Dark Moon (18 page)

“And Druids.”

“What if he belongs to some ancient cult?”

Ben shrugged again. “I guess that’s possible.”

“If it’s not a code, what other explanation is there for that freaky chant.?”

“I don’t know.”

“You think we should wake up the boss?”

“You want to wake him up for
that
?”

Greg thought about it. “I guess not.”

“We’ll keep an eye on them at the ceremony.”

“If he’s in shape to get there.”

“I’ll bet you he does. He’s tough. Even drugged, he packed a wallop.”

Greg nodded. “Yeah, he struck me as a macho guy who wouldn’t want anyone to know he was hurting, but you never know how a person will react to drugs.”

oOo

Cole woke. Lying very still, he catalogued his faculties. And his memories.

Last night Emma, bless her, had done something that he’d thought was impossible. With her questions, she’d brought back the memories of the interrogation session. At least he knew what had happened during those missing hours. Or the parts where he hadn’t been passed out.

If he wasn’t fooling himself—and her—he hadn’t given the mission away, although he couldn’t be absolutely sure. Which was making his pulse pound. He still half expected armed men to come charging through the door.

He turned his head and saw that Emma was also awake, and looking at him in the dim light filtering in around the shades.

“How do you feel?” she asked, reaching up to lay her hand against his cheek. He turned his head and kissed her palm.

“Almost human.” It was a joke that she couldn’t get. Not yet. He could give that answer every morning of his life.

She moved closer, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, drawing her close, wanting her and at the same time knowing that they couldn’t get very deep into anything personal now.

When she slid her lips along his cheek, he fought the urge to turn his head again.

Maybe she was reading his thoughts when she murmured, “I know we can’t make love, but could you just hold me.”

He drew her in closer, closing his eyes, wishing they were somewhere else. Wishing he could tell her all the things that he was hiding.

As they lay together, he felt arousal wrapping them together. When he thought it would overwhelm him, he eased away, regret in his eyes.

“I know,” she murmured.

Gingerly he sat up and was pleased to find that the room wasn’t spinning around him.

When he saw that Emma was watching him carefully, he said, “We’ve got a party this morning. Another special treat from our host,” he added, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

“Maybe we should skip it,” she answered.

The suggestion was tempting. He wanted to get Karen off the boat before it was too late. But that wasn’t going to be so easy. Suppose he skipped the party. Then what? His mishap with Stella and Big Ben had put him on the
Windward
radar screen. He wasn’t going to feel like he could sneeze without the security force knowing about it.

And speaking of security, by now they must know the guy he’d killed was missing. The best case scenario was that they thought he’d joined the rebels or whoever they were. Or maybe he’d gotten off the ship.

Yeah, off the ship. Floating in the ocean.

“We’re paying good money for this vacation, and I want to enjoy it,” he said punching out the words. Maybe Karen would be at the party. Maybe that was the special attraction, and Del Conte wanted to test his reaction. At least he could hope she’d be there. And then what?

Emma answered his spoken comment with a tight nod, then said brightly, “While you were gone, I was looking at some of the information about the ship. There’s a deluxe breakfast buffet on Deck Three. Everything from bacon and eggs to Belgian waffles.”

“Yum. As good a place as any to eat before the party.”

oOo

At considerable risk to himself, a man slipped into a storage room in the maintenance area of the ship. He had urgent business with one of the women who also worked on the
Windward
.

They had met in person only a few times, but this was an emergency situation.

Because the luxury liner was an environment full of cameras and listening devices, they had to be extremely careful. But they’d both been on the ship long enough to know how to avoid the worst pitfalls. They hoped.

This morning he was dressed in the gray overalls worn by the crew members who kept the ship running smoothly. He’d left his quarters carrying small canvas bags with the overalls and had found a spot outside of camera range to pull on the disguise over his clothing. And he’d made sure that the monitoring system in the seldom used storage room had been disabled long ago.

The meeting had been arranged through a dead drop on Deck Five where a section of paneling in a hallway had been loosened enough to hold a thin slip of paper. With a cryptic message that wouldn’t get anyone tortured or killed if it was discovered.

The man had left a request to the woman, asking for the meeting. He couldn’t be absolutely sure she’d picked up the note. But he was hoping for the best.

He arrived first, his nerves jumping as he waited in the darkened room for the other party to show up. She might or might not make the meeting, depending on her duties and how comfortable she felt slipping away.

That was the worst part about this damn environment. People were always watching you, even people you thought were your friends. They might be spies. Or they might be out to curry favor with Del Conte by reporting suspicious behavior.

The man and the woman were not exactly allies, but they had found it useful to communicate on matters of mutual interest. Perhaps that was becoming too dangerous in the current environment.

There were too many unknowns now, including the wild card that had introduced itself recently.

He stood in the dark, ordering himself not to pace back and forth while the minutes ticked by. He couldn’t stay here all day. He had to report to duty.

He was about to leave when she finally slipped into the room, emitting a thin shaft of light from the corridor before closing the door behind her.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked. “Don’t you know that the stunts your group is pulling could get us all killed?”

“I’m sorry. The frustration level is so high . . .” Her voice trailed off.

He wished he could see her face, but it was safer to remain in the dark. “Did your group kill a security guard last night?”

“What?”

“Tom Dalhasi.”

“He was a sick bastard, but we didn’t go after him. What happened?”

“I don’t know. I found out a while ago that he’s missing.” The conspirator dragged in a breath and let it out. “You know I’m as committed to stopping Del Conte as you are. But creating chaos among the guests isn’t the way.”

In the darkness, she stepped toward him and put a hand on his arm. “I’ll convey that message.”

“You’ve lost control of the group. Maybe one of them offed Dalhasi as a solo project.”

“It’s possible.”

He waited a beat before saying. “There may be someone on the ship that can help us.”

“Who?”

“I think you’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “Maybe they did Dalhasi.”

“That’s possible. Meanwhile, try to talk some sense into your people.”

“If I can.”

“Tell the hotheads they’ll get us all killed.”

“Not you.”

“You can never be sure.”

“Unfortunately. I’d better go, before I’m missed. I have an assignment in a little while.”

She left first. He gave her a ten-minute head start, then exited the room and returned to his duties, wondering if she was lying about Dalhasi.

oOo

While he showered and shaved, Cole kept evaluating his options—and his condition. He still didn’t know how the hell he and Emma were going to complete the assignment. They didn’t even know if Karen was still in the Tropical Lounge. If Del Conte was worried about a rebellion on the ship, maybe he’d moved her to a more secure location.

He sighed. Nobody had understood how impossible this situation was when Frank Decorah had sent them here. They would have had a better chance with a surprise attack by a raiding party. If they’d known where to find Karen. Now Cole was thinking they’d be lucky to get out alive—let alone with Karen Hopewell.

Unable to come up with firm plans, he switched to evaluating his condition. It felt like he was operating at about eighty percent of normal capacity. Not great, but it would have to do. And they would have to find Karen. Before it was too late.

Wondering about the party attire, he dressed in jeans and a knit shirt. Before they left the room, he gave Emma a confident smile. She smiled back, but he knew that they were both prepared for trouble as he opened the door.

He counted it a good sign when no one was waiting in the hall with machine guns pointed in their direction.

There were a couple of dozen guests in the elegantly furnished room where breakfast was laid out on long tables spread with crisp white cloths. A few single men were scattered around the room, but most were at tables for two. Nobody was striking up conversations with the other guests. Or making eye contact with anyone besides their breakfast companion, if they had one. If he had to evaluate the mood of the room, he’d call it subdued. Not like a bunch of people anticipating a good time.

Maybe the gunshots and the attacks were getting to the guests. What if some of them wanted to go home? Would Del Conte let them, or would he insist that they stay—and pay—for the days they’d booked?

He and Emma found a table near the window where they could look out at the ocean.

“What a beautiful view,” she chirped as she spread peach jam and cream cheese on a toasted bagel.”

“Stunning,” he agreed, then took a bite of the rare steak he’d served himself.

But it was hard to sit there and choke down food. Cole kept his eye out for anyone paying particular attention to him and Emma, but as far as he could tell, no one was going to arrest him while he ate. He’d filled his plate not because he was hungry but because he figured he needed the fuel.

When they were almost finished eating, two of the cast members came up to their table. They were dressed in uniforms, the guy like an English butler in a dark suit, crisp white shirt and vest. The woman was outfitted like a French maid with a short black dress, white apron and black fishnet stockings.

“Cole Mason and Emma Ray?” the butler asked. He looked to be in his thirties, with bleached blond hair.

He and Emma both tensed, although they were both trying to look casual.

“Yes,” he answered.

“It’s our pleasure to get you ready for the party.”

The woman stepped forward and held out her hand to Emma. “I’m Francine. I’ll take care of you.”

The butler walked to Cole. “I am Sidney. Let me show you to your dressing room suite.”

“We’re separating?” Emma asked in a voice she couldn’t quite hold steady.

“To the men’s and women’s dressing areas. You’ll meet again at the party,” Sidney said.

“Okay,” Cole answered, allowing the butler to lead him through the door. He wanted to look back at Emma, but he kept his gaze straight ahead.

This could be some kind of trick. A ploy to get him away from the other guests before they grabbed him.

Maybe, but in the Tropical Lounge the security staff hadn’t been shy about grabbing anyone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Emma followed Francine down a long hallway.

After last night, she hated being separated from Cole. What if they were going to interrogate him the way they had last night? And this dressing room thing was just a way to get him off alone? Or maybe it was her they wanted to interrogate?

That fear wasn’t the only thing making her stomach churn. She’d seen Karen in that cell. Seen her see-through outfit and the terror on the girl’s face. But at least she’d looked unharmed. No bruises or obvious signs of ill treatment.

Francine stopped at an elevator and pressed the button.

“Have you been to these parties?” Emma asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you have a good time?”

The woman hesitated, looking uneasy. “The guests have a good time.”

“It’s no fun for you?”

“The fun is for the guests. The staff does their job.”

Emma waited a moment before taking a chance on saying, “I saw a woman in a cage. Is she a guest? Or does she work here?”

“I didn’t see her,” Francine snapped. “Please, stop asking so many questions.” She lowered her voice. “Are you trying to get me in trouble.”

“No,” Emma answered, pretty sure she wasn’t going to get any useful information and sorry if she really had made trouble for the woman.