Mystery in the Moonlight (10 page)

Caitlin tried not to cringe as both men laughed. She noticed Lars standing to one side. The old man had a frown on his face as he approached Bryce. “Begging your pardon, Captain. I don’t like to interrupt your joking and all, but didn’t you tell me to feed this girl and then put her to work? There’s a devil of a lot to be done around here.”

“Yes, I suppose she should eat, Lars,” said Bryce, poking at Caitlin’s ribs through the remains of her thin dress. “The wench is too skinny to do much heavy labor. She’ll need energy…and more appropriate clothing too. I don’t want the crew ogling her.”

“I’ll have one of the deckhands throw down some old jeans and a shirt for her,” offered Anselm, heading for the deck above.

Bryce kept his arm around her despite Caitlin’s quiet attempts to remove it. As he guided her to the ship’s long dining table, her body brushed against his hard one, and she felt an unwelcome warmth creep through her. Caitlin hung her head. How could she respond so easily to a kidnapper? Last night his very presence had made her feel dizzy.

“I…I’m hungry,” Caitlin said shakily. “Could you please let me go so I can eat?” She was relieved when Bryce finally released her so she could sit down.

The handsome captain raised his brows. “It seems we must make haste to feed milady, Lars. What kind of leftovers do we have from breakfast?”

“Sausage, beans, and bread, sir,” said the old man, setting a plate before Caitlin. Although the red beans were almost flavorless and the sausage too salty, she dug in vigorously, telling herself she’d be needing energy to go along with her positive attitude.

“So, now that I’ve allowed you to take care of your own needs,” said Bryce smoothly, smiling grimly from where he sat opposite her at the table, “how about taking care of mine?”

Carefully ignoring the man’s innuendo, Caitlin asked, “Oh, you mean you want some of this food?” She then offered him her half empty plate.

“No, I want some information.”

Caitlin sighed. “So we’re back to that. I suppose you still think I know about Jean Moreau’s boats or whatever. I’ve told you I’m only a guest at his resort.”

“Sure, and you were just taking a joyride on his cabin cruiser with his hired men last night.”

“They forced me to get—” Caitlin stopped in mid-sentence. “Those men were hired by Jean?”

“You know they were.”

Caitlin frowned. Was the Frenchman aware that he was paying a crew of criminals? Loading boxes at night on the wrong side of Hibiscus, Jenkins and the others had obviously been up to no good. Moreau’s own employees must have been stealing from him.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Bryce. “Your gallant French lover?”

“Jean isn’t my lover. The most we’ve ever done is kiss. I didn’t even encourage him to do that.”

“You didn’t look unwilling to play the besotted lover the day I saw you two in the bar.”

“Jean made a pass at me and I was trying to be polite.”

“And you were so polite, he decided to write you some torrid notes?” Bryce frowned.

“Notes?”

“Don’t play dumb. Why do I have to drag everything out of you?” he asked with annoyance. “Besides the message I found in your pocket, I read the other love note Jean left pinned to your door. I saw it there the same night we had our little tête-a-tête in the moonlight.”

“You read that note too? For heaven’s sake,” said Caitlin irritably, dropping her fork on the plate. The memory of the romantic evening she’d spent with Bryce reminded her of how besotted she’d been with him and his kisses the next day. What a stupid fool she’d been. He’d never been affected by her awkward flirting or her ordinary looks. “If you wanted to snoop into my business, why didn’t you read my diary while you were in my bungalow?” she asked testily. “Although why I would interest pirates is beyond—”

“You’ve got a diary?” Bryce interrupted with unconcealed interest.

“Yes, but it’s still on Hibiscus,” Caitlin offered sarcastically. “It doesn’t have much about Jean in it, but if you take me back, I’ll be more than happy to turn the book over to you. I’m sure you’d like to see the treasure map I drew.”

“Treasure map?”

“Yes—the instructions for opening my jewelry box. You can have all my priceless rhinestones, but I beg you to please let me keep my charm bracelet and Timex watch. They’ve been in my family for years.”

Bryce scowled. Then he leaned across the table to take her chin firmly in his hand. “Look, Caitlin,” he stated, making her stare directly at him. “I’m getting sick and tired of playing these stupid little games. It’s only your first day on my ship, and already you’re making me lose my temper. What do you think is going to happen to you later, when I get really angry? Come clean with the truth and I’ll let you go now.”

“I
am
telling you the truth,” Caitlin insisted, her voice rising slightly. He held her chin steady, his long fingers cupping the sides of her jaw.

“Well, you’re going to have to tell me a whole lot better and a whole lot more.”

“More, huh?” Transfixed by Bryce’s fierce sea-green gaze, Caitlin glared back and felt herself grow warmer. Only this time the heat wasn’t fueled by her attraction to the man; it came from her mounting anger. The pirate captain wasn’t the only one growing sick and tired of games.

“Okay,” said Caitlin, thinking quickly. “If you’ll free my face so I can talk comfortably, I’ll tell you everything.”

She took a deep breath when he released her chin. An innocent bystander to the dirty work she’d happened upon, Caitlin was sick of being threatened and even more tired of being pushed around. If the truth wasn’t good enough for Bryce Winslow, why not give him some lies to chew on?

“So talk,” he ordered.

“I’m thinking of the best…way to tell you,” Caitlin said, trying to put her story together in her mind. “Um, unfortunately, Captain Winslow, you’re not going to like what I have to say. Just by keeping me captive, both my employers will have you on file.”

Bryce scowled. “Moreau and who else?”

Trying to remember movies she’d seen in which actresses played Mata Hari types, Caitlin tossed her long hair back over her shoulder, hoping to look worldly and sophisticated. “Moreau? Ha! Moreau is nothing.” Anger egging her on, she narrowed her eyes and told Bryce in a low voice, “I work for governments—particularly the United States and the Soviet Union. I’m what you call a triple agent. If you let me go quickly, I’ll try to talk them out of killing you.”

Bryce moved back in his chair. “You’re saying you’re a spy?”

Caitlin corrected him, “I’m an agent. We don’t like to be called spies; it sounds so unprofessional. I’m very good at my work because I look perfectly innocent. That’s why it’s easy for me to sneak in and get the plans for all kinds of weapons. Then I sell them to the highest bidder.”

She couldn’t tell if Bryce believed her or not. He leaned forward again to ask, “What’s an agent doing in the West Indies?”

“I’m here because of the submarines,” Caitlin explained glibly. “They contact me and approach an island when I’m ready to give them blueprints or diagrams. And you’d better get me back to Hibiscus fast,” she added, sipping from her water glass as though it contained expensive vodka. “I have a date with the Russians tomorrow. They’ll think you’re competing with them…and blow you out of the water with a torpedo.”

Bryce’s reaction to her last statement was unexpected. Looking down at the floor, he shook his head tiredly. Was this the calm before the storm? Did he actually believe her and was concerned? Or was now the point where he’d lose his temper completely and throw her overboard? Angry also, Caitlin couldn’t find it within herself to be afraid.

“Don’t you have anything to say, Captain Winslow?” she asked. “Want to see a diagram of the newest guided missile?”

Glancing up at her, he yawned. “No, I don’t want to take the time. I’m ready to get some sleep.”

“Sleep? You mean, you aren’t the least concerned about the Russians?”

He gave her a derisive glance. “The only thing I’m concerned about is your sanity, but I’m not worried enough about that to keep myself awake.” He raised his voice to shout, “Lars!”

“Yes, Captain,” answered the old man from nearby. “You don’t have to yell. I’m right here. I’ve been waiting until you were through to set the girl to work.”

Bryce pointed to Caitlin. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m having milady work down here. She seems to be as balmy as you are. Get her dressed in those jeans Anselm is supposed to find for her and have her swab the galley.”

So Bryce hadn’t believed her! Well, at least she’d taken up his precious time with a wild tale. Powerless in her captive situation, even succeeding at telling a few lies made her feel that she had more control. And so far she’d managed to escape the encounter unscathed. The captain had made no move to punish her. Caitlin stared coolly at Bryce as he rose and walked away.

He turned before ascending the stairs. “I’ll talk to you later, crazy lady, after I’ve had some rest.”

“I can’t wait.”

Caitlin was happy that Bryce didn’t show up for the noonday meal. Having changed into a pair of faded denims and a cotton shirt, she kept herself busy cleaning pots on the far side of the galley area when most of the ten-man crew filed in to eat a lunch of rice, beans, and fish.

“What kind of slop are you serving for dinner, Lars?” asked a black deckhand after most of the men had finished eating and were getting ready to leave. “More of this, mon? We’re not very happy with our meals.”

“More! More! You dirty fish heads, sons of… Squawk!” cried the brightly feathered parrot from her cage in one corner of the room. She squawked again as Lars shook a heavy spoon threateningly in front of her.

“Shut up you foul birdbrain or I’ll roast you alive!” said Lars. “And you relax, too, Thomas. Beans are good for all the body’s organs. Beans, greens, tureens…”

“I think I’d rather have roasted parrot,” muttered Thomas. Sliding out of his chair, he and the others left to ascend to the upper deck.

“Roast, toast…” sang Lars as he moved the macaw’s cage closer to Caitlin. “Now, this is going to be part of your job here. You’ve got to take care of all the animals every day—clean the cat litter pan and bring this cage down from the deck to change Captain Flint’s paper. Then feed all the beasties too. When he’s not eating rats, Calico Jack likes fish and cat chow. The parrot gets birdseed and fruit. She prefers oranges.” He offered the bird a slice of the latter and backed away swiftly when she charged across her perch with her beak opened menacingly.

“Stinking moron!” cried the parrot, sampling the orange wedge that had fallen inside her cage.

“Inflated mass of useless feathers!” cried Lars. He turned to Caitlin. “Watch out for Captain Flint. She bites. Why don’t you take her back upstairs?”

Later that afternoon Caitlin decided that cleaning the parrot’s cage was probably the most dangerous of her duties, though not the most disgusting. Wrinkling her nose at the smell, she picked another slippery fish from the bucket Lars had given her and started scaling it with a knife. When she’d finished with that task, she’d have to gut and fillet the creature. Would she ever want to have fish for dinner again? she wondered, frowning down at the silvery contents of the bucket. Lars’s beans certainly smelled better at the moment.

Standing at the stove, the old man was busy overcooking a boiling pot of mixed red and black beans while he took swigs from a cheap bottle of rum. A pan of mushy white rice sat on the back burner. As far as Caitlin could tell, Lars hadn’t added pepper, salt, or any other seasoning to either dish.

No wonder the crew was unhappy with the meals. Only Thomas had spoken up at lunch, however. For a pirate crew the men were amazingly quiet and well mannered. Although they’d given her a few curious glances, none of the men had made any of the raucous, bawdy remarks she’d expect of criminals.

But then, their captain may have warned them away from her. Gritting her teeth when she thought about Bryce, Caitlin scraped even harder at the fish she held. Too bad there wasn’t any poison around. Imagining herself as a Mata Hari character again, Caitlin visualized mixing arsenic into the captain’s food. Then, when he was dying—probably in her arms—Caitlin would tell him her only sorrow was that he’d been so handsome.

“Hey, watch the weapons!” grumbled Lars, awakening her from her daydream. “What are you planning to do—scalp that fish down to its bones?” Startled, Caitlin looked down at the mess she’d made by not paying attention to her task.

“Give that one to Calico Jack. He’s not particular. And since we’ve got enough fish for tonight, I’ll throw the rest overboard. Fish, wish, they slide off their dish…and a yo ho ho…”

“What shall I do next?” Caitlin asked after washing her hands thoroughly at the sink.

“You can help me cook, I guess.”

“Would you like me to mix some seasoning into the rice or the beans?”

“Seasoning? What do you want to do that for?”

“Seasoning makes food taste better,” Caitlin told the old man, and-then wondered if she were insulting him. “Not that your cuisine isn’t already excellent, I’m sure.”

“Do what you want. I’ve got plenty of bottles and cans of stuff around here.” Lars took another swig from his bottle. “Want some rum? It’ll make you relax. One time I gave it to Captain Flint to make her settle down.”