Stranded (5 page)

Darcy had barely made it around the corner when Gage's hand clasped lightly on her arm. His palms were calloused—no doubt from his daily kayak rides. But his touch felt incredible all the same. “We need to talk.”

Pulling her thoughts from the warm, innately protective touch of his skin on hers, she glanced around, her gaze fixing on Mullins, Ted, and George headed in their direction. “Fine, but not here.” She spotted the stairwell door out of the corner of her eye and moved toward it. Tugging Gage inside, she shut the door quietly behind them. With every inch blanketed in a dull grayish-white—like a dirty blank canvas long neglected—it was the only space on the ship she'd seen devoid of cheery color.

“I knew it,” he blurted. “You're on a case, aren't you?”

“Shhh,” she hissed, stepping to the metal rail. Leaning over, she glanced up and down, and relief filled her at finding no one present. She spun back to Gage, a mix of irritation and attraction heating her limbs. “Do you think you could tone it down a bit?”

Gage leaned against the wall, one knee bent, the sole of his Merrell boots braced against the textured concrete. “I
thought you gave up undercover reporting.” Disapproval clung to his tone.

Of course it did. He'd been judging her since he'd stepped foot in the meeting room. She only prayed no one else picked up on the fact that they knew each other far better than she'd let on. Explaining her prolonged stay in Yancey and the active role she'd played in a murder investigation would only highlight the truth and depth of her reporting background. As far as anyone on the
Bering
was concerned, she was an adventure journalist and always had been—and she needed to keep it that way.

“Darc?” His voice was as deep and warm as she remembered it—like rich, cascading caramel. “You were saying . . . ?”

Of course he wasn't going to let this drop. “I had . . . I have . . . I mean . . .” She took a steadying breath, trying to compose her thoughts. What was that tantalizing scent? She inhaled again, forcing herself not to lean into his muscular body.
Spicy vanilla aftershave
? The man was flat-out dizzying.

“Had?” he pressed.

“My friend Abby . . .”

“The woman who left the
Bering
?”

She blew a stray lock of hair from her face. “Supposedly.”

“Supposedly?” He linked his arms across his chest, his sculpted forearms front and center. “She is your friend?”

She diverted her eyes while trying to decide exactly how much she wanted to confide in him, or rather, how much she
should
confide. “Look . . .” She shoved her hands in her pockets. Why couldn't she concentrate around the man? It was utterly ridiculous. “I'm not comfortable discussing this here.”

“Fine, let's go to my cabin.”

“Now?”
Great
. The two of them in even closer quarters—the exact opposite of what her heart needed. After five months
apart without a word, she'd thought she could manage her emotions better. Frustration bubbled inside. She needed to be focused on finding Abby, not explaining herself to Gage.

He smiled. “No time like the present.”

Gage walked with Darcy to his cabin, his pulse increasing just being in her presence. He balled his hands into fists. It was going to be a grueling ten days.

She kept her shoulders stiff, irritation lacing her brow. She clearly didn't want to explain, but if she planned on using LFA's excursions to conduct her investigation, at the very least he deserved an explanation.

Opening his cabin door, he gestured with his arm. “After you.”

She glanced up at him as she stepped past, the top of her head not quite reaching the bottom of his chin. She was a petite thing, but he'd never met anyone more full of fire—with the exception of his sisters, perhaps.

He shut the door. “So, what's this all about?”

She strolled about the tiny confines, clearly stalling.

“Darcy.”

She stopped and plopped down into one of the sitting area's egg-shaped chairs.

He leaned against the desk's edge, trying to keep some distance between them. “What's really going on, and who's Abby?”

“Abby is my old undercover reporting partner.”

“Reporting partner?”

“Yeah.”

“So you've decided to go back.” He didn't bother trying to mask his disappointment.

“Abby and I haven't seen each other in years, but she asked
for my help.” She explained how Abby had called out of the blue and asked for Darcy's assistance on her undercover investigation, told her about the adventure journalist job she could use as a cover.

“But I thought you'd given that all up?” That's what she'd claimed last winter in Yancey.

“I had.” She leaned forward. “You don't understand. . . . Abby and I have been friends since the first day of college. We roomed together at Baylor. Got our first reporting gigs together. We worked at the
Times
and then the
Watch
together.”

“And then?”

She sighed, crossing her legs. “And then I decided to leave undercover reporting.”

He inched closer to her, shimmying along the desk's edge. “But . . . Abby stayed?”

“Right.”

“And you two . . . ?”

She shrugged. “Remained friends, but . . .”

“It wasn't the same.”

Darcy nodded.

“Then why did you agree to come join her investigation? Why agree to go back to undercover reporting?”

“Because . . .”

He scooted closer still, moving to the far edge of the desk, stopping only when his leg was nearly brushing hers. “Because . . . ?”

“She needed my help.”

There was more to it. He could see it in her eyes—hunger, ambition. It was masked by real concern for her friend, but it was nestled in there nonetheless.

Taking a deep breath, she stood, shaking out her hands.
“It looks like I made the right decision, because something's clearly happened to Abby.”

“Are you certain she didn't just leave, as Mullins said?”

“She wouldn't do that.” Darcy shook her head. “Not after asking me to come. Besides, I only saw her for a minute when I first boarded yesterday. She was headed out on an excursion, so she couldn't talk, but she looked scared.”

“And that's unusual?”

“For Abby, yes.”

He hopped up on the desk, his legs dangling as Darcy paced. “What do you know about the case she's working?”

“Not a lot. She didn't want to explain over the phone—was going to fill me in once I got on board. We were supposed to meet last night, but she never showed.”

“And the woman that went overboard? Was that her?”

“I don't know. I had Landon call Kodiak Hospital, but—”

“Wait . . .” Gage cocked his head. “Where does Landon come into this?”

“When the
Bering
docked in Yancey this morning, I went to see Landon.”

And she hadn't bothered to drop by and say hi? How could she have visited Yancey without seeing him, even if the visit had to be brief? Guess he knew where he stood. “Was Landon of any help?”

“He tried, but there is no record of Abby, or anyone for that matter, being brought in after falling overboard or nearly drowning last night.”

“How can that be?”

“I don't know. That's what I've got to figure out.”

“You think it was Abby that went overboard?”

“I'm not sure. I mean, it's the only thing that makes sense timing-wise, but why isn't there a record of her at Kodiak Hospital?”

“Have you talked to the onboard medical clinic? Surely they'd have some kind of record.”

“Not necessarily. Not if she was treated elsewhere.”

“Okay, but there has to be a record of the rescuers. Can't you just talk to one of them?”

“I'm going to try, but I have to keep my cover intact. I can't go around demanding answers the cruise line's clearly not in any hurry to provide. I mean, did you see the way Mullins cut me off when I tried to gently press?”

Sadly, for Darcy that
was
gentle. To most, it was dogged. “She's just trying to protect her ship's image. The last thing Destiny's going to want is the adventure journalist they hired to garner good publicity shifting her focus onto someone going overboard.”

“Yeah, I suppose you're right. It would be bad press, but how hard is it to simply acknowledge if it was Abby or not?”

“Do you have any information about what she was investigating?”

“Pretty much nothing.”

“You agreed to help without knowing what the case is?”

“On Abby's last call, which was super brief, she told me she'd initially thought it was like San Diego, but she was wrong. She said it was much worse.” Darcy bit at her thumbnail.

“What does that even mean?”

“San Diego was the last undercover investigation case Abby and I worked for the
Watch
.”

“And what kind of case was it?”

“A nasty corruption case involving drug running.”

“So Abby suspects some of the
Bering
's crew members are running drugs?” It happened on Caribbean cruises all the time, but Alaskan?

“She said it was much worse.”

“So . . . what's worse?”

“I don't know.” Darcy ran a hand through her hair as she stalked back and forth. “I don't know if she meant it was worse because of who is involved, the amount being trafficked, or if they are running something a lot more dangerous.”

“Like what? I mean, what could you smuggle on a cruise ship? Everyone has to go through security when they board, crew included. The metal detectors would pick up any weapons.”

“Any traditional ones.”

“Meaning, what? Chemical, biological?”

“The ship runs between the United States and Russia. The black market in Russia is huge. Mafia practically runs the country.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Try to pick up where Abby left off.”

“And Abby?”

“I'm praying when we dock in Eagle Cove tomorrow that Landon's sent word she's in fact safe and sound at Kodiak Hospital. Better yet, I'm hoping Abby gets word to me herself.”

“Why do you think Landon will hear anything different tomorrow? You said he'd already spoken to the hospital?”

“He did, but he said he was going to dig deeper. He was going to talk with the night crew when they came on duty tonight. See if any of them remember Abby.”

“And if they don't?”

“Then, I have no idea where she is.” She looked at him so starkly, tears welling in her eyes, that it nearly broke his heart.

“Come here.” He tugged her to him and enveloped her in his arms.

Slowly, apprehensively, she nestled into his embrace. She felt so good, like she was made to be held in his arms.

“It's going to be okay,” he whispered, feeling the odd need to comfort her, to protect her. All the feelings he'd felt in Yancey were still there, despite his attempts to forget about her—still there and, to his surprise, far stronger.

“I pray that's true”—her voice was more tentative than he'd ever heard it—“but my gut says something's very, very wrong.”

He glanced at his cell, at the number blinking across the screen. It was the burner satellite cell he'd gotten for his lead man aboard the
Bering,
which until yesterday had been Jeremy.

“What now? Don't tell me I'm going to regret promoting you.”

“No. I . . .”

“Aren't going to waste my time.”

The caller cleared his throat. “Of course not. I just wanted to keep you apprised of a new situation.”

“What kind of
situation
?” He loathed the word. It was simply another way of saying someone had screwed up
again
.

“There's a reporter on board.”

“Another one?”

“No. Not like that. She's an adventure journalist. Some bigwig over at headquarters hired her to drum up publicity for the ship. They're all pumped about this new adventure angle.”

“Okay . . . ” He drew the word out, wondering where the problem was.

“I only thought you should know because she'll be tagging along on the excursions.”

“I see.”

“Does that change anything?”

Was he kidding? “What do you think?”

“I . . . I just wanted to check.”

He wanted to be sure he didn't get his head blown off, like Jeremy had. “Are we good?”

“Yes, but . . .”

His impatience flared. He wasn't the hand-holding type. Maybe he'd chosen the wrong man. “But . . . ?”

“She's still a reporter. What if she catches on?”

Please, she was a fluff adventure journalist. “Then we get rid of her like we did the other.”

After returning to her cabin and writing up a few notes, Darcy realized she'd neglected to ask Gage what Mullins had said in the meeting. She'd considered taking a quick nap, but if she was to cover the excursions, she decided she ought to at least have some idea of what was planned. She splashed water on her face, freshened up her makeup, and headed back to Gage's cabin, only to find him gone.

Great.

Landon had said something about Gage being in charge of adventure activities aboard the ship. Perhaps he was up on Deck 9, where the bulk of the ship's activities seemed to take place. Not eager to get back on an elevator anytime soon, she took the stairs and exited at the end of a corridor.

The carpet—the same cobalt blue as the rest of the ship, chosen no doubt to mimic the crisp blue-green Alaskan waters—was extra plush beneath her feet. They'd recarpeted the hall recently. The head of Destiny's publicity department, Megan Nash—who'd given her the journalist job—
had mentioned something about recent upgrades occurring throughout the five-year-old vessel.

As she entered the main hall, she glanced up at the enormous model of a humpback whale suspended from the ceiling three decks above. It appeared to be gliding through the ocean-mosaic dome above it.

The noise of the hall was nearly deafening as passengers milled about—parents pointing out the two-story-high pillar aquariums to their excited children, couples leaning arm in arm with exotic umbrella drinks in hand.

“Hey, Darcy,” Ted said, passing by her with a wave.

“Hey, Ted. Have you seen Gage?”

“Yeah, he's running the rock-climbing wall,” he called over his shoulder, not slowing his pace.

“Great. Where is that?”

Ted stopped and turned with a smile. “Didn't Mullins give you the red packet?”

Red packet? “You mean the folder thingy?”

He chuckled. “She'd kill you if she heard you call it that.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No apology necessary. I think she's incredibly uptight insisting we all refer to it as an orientation glossary.”

“Yeah, that was . . .”

“Ridiculous.”

The two exchanged a good laugh.

“But,” Ted said, “it does contain a detailed map of the ship that you might find helpful.”

She smiled. “Guess I better check that out.”

“In the meantime, the rock wall is that way.” He pointed across the hall to the south corridor.

“Awesome. Thanks.”

“No problem. See you bright and early tomorrow.”

“Right.” She still had no idea exactly what was happening tomorrow. Some sort of excursion. But after hearing Abby was gone, she hadn't heard much else—her mind racing to remember every little thing Abby had told her leading up to her arrival on the ship, anything that might be of help in finding her friend.

The corridor banked right, and Darcy followed it until it flowed into an enormous open space. The vaulted ceiling went up three full decks, just as in the main hall, but at the moment this space was much quieter. A variety of activity stations were dispersed throughout the area.

The rock wall, standing almost the full three decks high, was positioned at the rear of the room. She moved toward it, catching sight of Gage's muscular arm reaching up, his hand closing on a rung. She stepped around the punching bag obstructing her view, and her breath caught. Gage was climbing freehand, moving at an incredible pace toward the top of the wall—though
gliding
would probably better describe the ease of his motions. She followed his trajectory and saw a child—a boy no more than ten—clinging as if for dear life at the top rim of the wall.

“It's okay, Isaac. Gage is coming,” a woman in her thirties, blond and wearing a pink velour jogging suit, called up.

Isaac whimpered at his mom's voice, his fingers white-knuckled on the rubber knobs mimicking rock handholds.

Darcy stopped at the base of the wall as Gage reached the child, his hand resting on Isaac's back. “It's okay, sport. I'm right here. First time letting go is always a little unnerving.”

She'd actually found it liberating, but she'd been a young adult at the time. For a ten-year-old, a forty-foot distance between him and the floor had to be terrifying.

“He's holding everybody up,” a teenage boy sulked—clearly the self-absorbed older brother.

“Marcus Sterling, not another word.”

Marcus obviously thought about continuing until his mother held up a perfectly manicured finger, hot-pink polish matching her jogging suit.

“Not another word,” she said between clenched teeth.

Marcus kicked at the matted ground with the toe of his rock-climbing shoe but remained sullenly silent.

Darcy turned her attention back on Gage, who had positioned himself next to Isaac. “We can do this, bud. One hand at a time.”

Isaac shook his head.

“Isaac, look at me.”

After a moment's hesitation the boy did so.

“You can do this. I have faith in you.”

Faith.
Odd choice of words for Gage.

“Just follow me movement for movement. I'll show you the way. You just have to follow.”

Isaac sniffed and nodded, following Gage slowly back down the rock wall.

Gage hopped to the mat and helped Isaac unharness. “You did great.”

Isaac smiled as his mom rushed over and enveloped him in a hug.

Darcy lifted her chin with a smile as Gage's gray eyes locked on hers.

“Everyone, five-minute water-and-bathroom break. Ben, you're up next.”

Ben—a gangly teenage boy—smiled broadly.

Gage retrieved his water bottle and stepped off to the side with Darcy. He was wearing a sleeveless navy Under Armour
shirt and a pair of khaki cargo shorts dusted with chalk. He looked
good—
vibrant, masculine, fit.

“What's up?”

“I forgot to have you bring me up to speed on what Mullins said in the meeting.”

He swallowed a slug of water. “Sure. Which part?”

She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. “All of it.”

“You weren't paying attention?”

“I was distracted by Abby and the case.”

“Right.” He took another sip.

She frowned at the edge in his voice. “I think you'd be distracted, too, if your friend were missing.”

Gage tightened the cap back on his bottle. “You're right.” He glanced back at his rock-climbing group waiting for him. “But I can't talk now.”

“Okay, after?”

“I've got two more groups after this, and then I'm meeting with the excursion passengers to brief them about tomorrow. You should be there. We're meeting at five, in the Caribou room again.”

“All right. I'll be there.”

He winked. “Until then.”