Burn: A Novel (25 page)

With Faith and Ryan on duty, Cael slipped his hand around Jenner’s waist and steered her toward the bar next to the casino. “Want something to drink?”

“No, thanks,” she said, probably because he’d asked her if she wanted anything. If he hadn’t asked, he had no doubt she’d have demanded a drink.

“Then how about some ice cream?” There was a twenty-four-hour soft-serve ice cream bar, and it was already one of the most popular places on the ship.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

Goaded, he said, “Just as well. If you ate a single bite, you’d probably burst every seam in that dress.”

“Probably,” she agreed. Damn it, what was wrong with her? He’d been in her company for only a little over twenty-four hours, and he already knew she gave as good as she got. But she seemed a little distracted, which made him wonder what she was thinking. Whatever it was, nothing good could come of it.

He found them two seats at a small table and got her settled. A cocktail waitress immediately appeared and without asking he ordered a teeter-totter for her and a beer for himself. He could have done with something stronger, but he wanted to keep his head clear. When he glanced back at Jenner, he found that she was leaning forward to see around him as she watched the action in the casino. She hadn’t seemed all that interested in it when she’d actually
been in there, so he looked around to see what had her interest.

A cold chill ran down him when he realized she was watching Larkin. Damn it all to hell, the little witch was getting too interested in what they were doing, and God only knew what she was capable of doing to satisfy her curiosity. Why couldn’t she have stayed nicely frightened, the way she’d been at first … for all of, say, five minutes? After that, she’d been nothing but trouble.

He shifted his chair to block her view, and coincidentally to keep Larkin from perhaps realizing Jenner was staring at him as if he were a zoo exhibit. The last thing he wanted was to put the bastard on guard.

Jenner gave him a bright smile. “You know, you could leave me in Hawaii,” she said, leaning forward so her low voice was almost lost amid the annoying jangle and singsong ringing of the slot machines adjacent to the bar. “I promise not to give away whatever it is you’re doing. I’ll get a hotel room, spend a week on the beach, and I’ll be out of your hair. You could let Syd go, she could join me, and we’d all be happy. Perfect solution.”

He mimicked her motion, leaning closer to her. Damn, she smelled good, and from this angle the low cut of her midnight blue cocktail dress was interesting—and that was putting it mildly. She didn’t have much in the boob department, but what was there caused his gut to knot up, low and hard. He should get away from her. He
needed
to get away from her, but the job kept him there, on the front line, in harm’s way. “Why would I let you go?” he asked, nuzzling her ear. “The entertainment value alone is worth the risk of pain and injury.”

The green glint in her eyes promised retribution, but once again she refused to rise to his bait, which was just as well. The last thing he wanted was for her to deck him in public.

As much as he’d like to release her, for both their sakes, he needed her right where she was, to provide cover for him. Without her there, he’d have no reason to be in that suite—and the general policy of a cruise ship was that the staterooms weren’t
transferrable by the passengers. A passenger could cancel, but assigning anyone else to a stateroom was up to the cruise line. He couldn’t take the risk that he might not be allowed back into the suite.

She would just have to suck it up.

The night wore on. Larkin greeted every group, then retreated back to the blackjack table, where he kept on steadily winning. For all the excitement or life in his face, he might as well have been watching grass grow.

When Tiffany’s group was allowed in the casino she planted herself beside Larkin and tried her best to interest him, without even a hint of success. Frank Larkin had escorted some beautiful women in the past, had something of a reputation in that department, but even as exotic and eye-catching as Tiffany was she couldn’t pull more than an irritated glance from him. Maybe her scene had scared him off, because Cael knew for a fact that Larkin had been watching; maybe she just wasn’t his type. Getting her close to him would have been a bonus, but it wasn’t happening.

Staying so close to Larkin could make him suspicious—just about anything could make the paranoid bastard suspicious—so Tiffany moved on and began flirting with a man whose wife was winning big at craps, not because she had a thing for older, married guys, but because that gave her a good angle to photograph anyone Larkin talked to.

As soon as the hour for the last group was over, Larkin tossed his cards on the green felt of the table and walked away, leaving his winnings there as all the proceeds were going to charity. They couldn’t follow him en masse, so Tiffany said good-bye to her new friend and followed Larkin at a distance, moving through the crowd smoothly and naturally. Her prowling walk drew more than one appreciative glance from some men and a dagger or two from the women with those men, but on a ship filled with beautiful people she fit seamlessly. Faith and Ryan stayed at the nearby table they’d taken, as did Cael and Jenner.

A soft voice, transmitted through the earbud Cael wore, said,

“Ghostwater Bar,” as Tiffany informed them all of Larkin’s destination. The man did drink, though not to excess. Last night he’d limited himself to two drinks, and not the ubiquitous Ghostwater, either. His preferred drink was scotch, straight up. He had no routine established yet—this was just the second night—so they had no idea what to expect.

“He’s moving,” came Tiffany’s voice just minutes later. “I don’t know why he came here, because he didn’t get anything to drink. He’s coming back toward the casino. Someone else needs to pick him up.”

They all went on alert. Larkin reappeared very shortly, his expression blank, but Cael thought his eyes looked a little spacey Was he on drugs? He walked with purpose, though, if a little stiffly.

“Come on,” Cael said to Jenner, urging her to her feet. Maybe Larkin was going to his suite, maybe not. God knew it was late enough, and the man had put in some long hours in the casino. Regardless, he wanted to keep Larkin in sight. If he didn’t go to the suite, Faith and Ryan could shadow him, alert Cael to his destination.

He gripped Jenner’s elbow as she looked around with interest, trying to spot what had galvanized him to action. She spotted Larkin in just a few seconds, and her attention riveted on him, her expression reminding him of a hound on the hunt.

Just to distract her, he said, “Smile.”

She flashed him a very wide, very phony grin that reminded him of a shark.

He sighed as he increased his pace. “Never mind, Witchiepoo.”

“Witchie who?”

“Look it up,” he said.

Larkin went to the elevator, and the car left before they could reach it. Cael took out his cell phone and sent a swift text to Bridget, alerting her that Larkin was on the way up. His pulse kicked up a notch. If Larkin didn’t go to his suite, they’d have to locate him. He didn’t like having his target out of sight, even for a short while.

He stood with Jenner waiting for the next elevator, and before it arrived his cell buzzed a text alert. Swiftly he checked it, and breathed out a sigh of relief. Larkin had entered his suite. Everything was good.

A few more people hurried up and got in the elevator with them, so he and Jenner didn’t talk, but he could tell she was bursting with questions. As soon as he unlocked the suite door and ushered her inside, she turned to face him, backing up as he moved forward. “So, why are you spying on Frank Larkin?” she asked.

“Get away from the door,” he said, and swiftly turned around to open the door and check if anyone was in the passageway who might have overheard her. The hall was blessedly empty. Shaking his head, he closed and locked the door, then chained it.

Jenner still stood there, her eyebrows lifted as she waited for his reply.

“Well?” she prompted.

“None of your business. Get ready for bed while I check that everything’s working.”

He wanted to do more than that, he wanted to know if Larkin was on the phone with anyone, or if he’d finally fired up his laptop. Jenner gave him a frustrated look, but grabbed a pair of pajamas and disappeared into the bathroom, which meant he had a few peaceful minutes to himself. Earbud in place, he watched Larkin get ready for bed. When the light went out in the bedroom next door, Cael removed the earbud. Nothing. So far, they had squat.

Jenner was still in the bathroom, so he used the opportunity to strip out of his own clothes. He had the handcuffs ready when she reappeared, face shiny clean, and clad in another pair of pajamas with one of those flimsy tank tops—this one was pink, and had glittery stars all over it—and without a word he indicated the chair.

She glared at him as she sat, and he cuffed her to the chair. Irritated, she jerked at the cuff. “This isn’t necessary. As long as you’re holding Syd, I’m not going to do anything. You’re doing this just to show me who’s boss.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, going into the bathroom and taking the handcuff key with him.

There was a moment of stunned silence, then she half-shrieked, “You mean you
admit
it?”

“I get a lot of pleasure from it.” Smiling to himself, he took care of business, brushed his teeth, and left the bathroom to find her still fuming. Oh, yeah. The truth was the truth.

She kicked at him as soon as he was within reach. He dodged back, laughing, though he wouldn’t have found it funny if her foot had landed where she was aiming.

“Don’t you
dare
laugh!” she spat, and kicked at him again. He caught her foot, then the other one, and deftly jerked her butt out of the chair onto the floor. He was holding enough of her weight that she didn’t hit hard, but the jolt got her attention.

“Asshole! Numb-nuts!”

While she was down he freed her from the chair, and just as swiftly cuffed her to his left wrist. He picked her up and half-placed, half-dropped her on the bed. “Leave my nuts out of this,” he said as he dropped the key into the drawer of the bedside table, then got in bed beside her and turned out the lamp.

J
ENNER WOKE, AND IN THE DARKNESS FOR A MOMENT—A
blissful moment—she forgot where she was. Then she moved and the handcuffs pinched her wrist, and reality came crushing down. Truly, reality wasn’t as terrifying as it had been twenty-four hours ago, but it still wasn’t a picnic, either. For one thing, Macho Man couldn’t seem to accept that she wasn’t going to go running to the ship’s captain, she wasn’t going to try to hide from him, she wasn’t going to do anything that would endanger Syd. She didn’t know what the situation was like where Syd was being held; her captor might be the type of jerk who looked forward to hurting people, and was being held in check only as long as she herself behaved.

Actually, she thought, Macho Man probably
did
know that she wasn’t going to do any of those things, but he’d told the simple truth that he enjoyed bossing her around. That, or he’d decided he simply couldn’t take the risk, that whatever they were up to was so important, or so financially huge, that literally nothing was being left to chance, no matter how small the odds.

She rolled over enough to look at the clock. She’d had two hours of solid sleep, which was pretty good considering she was
handcuffed and couldn’t move without twisting her arm into a pretzel. Now, however, courtesy of the teeter-totter she’d had in the bar, she needed to pee.

She tried ignoring it. Cael hadn’t awakened when she’d moved, and she didn’t want him to. He’d tossed back the covers, again, and lay there wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. Even in the faint glimmer of light that came from the living room, he looked big and intimidating.

She sighed. This was going to be the longest two weeks of her life. Curling on her side, she squirmed around trying to get comfortable, then forced herself to lie still once more. She was cold, again, and she
really
needed to pee. Getting comfortable was impossible, between being cold, not being able to pull the covers up, and a full bladder, and all three of those things could be laid right on his doorstep—not that he cared. He’d probably enjoy making her beg to be allowed to go to the bathroom.

The key to the handcuffs was right there, in the drawer of the bedside table. Had he thought she wouldn’t notice where he put it, within easy reach if he needed to get to it in the middle of the night in case she, say, set his hair on fire? She really, really wanted that key. He hadn’t even attempted to be secretive about where he put it, as if he didn’t see her as a potential threat—or as if he were daring her to try anything.

Either scenario was annoying. She didn’t like being helpless, and she didn’t like being written off as helpless. Even worse was the idea that he might be expecting her to go for the key, that this was a test to see if she could be counted on to not cause any trouble.

Well, hell. She didn’t want to cause trouble, at least not the kind that could get Syd hurt. Neither did she want to ask him for permission to pee. What she’d really like to do is get the key, unlock the cuffs, go to the bathroom, then slip back into bed and let him find out in the morning that she’d been free for hours and hadn’t taken advantage of the situation to go running down the passageway screaming for help. That would, logically, go a long way into
proving she wasn’t going to do something stupid, which should, logically, also result in more freedom. The problem was, she didn’t know if numb-nuts responded to logic.

Another aspect was that she really, really wanted to thumb her nose at him and show him he wasn’t as much the boss as he thought he was. Was it really too much to ask that she could go to the bathroom without asking permission? That she could have one truly private moment without a man standing on the other side of the door listening to her pee?

The key was within reach. The problem was in reaching it without waking him.