14

The Threat

By the time we arrive on the observation deck, the party is in full swing. From afar, I’m sure it looks like a dream—strings of twinkle lights sparkling underneath the darkening sky, men and women dressed to impress, laughter and the clink of free-flowing alcohol lowering inhibitions. From up close, however, it feels more like mass hysteria. Diversions aboard the Shady Lady are scarce enough that it seems everyone came out for a chance to mingle.

I can’t help but wonder if this is yet another part of Peter Sanchez’s master plan—to keep us all where he can see us, corralling us like cattle from one entertainment to the next.

I’m about to declare my intention to buck the herd and go back to the room when Lola’s breathless voice reaches my ears.

“Oh, isn’t it lovely?” she asks, making me feel like a perfect ogre. “It’s so nice to see everyone relaxing and enjoying themselves after a long day at each other’s throats.”

“Yes, lovely,” I murmur, though I see a lot more continued cutthroat activity than I do relaxation and enjoyment. There’s a woman to my right who just lost a necklace to a mustachioed man with light fingers, and if that couple over by the edge isn’t careful, Two-Finger Tommy is going to gently nudge them over the side.

But then, I guess this is like one of those abstract paintings Grant loves so much. You see reflected back at you what’s inside your own heart. Lola sees love and friendship; I see subterfuge and theft.

I blame my husband for that. If I wasn’t so worried about him being the one gently nudged over the side, I might be able to enjoy myself out here.

“They’re starting the music for dancing,” Lola says as the strain of a tango rises above the chatter and carries out over the open sea. “I love to dance. Tara, would it be awful of me to steal your boyfriend for a few minutes? I’m too scared to dance with anyone else for fear they might take the tiara, but with Riker…”

Oh, dear. There’s another area where Lola’s point of view might be discoloring reality a little. If Riker scowls any deeper, he’s going to be dragging his lips on the floor.

“I don’t know how to dance,” he says shortly.

“Everyone knows how to dance!” she says, laughing. “You just move your hips. Here, I’ll show you.”

“I don’t move my hips, either,” he says. “Not if I can possibly help it.” He turns and moves off in what I assume is a search for silence or a stiff drink. Probably both.

Lola sighs as she watches his retreat. It’s not a pained sigh so much as a wistful one, so I don’t worry too much about it. The sooner the poor girl realizes that Riker’s gruff charm is more than just an act—it’s ingrained in his soul—the faster her puppy love will wane. Some painful truths are better to learn from the start.

“I should probably see where he’s going,” Tara says, also with a sigh. Hers doesn’t sound so much wistful as it does pained. I know I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved in the relationships of anyone I’m related to, but I’m starting to feel like there’s more going on than either one of them is letting on. “I’ll come find you two later to walk you to your room, okay? Don’t go wandering the halls alone.”

I nod. I hope later means minutes rather than hours. Jordan abandoned us after receiving a furtive summons from Oz, who was not dressed as a crew member for once, so I’m back on Lola duty all by myself. Well, and all the other watchful eyes, following us like hyenas and their prey.

“So, Lola,” I say with forced cheer. A duty she might be, but I refuse to make her feel like a burden. “Would you like to grab something to drink, or do you just want to hang out for a while? I think I spied an open table over on the other side of the boat.”

“What I really want to do is dance…” she says.

The answer to all her hopes and dreams comes from an unexpected source. “If that’s the case, then may I have the honor?” Appearing as if from nowhere, Grant makes Lola a formal bow. He’s not in a tuxedo this evening—it’s not that kind of party—but he does more than justice to the white button-down rolled up over his forearms.

I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about rolled shirtsleeves that makes my heart pound faster every time. Maybe it’s the way Grant’s forearms flex and twist under the moonlight, but I suddenly feel a profound jealousy that it’s Lola and not me who gets to feel those arms around her.

“Oh, Mr. O’Kelly, do you mean it?” she asks and doesn’t wait for a reply. “I know you’d much rather ask Penelope to dance, but I’m selfish enough to take you up on your offer.”

I send Grant a grateful smile. Asking Lola to dance isn’t the most chivalrous thing he’s done—not when we’re talking about my white knight of a husband—but it’s in keeping with everything I know about him. He’s always been good at making sure people are comfortable and taken care of, a gentleman to the core. It’s part of what makes his willingness to let Peter Sanchez put Lola at risk so maddening. It’s not like him to sit back and let other people accept danger on his behalf. In fact, it’s the one thing he hates most.

“You don’t mind, do you, Penelope?” Lola asks.

“Not at all.” I give an airy wave of my hand. “I’m sure Kit will have a much better time with you anyway. I’m poor company after my heavy losses today.”

“Uh-oh. Did you get the pants beat off you?” Grant asks, a laugh on his lips and a dark glint in his eye.

Despite my strongest protestations, Tara wrangled me into a dress for this evening’s party. It’s black, which is nice, but it’s also incredibly short.

He appears to have noticed.

“Not yet, but you could say I’ve been stripped to the waist,” I admit.

“In that case, I can’t offer you any condolences.” Grant allows his gaze to drop to my neckline. “There are few things I’d love more than to see you without a shirt.”

“And without my dignity, apparently,” I retort. “Because that’s what going to happen if I have another day like this one.”

“On second thought, if you have to choose between dignity and the shirt, please keep the second one. You’re enough of a distraction as it is.”

Lola giggles. “I don’t know how you’re not melting in a puddle at Mr. O’Kelly’s feet, Penelope. If a man said things like that to me, I think I might die.”

“When men start saying them to you, Lola,” I caution her, “don’t believe a word. Mr. O’Kelly here is just trying to get under my skin.”

“I beg your pardon. I’m trying to get under a lot more than that.” He offers me a devilish grin and Lola his arm. “Shall we?”

She giggles again, pausing long enough to cast a backward glance at me as if to make sure I’ll be okay on my own. There’s no need. I’ve never been so happy to see the back of my husband’s head in my life. He might think it’s nothing but fun and games to make sport of our relationship in front of all these people, but I’m not so easily amused.

“Fuck. I thought that guy would never leave.”

Under normal circumstances, Hijack’s sneaking up on me and muttering obscenities in my ear might cause me to scream. Under these circumstances, I can only agree with him. This is one instance where Grant’s tenacity isn’t doing him any favors.

Still, “What guy?” I ask, as if I’m not watching my husband’s every dip and twirl out of the corner of my eye. He’s light on his feet and strong enough to lead Lola through the most intricate dance steps, making it difficult for me to feign indifference for long.

Being led by that man is a pleasure few women have gotten to experience for themselves, but let me tell you—it’s a pleasure no woman forgets.

Hijack doesn’t buy my indifference. “I hate dudes who show off like that, don’t you?” he asks. “We get it. You can swing a human around a dance floor. No need to rub it in.”

Oh, he’s rubbing it in, all right. He wants me to feel the agony of each step, watch him as he laughs and enjoys himself. It’s my punishment for not falling for his flirtation. So close and yet so far away.

“Aw, Hijack, are you jealous?”

“Of Kit O’Kelly?” he scoffs. “Please. That guy’s got nothing on me.”

“I don’t know. It looked like he was kicking your ass at the poker table today. He must have something.”

“Not really. That man is a lot less important than he’d like you to think.” Hijack drops his voice just enough to cause alarm. He’s not talking about a playful competition between men. “He’s hiding something.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“According to word on the ship, he’s some kind of big-time international securities expert, right?” Hijack’s question is a rhetorical one. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Then how come I’ve never met anyone who’s worked with him before? Believe me, I’ve been asking around, and no one has been able to vouch for the guy.”

“What do you mean? Peter Sanchez vouches for him.”

“So he claims.” Hijack casts me a knowing look. “But the pieces don’t fit. They’ve never worked together in the past, at least not according to what I’ve been able to discover. I can’t figure out why our man Sanchez would give a relative stranger such a central role on his security team. Unless, of course, he has other plans for the guy.”

“What kind of other plans?” I ask sharply.

Hijack’s eyes don’t leave mine. “So the rumors are true,” he says. “You do have a thing for him.”

“I don’t have a thing for anyone,” I say and turn my back to the dance floor. Watching the intricacies of Grant’s body in motion isn’t going to convince Hijack—or anyone else paying attention—of my innocence. “I’m married, remember?”

“Ah, yes. To the unimpressive federal agent whose ring you can’t be bothered to wear.”

I glance at the empty space on my left finger, reeling with Grant’s absence even though he’s literally less than a hundred feet away. “You don’t have to make it sound so seedy. Lots of women get married for money.”

“Is he rich, then? I wasn’t aware federal agents made that much money.”

“Of course he’s not rich,” I mutter before I realize he’s fishing again. I don’t know what Hijack is doing asking about my husband—or why he cares so much—but I don’t like it. I transform my irritation to a bland smile. “I just meant that I use him to get information on big jobs, that’s all. He’s like my own personal spy.”

“How do you know he’s not using you right back? Maybe he just wants you for your contacts.”

There’s enough truth in that statement to leave my head spinning. Although I know Grant didn’t marry me for the access I provide to my father, there’s no denying our relationship began for that exact reason. But there’s no way Hijack can know that, and even if he did, what use would that information do him now?

“He’s not that smart,” I say.

“Really? They must not have very strict requirements at the FBI these days.”

Not for the first time, I wish I was better at keeping my true feelings from showing on my face. All Grant’s safety hinges on the premise that no one will care enough about him—or me—to ask questions. It would take a five-minute internet search to pull up my marriage records and grab Grant’s name, five more to find pictures of him at various ages and in various guises. From there, it won’t take much to pinpoint Kit O’Kelly as my spouse—even with his shorter, darker hair, he’s easily recognizable as the FBI’s golden boy. Our whole mission was predicated on the idea that no one would be able to connect my husband and a quiet, unassuming card player who promised to blend into the background.

“I wish you’d tell me why you’re so interested in him,” I say. Maybe if we can get all this out in the open, Hijack will stop asking so many questions. “Why does it bother you so much that I married a fed?”

“It doesn’t bother me. I’m just curious, that’s all.” He doesn’t, as I expect, continue his line of questioning. He takes a much more dangerous path instead. “Have you given any more thought to my proposal? I gave you as much time as I could, but I’m going to need a firm answer soon. Everyone else is getting their plans for taking the tiara underway. If you’re not going to help me, I’m going to need to make alternate arrangements.”

Although I knew all Hijack’s allusions were heading this way, I’m surprised he’s willing to say so out loud. And in such a public place, too.

“What kind of alternate arrangements?” I ask.

“You know what I came here to do, Pen,” he says by way of answer. “I don’t care who’s been pulled onto Sanchez’s security team—nothing has changed. You have more skills and expertise to pull this heist off than anyone, and thanks to your friendship with Lola, you’ve got more opportunity, too. At this point, we’re all just waiting for you to take the tiara—and I’d like to be the one to help you do it.”

“Are you sure help is the word you mean to use?”

“I don’t care what you call it as long as you agree.” He shrugs, but it’s a studied gesture—a dangerous one. “I can do it with or without you, but the job will go so much smoother if I have the great Penelope Blue on my side. With careful planning, no one has to get hurt.”

There’s not a doubt in my mind that what he’s offering me isn’t a deal so much as an ultimatum. If I don’t help him steal the tiara from Lola, then he’ll make the attempt on his own—and he won’t be nearly as concerned for the girl’s welfare in the process.

It’s extortion, plain and simple.

“Why not ask Eden St. James?” I ask. “You seemed to be awfully interested in her before.”

Mistaking my comment for jealousy, he smiles. “I’m interested in everyone on board this boat. I have to be. There isn’t anyone on this deck right now I haven’t studied and researched and categorized well ahead of time. Pick someone, anyone.”

I stare at him.

“I mean it. Pick someone at random, and I’ll tell you exactly what they can do and how well they can do it.”

I don’t want to get drawn into his game, but short of jumping over the edge, I don’t see an immediate way out. “You’ve come an awfully long way from stealing cars, Hijack.”

“And you’ve come an awfully long way from hiding yourself inside luggage compartments. Pick someone, Pen.”

I indulge him. “Okay, over on the edge of the dance floor, the guy in the shiny purple shirt with the scar bisecting his face. He looks pleasant.”

Hijack finds the man almost immediately. “Actually, I think you’d like him. He’s big in the art circuit.”

When I don’t comment, he starts listing the man’s credentials. “Randolph Penske, forger. He’s your guy if you want an Impressionist piece done. There are about three people in the world who can tell the difference between him and Monet.”

“Really? That’s impressive.”

“Thank you.”

I make a face. “I meant he’s impressive, not your ability to pick him out of a lineup.”

“That’s because he was too easy. Everyone knows Penske. Pick someone else.”

Once again, I’m torn between a desire to tell Hijack exactly where he can stick his stupid game and an urge to keep playing. I’m leaning toward the first option when I spy Oz standing near the railing, seemingly unconcerned as he sips a drink and watches the dancers. I suspect he’s here at Grant’s request to keep an extra eye on the tiara, but I doubt Hijack knows that.

I nod in his direction. “Okay, how about that guy in the blue suit and skinny tie off to one side? I’ve never seen him around before.”

From the way Hijack’s entire body stills, I’m guessing he’s never seen Oz around before either. I can’t decide if I feel more smug at having beaten him at his own game or guilty at having introduced Oz to his notice.

“Huh. I’m not sure I know that one. Jerome? George? I feel like it’s something that starts with a j sound.”

“Johnny?” I suggest.

Hijack just laughs. “No, not him. If Johnny Francis is on this boat right now—and I’m not convinced he is—I’d assume he’s hiding out in his room memorizing kill lists. A guy like that wouldn’t waste his time at parties. Hey, where’d he go?”

I glance up. Sure enough, Oz has disappeared from his watchful post. Even though I know it’s impossible for him to have overheard us all the way over here, I can’t help feeling he knew he was being catalogued and left before the task could be completed.

“Huh, weird,” I say. “Maybe he is Johnny Francis, after all.” Since I’d rather not dwell on Oz’s likelihood to be any number of hidden criminals, I add, “What does this have to do with anything, anyway? So you know people. Big deal.”

“I know these people,” he corrects me. “And I know that before the trip is up, one of them is going to steal that tiara.”

“Yes, and then what? Where will they go with it? To a submarine they have waiting just below the surface?”

“Why not?” He shrugs. “As long as they can find a way to steal it and conceal it, there’s nothing stopping any of us. Think about it, Pen—it’ll be the crime of the century. Swiping twenty million dollars from under the noses of the most dangerous criminals this world has ever seen and doing it in such a way that not even a hint of suspicion falls on our heads. Tell me you didn’t get a shiver just from thinking about it.”

Oh, I get a shiver, all right. Goose bumps break out down my arms and rise up my neck, the tiny hairs standing at full attention. It would be a coup unlike any other. It would also be, thanks to Peter Sanchez’s watchful eye, incredibly risky.

“You know you’re going to be the top suspect if the tiara goes missing anyway,” Hijack adds. “Peter Sanchez and his new errand boy saw to that when they dumped Lola into your lap. The only way you’re really going to be safe from suspicion is if you take it and make sure the blame lands firmly somewhere else.”

Is it my imagination, or do I detect another ultimatum in there?

I’m saved from having to commit myself one way or another by Lola and Grant’s breathless return to my side. Well, Lola is breathless; Grant does his valiant best to hide any strain the dance put on his physique. All that twirling, though—it can’t have been doing his abdomen any favors.

“Oh, Penelope, I’m sorry we were gone for so long, but dancing with Mr. O’Kelly is like flying! You should take your turn now.”

“Is there a waiting list?” Hijack asks. “I didn’t know dance partners were in such demand, or I would have offered my services.”

“Not just any dance partner,” Lola says, unaware of the undercurrent of tension between the two men. “Just the ones as good as Mr. O’Kelly.”

“What do you say, Pen?” Hijack offers me his hand. “I can’t promise it’ll be like flying, but it hasn’t been that long since we were partners. I think I can remember a thing or two about what you like.”

His words do exactly what they’re designed to do, which is rankle Grant.

“Ah, but you had your turn with Penelope,” Grant says with a soft tut. “Is it fair to punish me because you didn’t use your time wisely?”

“I didn’t plan on dancing tonight,” I say, but it’s no use. There’s a playful gleam in Grant’s eye I recognize all too well. Stopping him in one of his stubborn moods is hard enough; stopping him when he’s toying with me is damn near impossible.

He holds out his hand. “May I?”

I cast a quick look at Hijack, hoping to gauge his reaction. It doesn’t look promising, but Lola swoops in with a pretty smile and a question about the difference between ten-gauge versus twelve-gauge starter wire when jacking a car. Not even all the Kit O’Kelly hatred in the world is enough to distract Hijack from his favorite subject. And since he can hardly take the tiara with so many people standing nearby, I’m forced to slip my fingers into Grant’s waiting palm.

Lola was correct in her assessment of Grant’s dancing skills. He confessed to me once that he learned the ballroom basics for the sole purpose of impressing the girl he took to prom. It’s one of my favorite stories, actually—I love thinking of him as a high school jock, winning trophies and setting teenage hearts aflutter. It’s so far removed from my own experience, it seems unreal. My own dancing skills are, naturally, the result of a long con.

One of his large hands grips me about the waist as he begins to twirl me to the middle of the dance floor. For a moment, I let myself fall into the music, the rhythmic steps and steady beat of his heart, the familiar scent of his sweat and laundry soap, but of course, the moment doesn’t last.

He and I have work to do.

“I don’t think your boyfriend likes me very much,” he says, not mincing matters.

“That’s okay,” I reply, not doing any mincing of my own. “I don’t like him very much, either.”

His soft laughter shakes us both. “Uh-oh. Lover’s tiff?”

“You could call it that.” I try to think of a way to phrase my dilemma without actually saying the words out loud. “He’s been pressuring me to do something I don’t want to do. I’ve managed to hold him off so far, but after tonight, I don’t think I can anymore.”

Every muscle in Grant’s body stops and stiffens, his hands on my waist tightening to clamps. I realize my error almost immediately.

“No, no, no,” I say quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Grant says, his voice a low growl.

The couple next to us looks over in alarm. I will Grant to keep breathing, keep dancing, keep up the pretense.

“Actually, you might be able to help me out with this little problem, seeing as how you’re in charge of security.” My voice is light but strained, as the clamps on my waist haven’t let up yet. It’s like wearing a corset made of flesh and steel. “Was it your intention for everyone on board to jump at each other’s throats for a chance at that tiara, or did you expect us to create teams and go at it that way?”

“He wants you to help him steal the tiara,” he says, understanding lighting his eyes. He also relaxes, my poor waist finally released from its shackle. “You had me scared for a minute.”

That’s what he’s scared of? Not cold, callous smugglers? Not exposure in front of an angry mob?

“Well?” I ask, my eyes imploring. “Aren’t you going to give me advice on how to deal with him?”

His answer is decidedly not helpful. “I, for one, am tired of talking about Hijack. What I’d really like to talk about is you.”

“Too bad,” I say baldly.

“Now, now.” He tsks. “Consider it the cost of the dance. Why do you insist on holding me at arm’s length? I’m not so bad once you get to know me, I promise. Some women find me downright endearing.”

Some women obviously don’t know any better. “You know, it seems an awful lot like you’re trying to distract me from the job I originally came here to do.”

He laughs in a way that makes me think I’ve hit the nail on the head—which means that I’d also like to hit him on the head. In case he doesn’t remember, the job I came here to do isn’t one either of us should take lightly. You know, saving his life and all. It would be nice if I wasn’t the only one who remembered that.

“I see you’ve figured me out,” he says. “A man should be more careful around someone like you, Penelope Blue. You make him forget everything but the joy of the game.”

“Does this mean you won’t mind if I partner with Hijack to steal the tiara from Lola?” I ask, annoyance lending an edge to my voice.

“Oh, if you steal the tiara, I’ll hunt you down,” he says, perfectly calm. He also places one firm finger under my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. “That’s a guarantee. I’ll hunt you down, tie you up, and extract its whereabouts using whatever means are necessary. And I mean that literally. I can be a very determined man when I put my mind to it.”

I lick my lips, which have suddenly gone dry.

“That tiara is the most important thing right now,” he adds. “I thought I already made that clear.”

He has, but that doesn’t mean I like it. The tiara is important, and so is Lola, but not at the cost of his own safety. He has to know that.

“Oh, look. The music has stopped.” Grant’s movements across the dance floor also come to a close. “Thank you, Penelope Blue. This has been a most productive evening. I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.”

Quick—so quick I don’t have time to prevent him—he holds my chin in place and drops a light kiss on my lips. It’s no more than a peck, and an unsatisfactory one at that, but there’s no denying my body’s reaction to it. From the moment his mouth touches mine, I’m all in.

Unfortunately, I’m not the one it’s meant for. That kiss was a public promise, a declaration of intent for all the world to see. It’s all I can do to stand in bemused wonder as I watch Grant go.

That man will be the death of me, I’m sure of it.

I wouldn’t mind so much as long as he isn’t the death of himself, too.