm. Even though the hot afternoon sun is blazing overhead, I shiver.

“I’ll live,” I manage, my voice strangled. “But I hope you realize that woman tripped me on purpose.”

“Who, Eden? No.” He peeks up at me, dark eyes glinting. “What possible reason could she have?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” I say with heavy sarcasm. “To rid the Shady Lady of my troublesome presence?”

He doesn’t pick up my lure for information. “Uh-oh. Sounds like someone might be jealous.”

“Of your long night prowling the corridors with a six-foot, perfect-haired thief?” I scoff. “I barely know you. What you do with your free time is of no interest to me.”

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks.

I can’t think of anything I’d like more. “Please do.”

He nods across the bar to where Lola is nodding contritely at her father. “I wish I was the one saddled with the tiara for the rest of this trip instead of her.”

I don’t. This situation is complicated enough as it is. Nor is his revelation terribly helpful in uncomplicating it.

“No offense, but I don’t think it would suit you,” I say. “You strike me as more of a gold watch sort of guy.”

He disarms me with a full crinkly eyed smile. “You’re probably right. But if I was the one wearing the tiara, then I’d be the one who gets to spend the night in your bed. I can’t tell you how much I’d love to be under your…protection.”

Oh, crap. He’s flirting again.

“Of course, we’ll have to get rid of that pesky boyfriend of yours first,” he says leadingly.

I refuse to take his bait. “My pesky boyfriend might have something to say about that.”

“A husband at home, a boyfriend on the side…” Grant makes a soft tsking sound. “You’re a very busy woman, Penelope Blue. Unfortunately, I’m not a very patient man.”

I gulp.

“Daddy thinks it’s a great idea!” Lola lopes back to the bar with new enthusiasm and impeccable timing. “He wanted me to convey my thanks for your help, Penelope, and also to tell Mr. O’Kelly that if he’s done trying to seduce dangerous beauties, he could use your input on whether you suggest video cameras in the cabaret lounge tomorrow.”

Instead of taking offense at being found out, Grant laughs. “Am I that obvious?” he asks, his dark eyes boring into mine. His look is both proprietary and predatory. A flood of intense longing moves through me at the sight of it, settling heavily at the apex of my thighs. I forgot how good Grant could be at this wooing stuff when he puts his mind—and his body—to it.

“Oh, yes,” Lola says, not the least bit discomfited at finding herself in the middle of our flirtation. “Even I can tell there’s something between you two, and I’m terrible at reading facial cues.”

“You hear that, Penelope?” Grant says with a quirk of his brow. “Even Lola can tell there’s something between us. Strange that you should be the only one so unaware.”

I have no response to that, so it’s just as well that Grant chooses that moment to lift my hand to his lips, his gesture similar to the one last night. This time, however, he turns my hand over and lands a kiss on my wrist. The press of his lips against my pulse point is soft and sensual, sending a ripple of delight though both me and Lola. Her gasp is almost equal to mine.

“I’ll see you at the games tomorrow,” he says, his voice rumbling. “Hopefully, you won’t be placed at my table. I’d hate to have to ruin your chances of making it to the next round.”

Yeah, right. He’d love it. That man lives to challenge me.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” I reply archly. “After all, luck is supposed to be a lady.”

“Yes, but my instincts tell me you’re anything but that. A woman, certainly.” His gaze flicks lazily up and down my body, lingering on the parts that assert my femininity the loudest. “But not, I think, a lady.”

He’s absolutely right. If he keeps sucking all the air from between us, filling it with an animal magnetism that pulses in my veins, all pretense at decorum will vanish.

So I laugh as naturally as I can and take my hand back. “I think that’s enough of that for one day,” I say. “Until the poker tournament, Kit O’Kelly. I’m almost looking forward to it.”

“That makes two of us,” he says with a slight bow.

Lola and I both watch as Grant moves across the lounge to where her father sits. Grant’s head is held high, and there’s a whistle on his lips. And, I don’t need to add, his figure is an image of masculine perfection. I swear, if I hadn’t already succumbed to that man’s damnable arrogance and swaggering charm, this would have sealed my fate.

“Oh, he likes you,” Lola says in a whoosh of air.

“Not as much as he likes the idea of beating me at my own game,” I mutter. “Take my word for it, Lola, and avoid men like that at all costs. They’re nothing but trouble.”

My advice is similar to what Tara bestowed on me twenty-four hours ago, and I sigh to think how far I’ve come in that time. The tides have turned, our fates reversed. I’m the master and Lola my pupil.

In other words, both of us are doomed.

* * *

There’s a towel animal waiting for me when we get back to my room. Despite my many attempts to convince Lola that she wanted nothing more than to spend her day napping and getting repeat full-body massages, she insisted on making the most of our time together. Lola sitting alone at a pool bar might be a shaking, miserable heap of a girl, but Lola with Penelope Blue at her side is up for anything.

Anything, as it turns out, is code for bowling with Riker and Hijack, getting pedicures with Jordan, helping the chef in the kitchen make five hundred chocolate lava cakes, and finally—finally—sitting down long enough to watch the sun set at the end of the day.

I’ve never been so exhausted in my life.

“Oh, you get your towels made into animals?” Lola flings herself on the bed, reaching for today’s creation, which is a penguin balancing a pair of my sunglasses on the top of his beak. “That’s no fair. Mine have just been folded and put away every time.”

“No, don’t open him,” I cry, and leap across the room to pull him out of her arms. I want nothing more than to rip into the little guy and see how Grant intends to explain himself for that show at the bar earlier today, but not while Lola is present.

“I, uh, want to keep him intact for as long as possible,” I explain somewhat sheepishly. “I have a thing for penguins.”

“You do?”

Even sweet-tempered Lola finds that odd, so I do my best to move the conversation along.

“The poker game starts at ten tomorrow, so we should get to bed early,” I say, and casually set the penguin on the side table. My sunglasses slide off, dislodging his beak and showing the edge of a slip of paper protruding like a tongue. “You should take a shower—I’m sure you need it after our big day.”

“With this thing on, though?” she asks and touches the tiara on her head.

I’d almost forgotten it was there. It’s strange to think I could get used to the sight of two hundred carats in just a few hours, but the tiara no longer has the same dazzling effect. I can’t help wondering if that’s part of Peter Sanchez’s plan—to get us all so inured to the sight of it, it’s just another twenty-million-dollar rock.

“Well, your father did say you’d have to wear it in the shower, but unless he somehow sneaked cameras past my dad…”

At the mention of her father, Lola’s lips pull down. “No, you’re right. I better follow Daddy’s orders to the letter. It’s the only way. If I take the tiara off and something happens to it, he’ll be sure to blame you for it. We wouldn’t want another Bernadette situation.”

Um, yeah. We definitely don’t want that.

“Just do the best you can,” I say and direct her toward the bathroom. “You go in there and relax. It’s been a big day.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” she asks, her chest rising. “I think it might be the best day I’ve ever had.”

It takes me a moment to follow her line of reasoning. I meant the term big day as a euphemism for exhausting day, emotionally draining day, a day in which her father revealed himself to be the most ruthless and uncaring parent in the world. If it were me in her place and my father traded my safety and well-being for the sake of a stupid diamond, I’m not sure I would’ve had the strength to make it through.

To Lola, however, there’s nothing but joy in the hours she spent in the company of me and my friends. Sure, there were five hundred people keeping a close watch on her, and yes, her death was a possibility at every turn, but for the first time in her hard, strange, isolated life, she got to enjoy herself like a normal young woman.

My heart, already strained with empathy for the girl, cracks.

“Take your time in there,” I say roughly. “I’m not going to shower until the morning, so there’s no hurry.”

“Thank you, Penelope,” she says.

She looks as if she wants to add more, but I turn away to prevent any additional outpourings of gratitude. There’s nothing to thank me for—not really—and I still have reservations about my ability to keep her out of harm’s way. Especially if, as the rumors suggest, the likes of Eden St. James, Two-Finger Tommy, and Johnny Francis are lying in wait for the first opportunity to steal that tiara.

I wait until I can hear the water running before I tear into the penguin, hoping for a long, rambling explanation of Grant’s intentions and what he wants me to do next.

So of course I don’t get one.

I knew I could count on the great Penelope Blue. Keep that tiara safe for me, okay?

And that’s it. No mention of Kit O’Kelly’s intentions or how the hunt for Johnny Francis is progressing. There’s not even a hint about what he’s doing in Peter Sanchez’s pocket. Just some basic instructions.

It’s so typical of him. High-handed mystery is his default status.

As I prepare to rip the paper to shreds so I can dispose of the evidence, I notice a postscript on the back. That, too, is so typical of Grant, I can’t help but laugh.

You dated that guy? Really?

I can practically see him shaking his head at me from the other side of the boat.

I think I preferred it when I only had Riker to worry about.