8

The Intruder

The sun hasn’t yet risen when I hear someone trying to break into my room.

Even though I made an early night of it, lingering in the dining room just long enough to excuse my lengthy absence to Jordan before I hit the mattress, I’m deep in the throes of sleep when the attempt is made.

Click. Clack.

I bolt upright, groggy and unsure of my surroundings, my thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets clutched to my wildly pounding heart. More out of instinct than coherent thought, I stay perfectly immobile, waiting to determine if the intruder will try again.

Click. Clack. CLICK.

Apparently, he will. I slide from the bed and land on steady legs, instinct and coherent thought now working in tandem. Instinct tells me to grab something heavy and hide behind the door so I can take up an offensive position. The coherent half of me isn’t so sure. After all, it’s common knowledge on board this boat that my dad is located a mere wall and a shout away. Only a fool would come after me here.

A fool or, perhaps, a man in love.

My heart pounds again—though this time for a different reason. Grant.

“It’s about freaking time,” I mutter. There hadn’t been any newly folded towels waiting for me when I got back to my room last night, and I checked the rest of the linens with a thoroughness bordering on the obsessive without finding any kind of message. I guess stealing into my room in the wee hours of the morning is as good a communication method as any.

“You have some serious explaining to do,” I say as the door swings easily open. “I’ve been worried out of my—”

“Pen?” The man standing at my door boasts an impressive and familiar physique—not to mention the bright and annoying eyes of a morning person—but he’s not my husband. “You look like hell. Don’t tell me I woke you up—it’s already five o’clock.”

Already five o’clock? Is he kidding?

“The sun is starting to come up on the portside viewing deck. If you hurry, we can catch it. We could also go for a jog on the running track and watch from there. No one is out yet, so we’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” I blink a few times, wondering if perhaps I’m still asleep and this is a dream version of Hijack. But he remains stubbornly in focus—and focus isn’t a point in his favor, as he’s dressed in what I can only presume is some kind of athletic onesie. “Why would I go for a jog before the sun is even up?”

“Because we won’t get another chance today. The opening ceremony starts at noon.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond or invite him in, pushing his way past the door as though he owns the place. He also thrusts a steaming cardboard cup into my hands. “I come bearing presents.”

“Bless your early morning little heart,” I say, almost willing to forgive him. But then I sniff the cup and recoil, shoving it back into his hands as quickly as I can. “Oh, dear God. What did you do to it? It smells like death.”

“I added a scoop of spirulina. Great for night vision. Who were you expecting?”

I pretend it’s sleep clouding my brain for how long it takes me to process his question. “What are you talking about?”

“Just a minute ago, when you first came to the door. You were worried about someone.”

“Oh, you mean Riker,” I say, falling back on the first person to come to mind. It’s not that much of a stretch. Of all the people I’m worried about on this ship, he is in the top three. “You know how he gets with gambling—he’s supposed to check in with me at least once a day. But I wasn’t kidding about this being way too early for a visit. For you or for Riker. I don’t do morning jogs anymore. Or any jogging at all, really.”

“Right. I keep forgetting. You’re not the Penelope Blue you used to be.” He says the words cheerfully enough, but I can’t help feeling there’s an underlying threat to them—especially when he follows up with, “Nice shirt, by the way. Is it his?”

I glance down, aware that I’m wearing one of my husband’s FBI training shirts, used so often and put to such physical hardship that it’s become a soft, Grant-scented nightgown. I rarely sleep without it and had to smuggle it in via my secret luggage compartment for fear Tara would throw it out otherwise. The fact that Federal Bureau of Investigation is blazoned boldly across the front isn’t a problem—most people know that thumbing my nose at authority is as natural to me as breathing—but the way it fits me is. The hem dangles to midthigh, the rest of my body swimming in its voluminous cotton folds. It isn’t exactly the attire of the short, wiry man I painted my husband out to be yesterday.

“Oh. Um.” I tug on the hem, conscious of how bare my legs are underneath the shirt. “No, it’s not his. It’s mine.”

“Really? You own a lot of government-themed attire?”

I can’t decide if he’s mocking me or testing me, but I don’t like how interested he is either way. I cross my arms and glare. “Yes, actually, I do. If I’m going to do a thing, I’m going to do it right. We’re very pro-FBI in our family. The shirt was a gift from my husband’s mother.”

Hijack’s laugh fills the room. “Oh, shit. He has a mother?”

“Everyone has a mother.”

“I mean, he has a mother you’ve met and are in a position to receive presents from?” His laugh diminishes into a chuckle as he shakes his head. “Never let it be said that you aren’t willing to play along to get a score. You want me to wait in the hall while you get dressed?”

What I want is for him to go away and find a bed in his own room, but I doubt I’ll be able to get back to sleep now. Besides, that algae-infused coffee is starting to stink up the room.

“Yes. Out.” I put my hands on his pecs and push, alarmed at the scope and size of the musculature under my fingertips. There’s a lot more to this man than I remember, and I don’t mean that in a good way. He’s a threat I wasn’t anticipating. “And give me whatever it was you used to break in here.”

“I wasn’t breaking in. I was bringing you breakfast in bed.”

“Microorganisms are not breakfast. Pancakes are. Give it to me. What is it—a specialized lock-picking kit? Magnet?”

“Master key,” he says and smirks. “And I’ll give it to you, but only because you asked so nicely.”

I stop and stare. “You have a master key to the whole ship?”

“No. You do.” He hands me a key on a small metal ring, pressing my fingers as he passes it over. “But don’t let anyone know you have it. If Peter Sanchez were to hear that I got my hands on a copy…”

The metal, which is warm from his fingers, suddenly feels very hot. Only by closing my hand in a tight fist am I able to refrain from throwing it back in his face. I have a pretty good idea of what Peter Sanchez would do if he found out about it, and there’s not enough bleach in the world to clean up that bloodbath.

“How did you get this?”

He shrugs. “I have my ways. The how is less important than the why.”

I don’t bother indulging him by asking that question. I know the answer. “For the last time, Hijack, I’m not going to help you steal the Luxor Tiara.”

“Just hold on to that for a while. See how you like the fit.”

“I know how it fits—like a noose.”

He laughs and does another one of those condescending nose-tweaking maneuvers. It’s even less endearing the second time around. “You used to be a lot more fun, you know that? Come on. Time’s wasting. I have a surprise waiting for you.”

* * *

I don’t know what it about my ex-boyfriends and their obsession with making me run, but I must have done something terrible in a past life to deserve this kind of punishment.

I’m clutching a hitch in my side, staggering as I draw air into lungs that would much rather be sleeping, when Hijack whizzes by for the fourth time. In my defense, the rate at which he’s overtaking me isn’t as bad as it sounds. The track on board the Shady Lady is located at the very top of the ship, wrapped around a central opening that peers down to the pool a few decks below. It takes thirteen laps to make up a mile, or so my enthusiastic trainer informs me, so he’s taking them at a clipping rate.

“You used to be in better shape than this.” Hijack slows just long enough to switch to a backward run, keeping an effortless pace with me. “You’re getting weak in your old age.”

I glare at him through the sheen of sweat dripping into my eyes. “I used to be in better shape because Riker held a pitchfork to my back and made me run. He’s learned not to do that anymore.”

“Your body is your temple, Pen. I did three ultramarathons last year. One almost killed me, but you don’t hear me complaining about it.”

Through a series of grunts and hand gestures, I manage to convey my disappointment that it failed in its task.

“Look lively! Someone’s coming.” Without further warning, he returns to his forward position, slapping me on the ass as he does. I’m so startled that I start jogging faster, albeit not at the demonic pace Hijack is hoping for. With a brief glimmer of disappointment, he slows his pace to match mine. “If my intel is correct, that’ll be Eden St. James. She never misses a morning run. No, no, don’t look. Just keep jogging.”

“Eden St. James?” I hiss. That’s my surprise, the reason he was so gung ho on my getting out here in the open air before the sun? “Isn’t she…”

“The thief who’s likely to steal the tiara if you don’t start making plans to get to it first? Yes, she’s one of them. You need to check out the opposition if you’re going to pull this thing off successfully. I need you to feel her out a little, tell me what you think. You’re good at getting under people’s skin.”

I open my mouth to remind him—again—that I have no intention of allying myself with him anytime soon, but there isn’t a chance. As we round the gentle curve of the track, we come within full view of our so-called competition.

The woman herself isn’t terribly alarming. Jealousy-inducing, yes, but not alarming. She’s taller than me—not a difficult feat to accomplish—and built like the kind of person who spends every morning running. And by that, I mean she’s wearing nothing but a sports bra and infinitesimal spandex shorts, her abs so clearly defined, I halfway suspect they’re painted on. She’s also incredibly fast, taking to the track with the kind of ease and skill I’m sure Hijack was expecting from yours truly.

I wouldn’t mind so much—the speed or the body of a gazelle, the cute outfit that puts my black leggings and faded tank top to shame—except that she’s not alone. On the contrary, she’s somehow managed to find herself the only companion who can keep up with her.

A companion, I might add, who should be doing virtually anything except early morning sprints.

“Ugh. Is that Kit O’Kelly? I swear, that guy is everywhere.” Hijack sums up my feelings on the subject quite nicely. “Step it up a little, would you?”

I do, but only because I’m half-afraid Hijack will slap my ass again to get me going. I can’t tell from Grant’s expression whether he witnessed the first one, but I’m not taking any chances with a second. My husband knows the likelihood of me a) running, and b) running this early in the morning of my own volition. He has to know I’m here because of Hijack—and I seriously doubt that information will please him, especially given the current hour. To an outside viewer, it looks as if Hijack and I haven’t parted ways since dinner.

I regret my speed about two minutes later. I’m not nearly as terrible a runner as Hijack seems to think, but even with Grant’s injury, I don’t stand a chance of keeping up with the pace the rest of the runners set. I’m winded and panting by the time we make our first revolution.

Both Grant and Eden slow as they pass us by, their strides a perfect match for one another, but only the former bothers to acknowledge us. “Good morning, Penelope. Hijack,” he says.

“O’Kelly,” Hijack replies, as casual as my husband.

I mostly just wheeze.

Hijack continues, “This is a pleasant surprise. And here we thought we’d have the track to ourselves this morning.”

“Nothing like a little fresh air and competition to get the blood pumping, that’s what I always say,” Grant says for what I’m pretty sure is the first time in his life.

“That’s one way to do it,” Hijack acknowledges. “Although this is more of a cooldown than a warm-up for us, if you know what I’m saying.”

I know what he’s saying, but I don’t have a chance to elbow him severely in the ribs, because Grant just laughs. “I see we’re not the only ones to find sleeping aboard this ship a little difficult, Eden. The constant motion is something else, isn’t it? Ms. St. James and I have discovered we’re both terrible insomniacs.”

False. Grant sleeps like the dead. His favorite position is to throw every single one of his weighty limbs on top of me and pin me to the bed until he’s ready to face the day all refreshed and ready for action.

“We indulged ourselves in a little late-night prowling,” Eden confesses with a prim smile. It matches her prim voice, which carries a clipped British accent that sounds as if it came directly down ten generations of royalty. “The ocean is so peaceful when no one is around. It’s a shame we have to share the boat with the hoi polloi. Quite ruins the effect.”

As she’s looking directly at me as she speaks, I assume the hoi polloi is me. I don’t know what it means except that I’m really starting to dislike this woman.

“Did you find anything interesting?” I ask, my teeth clenched so tightly, I might as well be a ventriloquist. “During your prowls, I mean?”

She looks the whole two inches up into Grant’s face and smiles again, this time with much less primness. “Oh, I found lots of things interesting.”

Okay. I changed my mind. I’m really starting to hate this woman.

“Can’t we run faster than this, Kit?” She makes a bow with her pouted lips. “I was hoping to get in a real workout this morning, not a quiet stroll around the deck.”

Grant smiles in a disarming way I recognize and fear, but Hijack stops him before he can speak. “Actually, Mr. O’Kelly, there’s something I was hoping to get your opinion on,” he says. “Maybe we could let the girls run together while we…” Hijack glances over at a covered walkway next to the side railing, secluded enough for a private talk but well within view of the track.

I know what he’s doing—trying to clear the field for me so I can chat up Eden, see what I can glean about her plans for the Luxor—but I’m not interested. Not in trying to eke information out of this British beauty and especially not in doing so while keeping pace with her freakishly long stride.

But I know I’m done for when Grant struggles to suppress a laugh, his lips in a tight line but his eyes crinkling in a way that betrays everything.

“There’s nothing I’d love more,” he says, his deep voice rumbling. Unlike my ex-boyfriends, he knows how I feel about enforced exercise. “You’ll be okay without me for a few laps, Eden?”

She doesn’t look pleased at being abandoned to my paltry company, but there’s no way for her to say so without looking like a poor sport in front of the menfolk, so she does it. That right there tells me everything I need to know about her—as a thief and as a woman—but I doubt that will be sufficient recon for Hijack.

“I hope you can keep pace with me, love,” is all she says, and she takes off at a gait that would make Olympians seethe with jealousy.

I’m tempted to wait until she makes a whole revolution before I join her, but Grant chooses that moment to also smack me on the ass. He knows just where to land the blow on the familiar landscape of my backside—and it carries a lot more sting as a result, though it’s mostly to my pride. There’s no way I can retaliate without giving our relationship away, and he knows it.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I can hear Grant murmur as I cast an angry look over my shoulder and start loping after Eden. “I thought that was a thing we were doing now.”

Whatever Eden’s skills as a long-distance runner, she turns out to be one hell of a sprinter. I know this because I’m sure that’s what she’s doing as she completes the first two laps, her long legs eating up the padded track and causing her neat brown ponytail to swish behind her like a pendulum keeping time. My own short legs, bless them, have to work twice as hard to catch up, my ponytail coming loose and trailing behind me like a horse’s unkempt mane.

“You. Are. Very. Fast.” I pant as we make our third revolution. I’m going to kill Hijack after all this is done. And Grant. And maybe Eden St. James, if I can convince her to follow them overboard. “You. Have. Nice. Form.”

She looks down at me with that prim smile from before. I suspect it’s the “company” smile she pulls out when the company isn’t particularly welcome.

“Thank you,” is her response. As we pass Grant and Hijack, she lifts her hand in a wave, but the men are deep in conversation and don’t notice. Their lack of attention is the only thing that saves me from cardiac arrest. The moment Eden realizes her audience isn’t paying attention, she slows her maniacal pace to something more manageable.

Not a lot more manageable, mind you, but enough so I don’t have to pretend to twist my ankle in order to stay alive.

“I’m not stupid,” she says. “I know what you two are doing.”

At first, I think the two she’s referring to are me and Grant, and I feel a momentary spasm of alarm. But then she speaks again, her eyes trained on the path in front of her. “You’re delving into my psyche.”

That sounds like an awfully complicated task for a first meeting, and I say as much. “Or, and I’m just throwing this out, I’m trying not to trip over my own feet.”

The way her breath comes out sounds almost like a laugh. “Nonsense. I’ve heard how Penelope Blue operates. They say no one is better at worming her way into other people’s graces. Man, woman, child…no one is immune to your charm. Even our ship’s host is singing your praises, and he once took a man apart with a pair of pliers.”

Peter Sanchez’s praises aren’t something I want to hear, not when there are pliers involved, but I can’t help feeling flattered by the picture Eden is painting. From the way she’s putting it, I’m basically the baddest ass on a boat of badasses.

I could get used to that.

“And now you’ve taken up running in an attempt to woo me into friendship and lowering my guard,” she adds. “You’re trying to find my weaknesses.”

“If I wanted to be your friend, I would have picked a less exhausting activity,” I say with complete honesty. The way I figure it, the lack of oxygen making its way to my brain gives me about five more minutes of this, and then I’m down for the count. “If you could just tell me your weaknesses and save me the trouble of finishing another lap, I’d really appreciate it.”

That breath-laugh sounds again. I’m not fooled by it, because she starts running faster. “You’re a cute little thing, I’ll give you that much.”

“Thank you,” I manage.

“It wasn’t a compliment. This act of yours might work with most people, but I don’t want to be your friend, and I don’t want a quirky sidekick to chum around with. If we have to interact, I’d prefer us to call each other what we are—enemies.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I have no intention of being your enemy?” I pant. “I don’t want to steal the Luxor Tiara. In fact, I’m starting to hate the very sound of it.”

“Nice try,” she says and promptly sticks out her leg, sending me sprawling.

Okay, I can’t say for sure that she stuck out her leg to trip me, but it’s the only explanation I have for what happens next. One second, I’m concentrating on my forward momentum, and the next, I’m hurtling through the air, a feeling of weightlessness taking over just before my knees slam into the polyurethane surface.

I don’t feel the impact on my kneecaps at first, nor do I feel the rough scrape of abrasions on my palms. All I feel is the dizzying whir of my body coming way closer to the ship’s railing than I’m comfortable with.

“Uh-oh.” Eden’s voice sounds several feet away, which, at her previous rate of speed, would make sense. “That looks painful.”

As there’s not much in the way of concern in her voice, I doubt my pain is something this woman cares about. The other two, however… I don’t need to look up to know that the black Nikes making a beeline for my side belong to my husband.

“I’m fine. I’m good. I’m fine.” I force myself to sit upright before he can do something stupid like wrap his arms around me in a gesture of comfort. “It looks a lot worse than it is. I promise. I’m a very theatrical faller.”

“What happened?” Hijack drops to a crouch next to me, taking a quick and efficient survey of my limbs. “Is anything broken?”

“I’m fine,” I repeat, forcing myself to concentrate on his hands as they take each of my arms and legs in turn, bending and twisting them to check for ailing parts. It’s good for him that nothing is broken, because he’s none too gentle with his medical care. “It’s just my knees and hands that are dinged up.”

I’m also feeling slightly woozy from the fall, but I don’t mention it. From the way Grant is watching us, silent and white-lipped—and from the way Eden is watching him, with a sharp, narrow-eyed interest—it’s best for all of us to sweep this away and move on.

“Help me up.” I lean on Hijack’s arm, using him to leverage myself to a standing position. The quick movement causes my head to spin, and I falter. Hijack’s strong arm around my waist prevents me from sinking to the ground again.

“See?” I ask shakily, doing my best to underplay how close I am to falling into a swoon. “As good as new.”

It doesn’t work.

“Take her to the infirmary,” Grant says, his voice thin and hard.

“No, no, I’m good. Really. There’s no saying how long that could take.” My own voice isn’t leaving any room for doubt. “The rules clearly state that anyone who misses the opening ceremonies forfeits their entrance fee. No way am I missing out on my chance at that tiara for a pair of scraped knees.”

“He’s right,” Eden says. “You look pretty close to passing out. But then, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been squeamish about blood.”

That I can easily believe. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she outright reveled in it. This woman has tortured her share of small animals, or I miss my mark.

“I’m not squeamish either,” I state and shake off Hijack’s arm. “And I’m not losing my spot for being a no-show.”

“There’s plenty of time to do both.” Grant scans the sky. I can practically see his Boy Scout antenna go up as he makes a quick assessment. “It’s a quarter to eight. Go to the medic and get checked out. I’ll ensure Peter doesn’t start until you’re there.”

“You have the power do that?” Hijack asks, surprised.

“You’d be willing to do that?” Eden asks, also surprised.

I can’t decide which question would be worse for Grant to answer, so I forestall both by tossing my head and glaring at Eden. “There’s no need. A few bandages back at my stateroom, and I’ll be good as new. It’s going to take a lot more than one tiny fall to stop me.”

She doesn’t take the threat as it’s intended. “Good to know.”

I look helplessly to Grant, but if he sees anything wrong in his new flirt’s sociopathic behavior, it doesn’t show. He’s divided between concern for my bleeding limbs and his need to keep his cover preserved.

The preserved cover is more important—about twenty million times more important, if you ask me—so I plant my wobbly legs on the ground despite the pain. I’m going to have some serious bruising tomorrow. “It was nice meeting you, Eden. Good to see you again, too, Kit. I hope you two enjoy the rest of your run.”

Grant compresses his lips tightly, but he knows better than to argue further. To do so would be ruinous to us both.

“And watch your step,” I add with a sweet smile Eden’s way. “You wouldn’t want to fall overboard. I hear there are sharks nearby.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid of sharks,” she replies just as sweetly. “A little blood in the water is just the way I like it.”