Down Among the Dead Men (A Thriller) (6 page)

Edvard nodded, carried the card to the register, passed it under a scanner, then handed it back to Rafael and began mixing their drinks.

“For the record,” Rafael said, “I don’t normally skulk around in the dark, spying on beautiful women.”

It took Beth a moment to realize she’d been complimented—something she wasn’t used to these days—but she said nothing.

“You know that,
sí
? That you’re beautiful?”

She smiled again. “I’m sure that kind of flattery works on your typical tourist. Unfortunately, I have a mirror. More than one, in fact.”

Not that she considered herself ugly, by any means. Or even plain. But when she looked into those mirrors, what she saw staring back at her was no movie star. She was a slightly above-average woman who could stand to lose five pounds. At the very least. And when she wore the right makeup, the right outfit, the right
shoes,
she might even lean toward attractive.

But beautiful? That was Jen’s territory, not hers.

“True beauty,” Rafael said, “has little to do with the surface of the skin.”

Oh, brother. Deduct a boatload of points for that one. Pun intended.

She touched her heart. “Let me guess. It’s what’s in here that counts.”

He frowned. “Why do you mock me?”

“Sorry. But I know a line when I hear it. Especially when it’s not all that original.”

“I don’t claim originality. Only sincerity.”

“That’s sweet, Rafael, it really is, but you just met me. For all you know, I’ve got the heart of a Gila monster.”

“I know people,” he said. “Or perhaps I should say I sense them.”

“Sense them?”

“I am a student of the soul. I see things that most people overlook.”

Beth studied him. Was this more bullshit on top of the previous shovelful, or did he actually believe what he was saying?

Determined not to let the surface of
his
skin cloud her judgment—God, he was gorgeous—she decided to keep the red flag flying.

For now, at least.

She was not, after all, merely Beth the Dutiful. She was also Beth the Cautious. A trait that had served her well over the years. If you didn’t count her ex-husband, that is.

Of course, none of this kept her from thinking about that hand on her back. Or those eyes.

Edvard set their drinks in front of them and Beth reached for hers, took a sip.

Strong as predicted, but manageable.

“I’ve offended you,” Rafael said. “That certainly wasn’t my intention.”

“Just call me a skeptic. I make a living at it.”

“Oh? What do you do?”

She shook her head, suddenly sorry she’d brought it up. The last thing she wanted to think about was prosecuting rapists and pedophiles. That was buzz kill of the worst kind.

“Let’s talk about you, instead.”

He smiled. “I’m afraid I am not very interesting, but what would you like to know?”

“Where you’re from would be a start. Why you’re here.”

He took a sip of his tequila.

“My home is a place called Ciudad de Almas. But I do not spend much time there.”

“Why not?”

“My work requires me to travel. Mexico City. San Antonio. El Paso.” He gestured to their surroundings. “And sometimes I like to get away. Have some fun.”

“Alone?”

“That would be unusual?”

“Cruising doesn’t strike me as a solo sport.”

He smiled again. “You are right. I am traveling with someone.”

She knew he was too good to be true. But before she could give this too much thought, the lights began to dim and Rafael quickly checked his watch.

“Speak of the devil. We’re here just in time.”

“For what?”

He nodded toward the stage. “To meet my traveling companion.”

15

B
ETH TURNED AS
a spotlight came to life near the piano and a woman stepped onstage.

Tall. Brown. Exotic.

A cascade of raven hair. Dark eyes. A killer body in a black satin dress. A perfect combination of genes and breeding that sucked the life out of every other female in a room the moment she entered it. Including Beth.

In short, she was stunning.

Moving up to a microphone, she waited as the piano player tinkled a few keys, then she launched into a smoky Latin jazz tune—singing in Spanish, wrapping her voice around the words and melody in a way that Beth hadn’t quite heard before. Low, sultry, but with phrasing just unique enough to take her beyond the average lounge singer, into the realm of the anointed.

The cliché “oozes charisma” popped into Beth’s mind. And it was an accurate one.

Except for the piano and the sound of that voice, the bar was silent, all eyes riveted to the creature onstage. And Beth knew that the men in the bar—and possibly a few of their wives or girlfriends—were suddenly reevaluating their lives, wishing they could steal just a few moments away from their current entanglements to pursue this woman, no matter how futile such a pursuit might be.

Beth watched and listened, glancing at Rafael, thinking how well matched the two were. Perfect specimens—mirror images really—who belonged together.

As the song came to an end, the bar erupted into applause and whistles. The woman said a throaty
“gracias,”
then nodded to the piano player and launched into another tune, this one a bit more up-tempo than the first.

As Beth listened, she felt a hand graze her shoulder, then turned to find Rafael holding her drink.

“Don’t forget this,” he said.

As he handed it to her, she thanked him, then took a long sip and returned her attention to the stage, where the woman was proving that she wasn’t a one-hit wonder.

But Beth didn’t really feel like drinking anymore. The pre-Rafael low-grade depression she had been battling as she stood at the ship’s rail was starting to return. Whatever adolescent fantasy she had been harboring had become instantly laughable. With someone like this woman to keep him company, why would Rafael be even remotely interested in her? Not that she’d ever really believed he was anyway.

The wisest thing she could do right now was thank him for the drink, then wish him a good night and go to bed.

She was about to do just that when the second song came to an end, followed by another burst of applause.

Apparently believing in the motto “leave them wanting more,” the woman thanked the audience, then stepped off the stage as the piano player launched into another solo.

A moment later, she was at Rafael’s side, kissing his cheek, murmuring something in Spanish. Then she turned, assessing Beth. A mildly aggressive look, but not hostile.

“Who is your friend?” she asked Rafael.

He gestured, said, “Beth, I’d like you to meet Marta Santiago. My sister.”

Sister?

Beth almost laughed.

Of course. As they stood side by side it was obvious now that they came from the same gene pool. And a fairly exclusive one at that.

Marta continued to assess Beth. “I remember you from dinner.”

“Oh?”

“We were dining at a table near yours.” She turned to her brother. “You remember, don’t you, Rafael?”

Rafael said nothing, avoiding Beth’s gaze.

Oh, crap, Beth thought, they saw Jen’s spontaneous unveiling. And apparently Rafael had been too polite to bring it up.

Marta said, “Is something wrong?”

Beth smiled weakly. “My sister has a few issues. I sometimes think of her as my evil twin.”

“Ah,
sí,
” Rafael said with a sly smile. “I can see the resemblance.”

“But only from the neck up, right?”

They both looked at Beth, surprised, then burst into laughter.

Beth joined in, the ice broken.

After a moment, Rafael lifted his Tequila Tonic in a toast.

“To sisters,” he said. “A blessing and a curse.”

Marta shot him a quick look, then they laughed again as Beth clinked his glass with hers and took another long sip. Not that she needed it. She was already starting to feel a little woozy.

She said to Marta, “So you work for the cruise line?”

Marta shook her head, gesturing toward the piano player. “Actually, I met Miguel in the food court this afternoon and he was kind enough to let me have some fun.”

What a surprise, Beth thought. Most guys would let this woman do anything she wanted.
Join me onstage? Sure, why not.
 

“You have a remarkable voice.”

“Thank you. I don’t often have an opportunity to show it off.”

“Oh? You’re not a professional?”

“Singing is more of an avocation for me. A form of release.”

“With a voice like that, I’m surprised you don’t have a record deal.”

Marta shrugged. “Such things don’t interest me.” She glanced at her watch. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but Rafael, we need to talk.”

Rafael’s eyebrows rose. “What is it?”

She looked at Beth. “Do you mind if I steal him for a moment?”

“No, not at all.”

“It was nice meeting you.” Marta took Rafael by the hand, and he shrugged at Beth, saying,
“Una momento,”
as his sister led him across the floor to a spot near the wrought-iron staircase. They huddled together, speaking into each other’s ears, Marta doing most of the talking.

Beth tried not to watch them, tried instead to concentrate on Miguel, the piano player, but she couldn’t help herself. Rafael and Marta’s conversation seemed to be growing heated—a fiery look in Marta’s eyes—and Beth had a feeling they were arguing about
her.
 

Which made no sense at all.

As if to confirm it, however, Rafael glanced in her direction—forcing Beth to momentarily avert her gaze.

Then Marta touched his cheek, looking apologetic, and Beth got the sense that something more was going on here than a simple spat between siblings. Something in their body language that went beyond the bond of brother and sister.

With a quick look around, Marta pulled Rafael into the shadows beneath the staircase. Beth could barely see them now, but what she
could
see made her stomach turn.

Marta leaned into him, kissed him.

Full on the mouth.

And this was no sisterly kiss. And least not where Beth came from.

Worse yet, Rafael seemed to be kissing Marta back, neither of them even remotely close to coming up for air.

Oh. My. God.

Turning away from the spectacle, Beth took a nice big gulp of her drink, then set it on the counter. Waited for her stomach to settle.

This was obviously her cue to exit. She had no interest in hanging around with Mexico’s answer to the Appalachia twins. And from all appearances, they seemed to be getting on just fine without her.

Ugh.

Scooping up her purse, she crossed to a doorway on the opposite side of the bar and fled.

16

W
HEN SHE GOT
back to their stateroom, Jen was gone. A note on her bunk said:

GOT MY SECOND WIND. WENT DANCING.

Beth sighed. Only Jen could be throwing up one minute and raring to go the next. She never ceased to amaze.

Pulling off her dress, Beth crawled onto her bunk, grabbed the remote from her nightstand, and flicked on the TV. Not that there was anything playing that could top what she’d witnessed tonight.

She was no stranger to incest. In her work at the prosecutor’s office, she’d seen more cases of father/daughter couplings than she’d wanted to, but those were always crimes of abuse. Some twisted fuck taking advantage of his parental authority, perverting a child’s love.

What Beth had seen between Rafael and Marta, however, was obviously consensual. But that didn’t make it any more palatable. Some might argue that her objection to it was both morally and intellectually empty—Rafael and Marta were adults, after all—but that didn’t keep it from creeping her out. The
ick
factor was almost too much to bear. And the image of two his-and-her beauty queens macking on each other was not likely to go away anytime soon.

Beth shivered, trying to concentrate on the TV, which was showing a remake of
The Day the Earth Stood Still
with Keanu Reeves. She managed to stare at it for a full thirty minutes but would be hard-pressed to tell anyone what she’d seen.

This was turning out to be one hell of a vacation.