Burn: A Novel (40 page)

Up.

Cael headed for the forward stairs at a run, glad there was no one else in the hallway at this late hour as he went up them two and three steps at the time. As he entered the stairwell he heard what sounded like footsteps a level higher, at the Lido deck. He stopped to listen, decided it was an echo, and continued upward.

J
ENNER THREW BACK THE COVERS
and jumped out of bed. Stay? Was he kidding? She wasn’t a dog. She didn’t
stay
. She didn’t roll over or play dead, either.

Besides, she knew Cael better than he realized. The expression on his face, as he’d left the room, had been intense. Something was going on, and if
he
didn’t like it,
she
didn’t like it.

It didn’t take her two minutes to pull on a pair of capris and a T-shirt, and step into a pair of tennis shoes. She didn’t take the time to put on a bra, but it wasn’t like she had a lot to harness.

Putting on a bra would take precious minutes she didn’t want to waste. If she was certain she wouldn’t run into anyone, she would’ve followed Cael in her pajamas.

Damn it, if only Bridget and Cael hadn’t completely cleared the suite of anything that might be used as a weapon! Maybe Cael could kill bad guys with a paper clip, but if she was headed into dangerous territory, she wanted something more substantial. Considering this was Frank Larkin’s ship, and that Cael was obviously worried, she hated to go out alone without some kind of protection. As she was tying her shoe, she had a thought and glanced up. On the top shelf of the closet, several pairs of shoes sat. Most were casual, sandals and flip-flops, but there were a few pairs of dress shoes. A couple of them had narrow, very high heels. She reached up, grabbed a shoe, and ran for the door.

L
ARKIN GOT OUT
of the elevator on the sports deck, which was thankfully deserted at this hour. He hadn’t been sure it would be; there were a couple of insomniacs and quite a few night creatures on this cruise. But fortunately, most of those who were still awake were in the ship’s various bars.

Even though the spa and golf activities were closed at this hour, the sports deck was well lit. The
Silver Mist
was a bright, shining city, an expensive amusement park for adults. There were long shadows, dark recesses, but most of the deck was as bright as day. Once, he thought he heard a step behind him, but when he whirled around nothing was there. Was the damn cancer playing tricks with his hearing now?

He walked toward the putting greens, unconcerned. If anyone was watching, they’d think he was enjoying the peace and quiet of the night. He wasn’t, of course. Larkin didn’t care much for peace or quiet; he never had. In his mind he was picturing the display that would begin in less than forty-eight hours. One of the incendiary bombs was hidden in a closet, disguised by the false bottom in a storage bin, in the men’s steam room at the aft end of this
deck. When it went, the sight would be spectacular. He could almost see it. Flames would burst into the air, spreading and climbing, incinerating anyone who had the misfortune to be on that end of the deck, sending a tower of flame into the night sky as, at the same moment, a different type of bomb destroyed a portion of the hull and a large part of the crew, and other bombs added their fire and roar of destruction. What a display it would be …

He didn’t want to wait any longer, but it would be better if the
Silver Mist
was well away from Hawaii, and the navy vessels there, when she blew. He wasn’t going to make it so easy for those who would survive. Let ’em wait for their rescue. Make ‘em bleed and scream and wonder if help would arrive in time. God, he hated them, hated every minute he wasted in their company. All these years he’d put up with them, and now it was almost over. Everything was almost over.

A few months ago he hadn’t known anything about explosives, but thanks to his wealth he was in a position to obtain and learn about anything that struck his fancy. The bombs had been constructed by a man who’d participated in a few arms deals Larkin had put together over the years. The same man had instructed Larkin on how to arm the bombs, when it was time, and had been the one to suggest that some devices be set to go off by timer alone, while others that were in close enough proximity to one another could be set to respond to the same trigger device. Why put all his eggs in one basket? If for some reason he wanted to get the party started earlier than planned, he had the power to do so. The timed devices could be programmed well in advance, and if something happened to him before he could trip the switch on the others, the
Silver Mist
would not continue on unscathed.

Larkin was torn. He’d intended all along to die quickly, and he doubted he’d change his mind. But oh, he did want to see the
Silver Mist
and the people aboard her burn.

He didn’t stay on deck very long. His impatience was growing; being outside didn’t make his pain any better, it didn’t make the time pass any faster. Instead of heading back for the aft elevator
bank, he walked to the forward stairwell, which was closer. His floor was just two stories down. Even in his condition, he could manage that much. At least being close to the bombs had given him a little bit of satisfaction.

C
AEL STOOD IN SHADOW
and watched Larkin from a distance. There was no one else up here; no meet, no contact. Shit. He’d taken the chance of blowing his cover because the nut job wanted a breath of fresh air.

As he watched Larkin disappear into the stairwell, a touch of cold metal brushed his neck, and a deep voice whispered, “Don’t do anything stupid, pal. Why are you following Mr. Larkin?”

Cael didn’t give any hint that he realized the metal touching his neck was a gun. He turned, stumbled slightly. “I’m not watching anybody,” he said, sounding a little bit drunk, reeling back when he saw the gun. It was unlikely that the security guard would take the chance of firing the weapon. There was no suppressor, and it would make a helluva noise. “Whoa. You shoot people for pissing off the top deck?”

The guard wasn’t buying it. “Funny, you didn’t walk like a drunk five minutes ago.”

So, the security guard had been watching for a while. The footsteps from the stairwell. He’d probably taken the elevator one floor up and walked from there; he’d been here all along.

“I think Mr. Larkin might want to talk to you. He doesn’t like being followed.”

Couldn’t happen, Cael thought coolly. Larkin absolutely
could not
find out that the man who was staying in the stateroom next to his had followed him onto the sports deck in the middle of the night. He and Jenner and everyone they’d talked to during the cruise would end up shot and tossed over the side, noise be damned.

Cael evaluated the man before him—thin but strong, calm, not easily distracted, armed—and looked for weaknesses. For one
thing, he was one of Larkin’s underpaid, overworked security guards. He couldn’t be the cream of the crop.

The guard had waited for Larkin to leave before he made his move. Was it a power play, a chance to shine as he delivered a spy to Larkin’s door, or was he worried about maybe irritating his boss in a public place, where someone else might see his instability?

The ping of the elevator arriving was loud on the all but deserted deck. The security guard didn’t waver; the gun he held on Cael remained steady as he stepped to the side and turned his body so he could see Cael as well as whoever was arriving by elevator.

Cael looked over his shoulder, expecting another guard, Larkin, or an innocent passenger who was about to find himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He did
not
expect to see Jenner, armed with a fucking shoe.

J
ENNER HAD TAKEN A CHANCE.
Up or down. Fifty-fifty she’d end up going in the same direction as Cael. Maybe sixty-forty Odds were up, she guessed, because that was where all the action was at night. The Lido deck was the most crowded, so she decided to check out the sports deck first. If Cael wasn’t there, then she’d walk the Lido deck. Inside the elevator, she fidgeted. Maybe she should’ve stayed in the room, but she was certain something was wrong, and she was damn tired of being left out of the loop. It was more than curiosity that spurred her on. She didn’t like being helpless or worthless.

The dinging sound the elevator made as the doors opened surprised her. So much for stealth. She’d remember that next time, if there was a next time, and take the stairs.

She stepped off the elevator and just ahead, there they were—Cael and a man in a security uniform. The man in the uniform had a gun, and it was pointed at Cael. Oh, Jesus, a
gun
. Her heart leapt into her throat; her knees went weak and she began to shake. But she didn’t lose her ability to think. Panicking wouldn’t
help Cael at all. She’d blown her chance to be stealthy, so she might as well charge onward and pretend she’d never intended not to be seen.

“You’re arresting his ass. Good!” She shook her shoe at Cael and walked boldly toward him. “A three-way? The nerve. I thought you were
different
. I thought you
loved
me.” She sniffled loudly and turned her attentions, and her shoe, on the man with the gun. He wore the somber uniform of a security guard, along with a brass name tag that read Johnson—yeah right,
Johnson
. On this ship nothing was as it seemed. If the security guard was innocent, Cael would say something, he’d tell her, somehow, to back down. He didn’t.

Johnson didn’t let the gun waver at all. It was still aimed at Cael’s chest, and that sight made her knees feel weak again. The weakness didn’t last; she wanted to be a partner, not a hindrance. “Maybe I’m being too hasty,” she said, letting the shoe fall a bit. “A lot of people think three-ways are just peachy. Maybe I should give it a try. What do you think, big boy?”

Johnson looked a little shaken at that question. Finally, the gun shifted, just a little. Johnson looked at her and his eyes narrowed. “Hey, I recognize you. You two have the suite next to Mr. Larkin’s.”

Cael moved like a snake striking, grabbing the guard’s arm and pushing his gun hand away, then he delivered a cross to the man’s jaw. Jenner stumbled back a half step as she tried to get out of the way of the blow to the man’s jaw. Johnson stumbled back, too, into the rail. He gathered himself, the gun came back around and Cael went for it, but Johnson wasn’t letting go so easily. He shifted, freed his gun hand from Cael’s grip, swung out, and popped Cael in the side of the head with the weapon.

Cael’s head snapped around; Jenner choked on a cry as a streak of blood bloomed just above his temple, she instinctively rushed toward him as he began to go down, dropping, as if he were falling to his knees. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Johnson shifted his aim until the gun was pointed at
her
. He actually smiled.

And Cael’s direction shifted. Instead of going down he shifted his weight and surged upward, hitting the armed guard under the chin with his head and sending Johnson reeling backward so hard the armed man slammed into the railing and almost tumbled over. Cael helped, grabbing one leg, lifting, and giving a shove.

Johnson went over, but fighting for his life gave him strength and speed; he managed to catch the rail with one hand as he fell. He hung there, which couldn’t have been easy, considering how fat the railing was. Two hands might give him a chance, but as Jenner looked over the rail she saw that he still hadn’t let go of his gun. Cael lunged toward her, the words ripping out of his mouth as he reached for Johnson. “Are you all right?”

Yes. No. He was going to
shoot
you
. She couldn’t find a voice to answer, could barely breathe. She forced herself to nod, then gave a stifled shriek as she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, saw the gun coming up. Johnson wasn’t going down if he could help it, he was going to shoot. Her. Cael. One of them, or both, if he could. Instinctively she swung around and down with the shoe, ramming the point of the heel into the hand that gripped the rail.

Johnson screamed. He couldn’t hold on. He, his gun, the shoe … they all fell.

I
T WAS EVERYTHING HE’D FEARED. FOR A SPLIT SECOND
he’d been looking at Jenner, not the armed security guard, and that distraction could’ve cost them both their lives.

“I killed that man.” Jenner looked over the side, then turned and buried her face against his chest.

“You didn’t kill him, I did,” Cael said, holding her close. Her body trembled and she felt too cool, but she was far from in a panic. “I tossed him over the rail, not you.”

“But I … I finished him off.” Her voice was soft. Logically, Jenner had to realize that she’d saved their lives, but she’d just played a part in killing a man and that shouldn’t go down easy, no matter the circumstances.

Damn, he wished he’d been able to get his hands on that gun before Johnson had gone over the side. He had a really bad feeling that said he was going to need it.

“Come on, let’s go back to the room.”

She let him lead her, his arm tight around her shoulders. They took the elevator; if anyone got on at the Lido deck, they’d just think the lovers had been out for a late-night walk. The cut on his head wasn’t too bad; if anyone noted the blood and asked, he’d
tell them he’d fallen and hit his head on the rail. It was a plausible explanation. He didn’t want Jenner to have to deal with putting on a false face even for the short time it took to get from one floor to the next, but he wasn’t going to make her walk down the stairs, either, not as shaky as she was.

Fortunately, they didn’t run into anyone in the elevator, so he just held her, silent until they walked into the stateroom.

“I told you to …” he began.

“Don’t,” she said, turning in to him, pressing her face against his chest. “Not now.”

He needed to tell the others what had happened, but that could wait until morning. No need to wake them up; it wasn’t like there was anything they could do.

Jenner’s tremble gradually eased. He tried to release her, but she grabbed his shirt with both hands and held on tight.