Stranded (6 page)

“Did you find Gage?” Ted asked as she passed back through the main hall.

“Yeah. All good.”

“Mullins thought you should get a tour of the ship, and since I'm not doing anything . . . I volunteered.”

“That's really nice of you, but I don't want to take up your free time.”

He smiled. “I insist.”

“Okay.” It'd be good to get a firsthand tour of the inner workings of the ship.

Ted started with the main social areas, all crammed with passengers—hundreds of people. It was nearly enough to make her feel claustrophobic. “That restaurant”—he pointed to the steakhouse—“has the best food on board.”

“Thanks, I'll remember that.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

He smiled, gazing down at her. “So . . . are you and Gage an item?”

She laughed. “No. I barely know him.”

Ted's brows arched. “Really? You two seemed . . .”

“Irritated by each other?”

He laughed. “I was going to say
chummy
.”

Exactly what she feared, that they'd appear closer than the loose association she'd hoped to convey.

“Nah, I just covered an extreme-sport event in his town.”

“Well, you must have made some impression, because he stared at you all through the meeting.”

If only it were out of attraction instead of judgment on his part. “We're both a bit strong willed, so we tend to butt heads.”

“Strong willed.” He smirked. “I'll remember that.”

She smiled. Ted was flirting with her, and if she weren't so worried about Abby and so distracted . . .

Ted was exactly the type of guy she could be interested in—tall, athletic, handsome, kind, interesting. But who was she trying to kid? She was head over heels for Gage.

“So did you know Abby, Ted?” Now that she and Ted had reached a comfortable level, it was time to start digging.

“The excursion chef?”

She nodded.

“Yeah.” He took a sip of the coffee they'd picked up at the espresso café on Deck 7 while making the rounds.

“Weird she just left like that.”

“Nah. Happens a lot.”

She nearly choked on her macchiato. “It does?”

“Sure.” Ted shrugged, waving at a group of passing crew members easily identified by their crisp white bottoms—a mixture of pants and varying length skirts—and both long- and short-sleeved dark navy tops with the Destiny Cruise Line emblem, a gold merman holding a trident, emblazoned on the right-hand side.

Ted finished off his coffee and tossed the paper cup in the trash. “People think working for a cruise ship will be exciting.
They romanticize traveling the world, but when they get here they realize it's not all it's cracked up to be.”

“It's not?”

“It's work, just like anyplace else. Long hours. A lot of time away from your family.” He held the door to the spa open for her.

“Sounds like you aren't a big fan.”

“Me? Nah, I love it.”

Fresh fruity scents of coconut, mango, and pineapple swirled in the air.

“But you just said . . .”

“That people expect it to be this grand adventure, and in a way it is, but not everyone is made for a life at sea.”

“And you are?” she asked as they stepped to the counter.

“Sure. I love traveling, meeting new people every cruise.” He lifted his chin at the gal behind the desk. “Just giving the resident journalist the grand tour,” he said as the woman's gaze raked over Darcy.

“Enjoy,” she said with a clipped nod.

“Thanks.” Darcy nodded back.

Ted led her down the back hall. Soothing music piped over the speakers. “I don't mind the hours and the time away from home,” he continued, “but I've always been an independent guy.” He pointed out the yoga room as they passed. “And I don't have a lot of family to begin with. None I'm really close to. I've got a sister, but she's busy with her job and her kids. We see each other for the holidays and that's enough.”

Not so different from her. With her parents retired and traveling the world, and her brother, Peter, having died three years ago, she didn't have much in the way of family to spend
time with. Most of the time she was okay with that, or at least she had thought she was until she'd spent a good portion of the winter with the McKennas.

Being part of a close-knit family on a daily basis had been really nice. It'd become comfortable, and near the end expected, which made leaving all the more difficult. The thought of spending time with some of the McKenna siblings on tomorrow's excursion lightened her devastated heart a little, and she silently thanked God for that. For
them
.

“You'll find that's pretty common around here,” Ted said, opening another door.

“What is?”

“Lack of family.” He led her into the steam bath. A large, shallow pool commanded the center of the space, the glass windows covered with shadowy mist. Two people sat in the crystal blue water, perspiration and contentment on their brows.

She and Ted quietly stepped back out, leaving the two to their solitude.

“I don't understand,” she said, once back in the hall.

“You're a good reporter. Always inquisitive.”

“Just curious by nature.” She shrugged.

“So . . . curious
and
strong willed?” He chuckled.

She smiled. “Curiosity's a great way to get to know people.”

“I suppose it is.”

“So . . . you were saying something about lack of family . . . ?”

“Right. Most folks can't hack being away from loved ones for so long, so the cruise line ends up employing people who are desperately in need of the money and are only here until
they find something better back on land, don't care much for their family and are looking to escape them, or most often don't have family period.”

“No family? How sad.”

“Depends on the person and the family, I suppose.”

“So you think that's why Abby left so suddenly? Because she decided cruising wasn't for her?” she asked, though she knew better.

“Who knows why she left? And honestly . . . not to be rude, but who cares?”

She stopped. “No one cares that she left suddenly?”

“Like I said, I wasn't trying to be rude but—”

As he came around the corner, Clint almost barreled into them. “Are you forgetting your manners again, Ted?” he asked with an apologetic smile at Darcy. “You have to forgive Ted. He doesn't always have a filter between his thoughts and his mouth.”

Why didn't anyone seem to care that Abby had seemingly just up and left midcruise? And why on earth wasn't that considered unusual?

Darcy returned to her cabin thoroughly frustrated. She'd spent all day speaking with crew members, digging for answers under the guise of wanting the inside scoop of the
Bering
's new adventure angle, but found only a general lack of concern for her friend's absence. While Ted and Clint had proved to be the most talkative, neither appeared to have any concern about Abby's sudden departure.

When she shifted from the adventure focus to a simple question about Abby's disappearance, every single crew member shrugged it off as no big deal. All she had managed to get
was irritation and indifference—not leads. And to top it off, she'd lost track of time and missed Gage's excursion meeting. Now she'd have even more annoyance and irritation to deal with on his end.

She shrugged off the navy
Bering
sweater she'd been given by Mullins upon arrival, replacing it with her cobalt-and-black-striped American Eagle one. It was soft and cozy, and allowed her a small touch of home. She also swapped out the white slacks she'd been wearing and pulled on her favorite pair of faded jeans. If everything around her was going to feel foreign, at least she could be in comfortable clothes during her time off.

She ran a brush through her hair, touched up her makeup, and moved to grab her lip gloss from her purse. Opening the closet where she'd left her purse hanging next to Abby's, she froze. Only hers remained. Her gaze dropped to the floor, thinking perhaps the purse had, too, but it wasn't there—only her own neatly lined-up shoes.

She sifted through her hanging clothes, thinking maybe Abby's purse had somehow gotten tangled in the garments, but still nothing. Grabbing hers off the hook, she riffled through it, panic setting in. Everything appeared to be in place, but she couldn't shake the feeling something was very off.

She set her purse on the bed and began searching the room. Everything was where she'd left it—only Abby's purse was missing.

Taking a deep breath, Darcy studied the room. The bed was neatly made, fresh towels hung on the rack in the bathroom—housekeeping had been by. Had one of them taken Abby's purse? But why not hers? Who else would have access to her room?

The question was, how did she proceed without drawing even more attention to herself and her interest in Abby? How could she possibly explain that she'd taken Abby's purse in the first place? And, worst of all, had she missed something of significance when she'd searched it?

Nervousness wracking her, Darcy smoothed her hair for the third time since leaving her cabin en route to Gage's. Who had taken Abby's purse and why? How would Gage react to her absence at his meeting? She'd been investigating—he'd have to understand. But, this was Gage. . . .

She sighed. How crucial could the information have been? He could easily fill her in. The more important question was—how could she head off on a fun-filled excursion while Abby was still missing?

Biting her bottom lip, Darcy climbed the stairs to Gage's floor, her heart fluttering in her chest. If she didn't go on the excursion, she'd lose her gig, and that would be of no help to Abby. She didn't have a choice. She had to go.

She exited the stairwell, made her way down the corridor, and stopped in front of his cabin door, forcing herself to take several calming breaths before knocking.

He answered wearing a long-sleeved white T-shirt and comfortable-looking navy sweats. “Missed you at the meeting.”

“I was investigating.”

He nodded but didn't remark.

“Can you fill me in on what I missed?”

He stepped back. “Come on in.”

His cabin was similar in size to hers, and the walls were the same cheery yellow with white shells painted along the top border. He had the same double bed, recessed dresser and desk, but also had a quaint seating area with a low, round side table between two egg-shaped chairs. She sat in the one she'd sat in earlier.

“So what's the deal with tomorrow?”

Gage sank into the other chair, his eyes narrowing. “Is something wrong? You seem edgier than usual.”

Great.
He was still able to read her. Could he also tell that just being near him made her tingly? Her friend was missing, she was getting nowhere on the investigation, and yet she was still managing to fall head over heels for a guy who, at best, only humored her with a charming flirtation.
Am I crazy?
The man hated her profession and wanted nothing to do with God. And other than an occasional soulful smile, she couldn't even be certain he liked her.
Get your head in the game, Darcy
.

Gage leaned forward, jiggling her knee with his hand. “What's going on?”

She took a breath, worried that if she spoke too quickly, it'd all come pouring out—her fear of not being up to the task of the investigation, of never finding her friend, and of her deepest fear that Abby could already be . . .

She shook off the thought. She refused to go there. Abby was alive.
She has to be
.

“You're starting to freak me out.” He squeezed her knee. “Did something happen?”

“Yes . . . No . . . I mean, it wasn't anything, I don't think.”

“You don't think . . . ?”

His hand remained on her knee, and she struggled to ignore
how good his touch felt. Considering the circumstances, his touch was the last thing she should be thinking about. “Abby's purse is missing from my cabin.”

“Meaning someone broke into your room and stole it?”

“It seems that way.”

“Did you report it?”

“How can I?”

“Someone broke in your room and stole something.”

“Yes. A purse that didn't belong to me in the first place. How do I explain that one? I took the purse from Abby's cabin, but now I'm reporting someone for taking it from mine?”

“Yes, but you had a reason. You're trying to help.”

“But I can't share that.”

“Right.” He sat back, removing his hand from her knee—the warmth of his touch dissipating. “Your cover.”

Here came the censure. “I know you don't understand, but . . .”
Wait.
Why was she explaining herself to Gage
again
? She didn't owe him an explanation, and yet she so desperately wanted him to understand, which in itself irked her even more. Why did she care what he thought?
Don't answer that one.
Sadly, she knew exactly why. “Look, the fact is I'm trying to find my friend, and this is the way I have to go about it.”

“Can't you just be up-front? Explain who you are. Question them outright about Abby?”

“You don't understand. I'm getting nothing but resistance, and they believe I'm only an adventure journalist. If—”

“Only?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Sounds like you think being an adventure journalist somehow isn't enough.”

“That's not the point.” She exhaled. How did he turn her
around like that? “The point is, I'm barely getting anything now. If they find out that I'm investigating Abby's disappearance, I'll get a one-way ticket off this ship.”

“You sound awfully confident about the ineffectiveness of something you haven't tried.”

“I believe someone aboard the
Bering
found out the truth of who Abby was—that she was a reporter—and now she's missing. Do you really think whoever made her disappear wouldn't come after me?”

He sank back, concern marring his brow. “I don't like it. It's a dangerous game you're playing.”

“I don't have a choice.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it's the truth.” Why couldn't he see that? “Look, just fill me in on tomorrow's excursion and we can both call it a night.”

“Fine.” He exhaled with a grunt. “We're taking a group of fourteen passengers on an overnight kayak excursion.”

“Overnight?” He was kidding, right?

“The
Bering
's docking in Eagle Cove for the night. It's part of the new adventure angle. Instead of giving folks only a few hours, they get chartered from spot to spot to enjoy overnight camping experiences.”

“Camping?”

“We'll be spending the night on Kesuk, a small island off the southwest coast of Aukaneck.”

“Aukaneck?”

“The island where the community of Eagle Cove is located, where the
Bering
will be docked. We'll take off by kayak from there.”

“By kayak?” Her eyes widened, her pulse skittering.

“You really weren't paying any attention, were you? Kesuk,
the island where we'll be camping, is only reachable by boat or floatplane. There are no facilities there. That's why Mullins put Ted and George with us. They're in charge of the passengers' accommodations and will be bringing them by supply ship.”

Supply ship
. Her heart settled. She'd be transported by supply ship—no need to panic.

“It's apparently their job as activities engineers to cater to the passengers while they're ‘roughing it.'” He used air quotes, clearly finding the entire notion of activities engineers absurd.

“Wait, did you say there are no facilities?” Meaning no bathroom? No running water? Things just kept getting better and better.

“Afraid not.” He smiled.

Of course he'd enjoy this.
She squared her shoulders, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much she hated the prospect of spending the night with no facilities. “I'm sure if the
Bering
is providing accommodations, they'll be far above what one can expect with traditional camping.”

“The
Bering
is providing the passengers' accommodations.” A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “LFA is providing the staffs'.”

“Charming.” She could just picture the rustic tents now.

“You sure you don't want to make up an excuse to stay behind? We both know you aren't the ‘roughing-it' type.”

“Need I remind you that I'm an
adventure
-athlete reporter?” She spent plenty of time outdoors and loved it, but when the day was done she wanted a hot shower and a comfy bed.

His smirk widened into a grin. “First time I met you, you were wearing three-inch heels in Yancey. In the middle of
winter
.”

“They were boots.”

“
With
three-inch heels.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I adapted.”

“Yes, you did, but that doesn't make you an outdoor enthusiast.”

“I love the outdoors and the sports competitions I cover. I simply enjoy being comfortable.” Was that so unreasonable?

He linked his arms across his chest. “Uh-huh.”

“Trust me, I'll be fine. But I wish I didn't have to waste time out on the excursions when I should be investigating on the ship.”

“Then stay on board.”

“I can't. I was hired to cover the excursions.”

“Well,” he said, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, “if nothing else, this ought to be entertaining.”

He answered his cell. This was getting old. He'd clearly promoted the wrong man. “What?”

“I took care of the bag.”

“So you're calling me to tell me you did your job?” At least Jeremy'd had some pride. This guy was ridiculous.

“No, there's something else. . . .”

“You going to tell me, or do I have to chat it out of you?”
What a pansy
.

“I thought you should know that the cruise line's journalist is asking questions about the undercover reporter.”

He stiffened. “What kind of questions?”

“Why she left so suddenly . . . That sort of thing.”

He tapped his glass. “And what are people telling her?”

“As far as I can tell, everyone's simply brushing it off as not being out of the norm.”

Which, unfortunately, could prove more problematic than if they'd expressed concern. He shifted his glass to the side and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Keep an eye on her. See who she talks to. Find out what she learns. Even better, dissuade her from asking.”

“Meaning?”

“Be creative.” Though he doubted the man possessed the capacity. He straightened, brushing a piece of lint off his lapel. “In the meantime, I'll do some digging on this adventure journalist.”

“You think she's not who she claims?”

“Let's just say I haven't gotten where I am by ignoring possible threats—slight or otherwise.” And Darcy St. James was beginning to sound like a viable threat. One best nipped in the bud.