16

The Top Deck

There’s a note under my front door the next morning.

I manage to get to it before Lola notices, which is a good thing, since I assume Grant has some instructions to issue that can’t wait for Oz to make his towel rounds. Finally—finally—he has something concrete for me to do.

Imagine my disappointment when I find a message scrawled in an unfamiliar hand.

Meet me in the fourth floor starboard aft supply closet at dusk. I can help you get away with the tiara without anyone noticing. Bring the girl.

There’s no signature, no indication of compensation, nothing. Just an invitation to lure my charge into a dark and unattended room where the sounds of our screams would go unheard.

“Yeah, right,” I mutter as I crush the paper in my palm. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

I might have considered it a fluke—and an amusing one at that—if I didn’t get repeat offers throughout the day. No one else is stupid enough to assume I’ll answer an unsigned summons, but the other patrons on board the Shady Lady don’t do much to convince me their collective intelligence is very high. Two separate men accost me on the way to the cabaret lounge, offering me cuts of sixty percent and seventy-five percent, accordingly, if I’d be willing to cast all my scruples aside and join forces with them.

As they make these proposals within Lola’s hearing range and in full view of the entourage accompanying us to our destination, I don’t hesitate to let them know what I think of their not-so-subtle tactics.

Lunchtime finds me the unhappy recipient of three more offers, one of which is written on a napkin and slipped to me under the plate of the main course. That one makes me the angriest of all, as I find it incumbent to toss my lamb chop out. I don’t think anyone would resort to poisoning my food in an attempt to clear the path to Lola, but it’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

“Aren’t you the belle of the ball?” Eden asks as she watches me ransack the bread basket. “Let me guess—they want to hire you to kill the girl and steal the tiara for them, don’t they?”

“Don’t start with me, Eden,” I warn. Between my low blood sugar and the fact that I’m down another two hundred thousand dollars that have made their way to her stack of chips, I’m in no mood to deal with her attitude. “It’s not funny. We’re talking about an actual human being here.”

“I would never ask you to harm her. I’m not that kind of professional.” The way she says the word professional sends a shiver down my spine. “I’m sure we could come up with a plan that’s amenable to us both. And then I promise we never have to interact again—a partnership of convenience, if you will.”

I swear, it’s enough to make a girl scream. I can’t help but imagine this is what it feels like to be an heiress thrust into some old English marriage mart. The offers just keep coming, each one a little more desperate and a little less appealing than the last.

Everyone wants a piece of the great Penelope Blue.

That’s my excuse, anyway, for what happens at the end of the day’s poker play. Although I’m down to about a quarter of my money by the time the final bell sounds, the other members of my family have made a pretty clean sweep of things. Both my father and Tara won, as expected, which gives them a few days of leisure while everyone else finishes. Riker’s stormy look and Two-Finger Tommy’s smug one don’t bode well for his chances of making it to the next round, but Grant appears to be a few hands away from taking his table out from under Hijack.

With a few exceptions, Team FBI is back.

“Pen, do you have a second?” Hijack asks before I have a chance to join my friends off to one side of the cabaret lounge. I look longingly at Jordan, who I notice has a pastry in her hand waiting for me.

“Not really,” I say, more curtly than I intend. “No offense, Hijack, but it’s been kind of a long day.”

“I can tell. You look like shit.”

It’s the last straw. I know I look like shit. I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep since I boarded this stupid boat, and my stomach is rumbling so hard, it feels like there’s an alien baby in there. I’m wearing leggings and yesterday’s tank top, and Eden kicked my ass at the tables so badly today, I doubt I’ll be able to recover. And to top it all off, I can see her out of the corner of my eye making a beeline for my husband’s side. Thanks to the useless one-way towel communication method he devised, I haven’t had a chance to warn him yet about her theory that he’s Johnny Francis or that she’s probably sleeping with my dad so she can slip into my room at night and kill me.

Maybe, if people would leave me alone for more than five minutes, I could work on improving my appearance. Maybe.

“Hijack, I swear to God, if you so much as mention that tiara to me, I will rip your heart out right here in the middle of the cabaret lounge and start playing Ping-Pong with it.” My vehemence gives him slight pause. “For what is the last possible time, I am not going to steal the Luxor Tiara. Not for you, and not for anyone. In fact, I’m going to do the exact opposite. I’m going to guard it—and Lola—with everything I have. If you want it so bad, you’re going to have to buckle down and win it the old-fashioned way.”

Since it appears my vehemence is also giving pause to the rest of the people in the cabaret lounge, all of whom are standing perfectly still and watching me as one might a circus freak, I add, “And that goes for all of you. You should be ashamed of yourselves, behaving like cannibals. Whatever happened to honor among thieves?”

I could probably keep going in this vein all evening—or at least until I pass out from hunger—so it’s for the best that Riker makes a beeline for my side.

“Hey there, Pen,” Riker says, laughter underscoring his voice. “Whatcha doing?”

Oh, you know. Not much. Just alienating five hundred people who’d like to see my head impaled on a wooden pike.

“They started it,” I mutter.

“Yes, they did. And I think we can safely say that you’ve ended it.” His arm slings over my shoulders. It’s a casual movement, but I can feel the strain of his muscles as he exerts pressure to keep me from flying out. “What do you say you and I get out of here for a spell?”

“I can’t,” I protest. “Lola—”

“Will be just fine with Tara and Jordan,” Riker says and taps on my shoulder to draw my attention to the two women in question. They’ve arranged themselves on either side of Lola, providing a physical barrier few would have the nerve to break. “You won’t mind if I tear her away, will you, Hijack? You’ve never seen Penelope in this kind of mood before, but it’s not easy to bring her back down again.”

“I don’t need to be brought down. I need—”

Riker’s fingernails bite into my shoulder, which is when my anger abates enough for me to take notice of Hijack’s perfectly grave expression. Gone are the smile and easy charm that have always characterized him; he’s hard and cold and, I hate to admit it, a little frightening.

I realize, too late, that I miscalculated how serious Hijack was about last night’s ultimatum. That wasn’t him cajoling and wheedling me to do his bidding. That was him reaching the limit of his tolerance.

And I, in my anger and hunger, just took one wide step over it.

“Of all the people I know, I thought I could at least count on you, Pen,” Hijack says.

Guilt is added to all the rest of the emotions swirling through me. Granted, Hijack’s out to serve himself—and has been since day one—but he never made any attempt to hide what he wanted from me. In this place of lies and double-dealing and husbands who refuse to tell you what they’re up to, honesty is a rare thing.

I open my mouth to apologize, but he’s already turned away and brushed past Lola without so much as a second glance at the tiara perched on her head. His disinterest alarms me more than all the rest.

“I should follow him,” I say, but Riker holds me firm.

“No, Pen. What you should do is get something to eat.” Such sound logic from Riker’s mouth is difficult to refute, especially when he follows it up with, “You also need to chill the fuck out. Come on. I know something you’ll enjoy.”

I stare at him. There isn’t a single thing on this boat that would bring me more happiness than leaving it behind forever.

“Just trust me, okay? You’ll like this one.”

Riker’s idea of a good time rarely coincides with my own, but as there doesn’t appear to be much else I can do, I give in.

* * *

“On my count of three. Ready?” Riker crouches a few feet away from me, his eyes meeting mine in a moment of pure mischief. He doesn’t wait for me to confirm or deny my readiness. “One. Two. Now!”

Moving together, we turn and peer through the center railing overlooking the pool area. From the jogging track, it’s a mere three levels to the bathing beauties below. Riker’s target is a pale, skinny man who keeps berating the waitress to bring him a fresh drink. Mine is Eden St. James, who’s resting languidly on a chaise lounge in a bright-red one-piece.

Our aim, unfortunately, is off. I blame the forward movement of the ship for my water balloon splashing a few inches above Eden’s head. Riker decides his misfire is the fault of the wind. Either way, the sound of broken latex and splashing water on the wooden deck below is overridden by several shouted obscenities.

Giggling, I duck out of the way, my back to the railing. “Damn. I almost had her.”

“It’d be better if we could put food coloring in them, but the kitchen didn’t have any.” He laughs. “It’s too bad. There are a lot of people who would pay good money to see Eden St. James walking around with a purple face. We could make a killing.”

“I think more people would be willing to pay to watch heavy objects fall on me,” I say. Then, before he can chime in with his own delight at such a thing, I ask, “Again?”

Riker hesitates. “Aren’t you afraid they’re going to come up here and murder us?”

“This was your idea. You tell me.”

“One more, and then we escape down the side stairwell.” He makes the decision quickly and with confidence. It’s always been his way. His decisions aren’t always smart ones, but there’s no denying he’s willing to stand by them. “Ready? Go.”

We turn and take aim again. My balloon misses Eden by an even wider margin this time, but Riker’s lands squarely on the man’s chest. The man spills his drink and sputters up at us with so much rage, we hightail it to Riker’s side stairwell. By the time we fly down one flight of stairs and make it to the deck below, we’re breathless and laughing.

“Oh, man. That was way more fun than it should have been.” I follow Riker to the ship’s stern, where a small overlook gives us a nice view of the engine’s wake. “I can’t remember the last time we threw projectiles at innocent bystanders.”

He grins. “Those bystanders weren’t innocent. I’m pretty sure that guy I hit invents fake charities for a living.”

“Guilty ones then,” I amend. “Either way, it was fun. Thank you, Riker. I needed that.”

Instead of acknowledging my thanks, Riker settles himself on the boat’s deck, slipping his legs over the ledge and hooking his arms on the railing. It looks comfortable—if slightly dangerous—so I join him. The spray from the water isn’t tall enough to make it up to us, but there’s a mist in the air that peppers my skin. It feels good, looks good—is, by all accounts, good. This is the kind of vacation most people only dream of.

“So,” he says, ruining the moment. “You going to tell me what that was about down there?”

“No.” I continue staring out at sea. There’s something mesmerizing about the steady hum of the engine and the sluicing of the ocean against the hull. Mesmerizing and, I can’t help noting, great for hiding open-air conversations like these. Riker’s no fool.

But then, neither am I.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on between you and Tara?” I counter.

“No.”

“I guess that doesn’t leave us much, does it? We could talk about the weather instead. Isn’t this a nice breeze?”

Riker has never been great at taking hints. “Lola is fine, Pen. I know you’re worried about her, but you-know-who ordered each of us to make sure we have eyes on her at all times. You, me, Jordan, Oz, Tara—security detail is basically all we’re doing. She’s probably the safest person on the boat right now.”

“It’s not that,” I say, though of course I’m happy to hear that you-know-who is still capable of understanding the basic concept of danger. If only I could convince him that the concept also extends to him…

“Then is it Hijack? The dude’s a hack, Pen. He always has been.”

I look at him in surprise. “What are you talking about? You were the one who recruited him in the first place.”

“Yeah, six years ago. When we didn’t have Oz and Jordan and needed a getaway driver. I was desperate.” He makes a disgusted sound. “I meant to get rid of him as soon as possible, but then you got all attached, so we were stuck. You always have had shitty taste in men.”

I bump him with my hip. “Excuse me. I dated you, didn’t I?”

He grimaces. “Exactly.”

The grimace lingers a second too long, the downward pull of his lips tugging on my gut. In all my concern over Grant and Lola, I’ve been neglecting him.

“Riker, are you okay?” I ask as gently as I can. “I mean, really okay? With all the poker playing and bets over the tiara… You’re not doing anything I need to worry about, are you?”

I expect my question to needle its way under his skin, cause him to fly out, but all he does is sigh. “For once in my life, no. I’m not. Not at the gaming tables, anyway. I don’t have a chance to. Two-Finger Tommy has the dealer in one pocket and a stack of aces in the other. I was screwed before the first hand was even dealt.”

As a metaphor for the rest of his life, that’s pretty bleak. And accurate.

“You don’t seem very upset about him cheating,” I say.

“I am upset. I’m furious.”

Never, in all his life, has Riker sounded less furious about anything.

“But this isn’t the time or the place to deal with him,” he says, doing little to reassure me about his current state of mind. “With the way things are situated right now, I can’t give the game—or him—the attention they deserve.”

“Riker…” I begin again, though I’m not sure why. To apologize? To plead?

He cuts both those options short. “Oh, stop it. For once, this has nothing to do with you. I only came in the first place because Tara—” He stops and casts me a quick glance.

“Because Tara wanted you to keep her company?” is my hopeful guess. Somehow, I don’t think I’m right.

“Yeah. For that.” His mouth is a flat line.

“Do you want to throw water balloons at Two-Finger to make yourself feel better?” I ask. “We have a few left.”

The short, sharp bark of Riker’s laugh is one of the most welcome sounds in the world. “Thanks, but I value my skin where it is.”

“I wish other people on this boat would care more about theirs,” I say.

Riker casts me a sidelong look. “He’s going to be okay, Pen. He knows what he’s doing.”

“You think? Then he’s the only one who does. I certainly don’t have any idea what he’s up to. He hasn’t sent me a message in forever.”

I don’t mean to be so negative, but I can’t help it. It’s easy for people like my dad and Riker to say that Grant is capable of seeing this thing through on his own, but that’s because they don’t know him the way I do. Playing complex, twisted games with dangerous men sounds fun—I know, because it’s one of my favorite pastimes—but there’s a difference between doing it on solid ground and doing it out at sea.

The fact that my legs are dangling off the edge of the deck and there’s nothing but the deep blue ocean in every direction serves as reinforcement. We’re as alone as we could possibly be out here. The whole ship could be taken over by pirates, and no one would come to our aid.

“You don’t need a message to know what he’s up to.” Riker recalls me to a sense of my surroundings with a nudge. “He’s finding Johnny Francis, remember? That’s the whole reason you’re here.”

At first, I don’t do more than register the fact that Riker spoke. I’m too busy dwelling on the agreeable image of pirates taking over the ship and throwing both Hijack and Peter Sanchez from the bow.

“In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s found him already,” Riker continues. “Or at least that he has a solid plan for drawing him out. Otherwise, why would he have pulled us off the search to keep watch on Lola instead?”

I whip my head to stare at him. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Riker says, alarmed at my sudden vehemence. “Just that I assume he’s found Johnny by now—or close enough to count, anyway. That’s why he’s not sending you any messages. There’s no need.”

I groan and clutch the railing with a force that feels strong enough to snap it. “Oh, my God,” I breathe. “That’s it. That’s what he’s doing. That’s why he took charge of the tiara’s security.”

“Um, Pen? What are you talking about?”

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.” I slide my feet from the edge of the boat and stand on angry legs. The combination of adrenaline and churning water makes me dizzy. “I can’t believe he’d do that to her—to me.”

“Pen?”

“You said it yourself—he’s drawing him out.” I shake my head, my windblown hair whipping my face. “He hasn’t found Johnny Francis yet. Lola, Hijack, Eden St. James…none of them have any idea who he is. They said so themselves. The only thing any of us knows for certain is that he’ll stop at nothing to get his hands on that tiara.”

“So? That’s common knowledge. It’s why we’re all here.”

“Yes, but what’s Grant’s favorite way to lure out unsuspecting bad guys?”

His lips lift in a quirked smile. “Um. Marrying them?”

I’m not amused. “No, he loves to dangle bait in front of them.”

The man once tried to bait me with a diamond necklace; he succeeded in baiting my dad with me. It’s his favorite negotiating tactic. If he has access to a tool to draw someone out, he’ll use it. It’s the one aspect of our relationship that’s remained constant from the start.

“Think about it, Riker,” I say. “What’s the one thing Johnny Francis wants most on this boat—the one thing that will draw him out of his hidey-hole?”

Riker blinks. “The Luxor Tiara?”

“Exactly.” I wish I could be more triumphant about my breakthrough, but my legs and arms are shaking. I can’t help but remember how pleased Grant looked when I invited Lola to stay in my room with me. Of course he was pleased—I was playing directly into his game, helping him set the trap. “He planned this whole thing. Every part of it. Lola walking around wearing the tiara, me taking care of her, all you guys watching her every movement. She’s the bait. He’s waiting for Johnny Francis to strike so he can catch him red-handed.”

“You think? Putting an innocent girl at risk? He’d go that far?”

“I can’t come up with any other scenario that fits,” I say. And it makes sense. Not content with putting himself in harm’s way, he’s sentenced the rest of us to doom with him. “It would also explain why he refuses to tell any of us what’s going on. He knows how I’d react. He knows I’d pull the plug on this operation in a hot second.”

In fact, he’s been so worried I’d pull the plug anyway that he’s committed himself to distract me through any means necessary. The Kit O’Kelly flirtation, the playful way he’s conducting himself—it’s all an attempt to get me to look the other way. Grant knows from extensive personal experience that the best way to control me is with a pair of strong hands and a blinding smile.

And the worst part is, it’s worked.

“Pen, where are you going?” Riker leaps to his feet. “You can’t go after him. You can’t say anything. He’s probably surrounded by Peter’s men right now.”

“Oh, I’m not going after him,” I say, my teeth clenched tight.

“Then what are we doing?”

“Keeping an eye on Lola, of course. Isn’t that what His Majesty decrees?”

Riker releases a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Since when have you followed anyone’s decrees but your own?”

“Never,” I reply tightly. And I’m not about to start now.