Stranded (16 page)

Gage rushed to the ship's clinic the second word of Darcy's accident reached him.

Please let her be okay.

Thankfully, Whitney had sought him out after witnessing Darcy being wheeled past her in the hall on a gurney.

He reached the clinic and Clint caught him by the arm. “Whoa, there. Doc's still examining her.”

Gage glared at Clint's hand on his arm, and Clint released his hold.

“What happened?”

“Don't know. One of the maids heard a sound out in the hall, went to investigate, and found Darcy blacked out. She called the clinic.”

“Blacked out?”

“That's what I was told. I was late to the party.”

Gage arched his brows at Clint's choice of words.

Clint lifted his hands. “Hey, man, I didn't mean anything by it, just saying I wasn't there.”

“Who was?”

“Other than the maid that found her? No one that I'm aware of.”

The ship's resident doc stepped from the exam room. He had a southern gentleman's gait to his walk.

Gage rushed to him. “Is she okay?”

“She took a pretty hard knock to the back of the head when she fell, but otherwise, she's right as rain.”

“Fell?” Gage said.

“Can't remember much. Says everything just went black. Probably low blood sugar or a dizzy spell. It happens.”

Gage wasn't buying it. “Can I see her?”

“Sure.” The doctor gestured toward the exam room.

Gage knocked on the door, more anxious to see her than he'd been to see anybody in a
very
long time.

“Come in.” At least her voice sounded strong.

He cracked the door and peered in.

Darcy stood at the foot of the exam table, rubbing her head.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just feel a bit woozy.”

Gage stepped fully inside and closed the door behind him, catching a fleeting glimpse of Clint's arm wrapped around Doc Greene's shoulder as the two conversed.
Odd.

Darcy took a wobbly step forward.

“Whoa.” He lunged to her side, supporting her. “Why don't you sit back down for a moment?”

She nodded, then winced, clearly regretting the motion.

He helped ease her up on the exam table, the white paper rustling beneath her.

Gently sweeping the hair from her brow, he studied her beautiful face, concern and protectiveness welling inside. “What happened?”

“I don't know.”

Her breathless vulnerability nearly broke his heart. He
never wanted her to feel scared or alone again. Whatever he had to do to make her feel loved and protected, he yearned to do. The rush of emotion, of love crashing through him nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. Where had that come from? Better yet, when had he fallen so desperately in love with Darcy St. James?

He scrambled for words, for sanity, for anything solid to grasp onto.

Her case. Focus on her case.
“Can you remember anything before you blacked out? What was the last thing you did?”

“I was talking with Pam.”

“Pam?”

“Abby's roommate.”

“Okay. Do you remember what you were talking about?”

“Yeah.” She explained finding Celia wearing Abby's necklace, confronting Ted about it, talking to Pam and learning Mullins had collected Abby's belongings. “So nothing of hers was there. But”—she patted her purse—“I grabbed a Gideon Bible I found on her bed. And then I left. . . .”

“Okay . . . so then you were heading . . . ?”

“I headed for the elevator and . . .”

“And?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I heard something.”

“Describe
something
.”

“I don't know. Just a noise behind me, then everything went black.”

“Can I take a look at your head? The doc said you took a pretty good knock.” Working SAR, he and his family were all first-responder trained.

“Sure.”

With great care and tenderness, he spread his fingers through her hair, gently feeling the lump on the backside
of her head. “It's definitely swollen. The doc thinks you got the knock when you fell.” He brought his hands to his side.

“But you don't?”

He sighed. “I don't know. What do you think? Any chance the sound you heard was someone conking you over the head?”

“It could have been, but if it was, then it means someone knows I'm not exactly who I say I am.”

“Or they aren't happy with the questions you're asking.”

Darcy led Gage back to the corridor where her accident had occurred. She began at Pam's door and walked toward the elevator.

“I was about here.” She paused in front of the maintenance closet.

Gage opened the door and glanced inside.

Darcy peered in behind him at the mops and brooms lining the near wall.

“Plenty of things to hit someone over the head with,” Gage remarked.

They stepped back into the corridor.

“The only other explanation is you hit the back of your head on this”—Gage grasped the wall rail—“on your way down. Were you feeling dizzy?”

“No. I was fine.”

“And now?”

“I've got a killer headache, but the doc gave me some ibuprofen, so hopefully it'll settle soon.”

“Did he test you for a concussion?”

“Yes. No blurred vision, no sensitivity to light, no nausea or dilated pupils.”

“Good, but just for precaution, I want you sticking by my side today.”

She didn't argue. Being by Gage's side was never something to complain about, but if someone really was on to her, she'd feel a ton better having someone she trusted with her.

Darcy tapped on the doorframe of Mullins' office, glancing back at Gage seated on the sofa in the reception area. He smiled and she turned her attention back to the task at hand.

Mullins glanced up from her computer, irritation on her ruddy complexion.

“Don't tell me. Another problem?”

“No.” Darcy stepped into the woman's office, noting the distinct temperature drop. Mullins liked a cool work environment.

“I heard about your accident.”

Word traveled fast.

Mullins shuffled papers. “You really ought to be more careful.”

“Right.” What had she heard,
exactly
? “Who knew halls could be so dangerous.” She smiled, trying to ease Mullins' tension.

“Are you suggesting your fall was the cruise line's fault?”

“No. Not at all.” This was not a good start. She needed something from Mullins, which meant any inference of Destiny's fault in her accident would only put the woman on the defensive. Besides, it wasn't a puddle on the floor or a cord she'd tripped over that had caused her fall. If anything, someone had hit her over the head, but suggesting that possibility would only draw more attention to the fact she was
digging for answers on Abby's disappearance. “Actually I was hoping you could help me with something.”

Mullins arched a brow.

“Ms. Walsh . . . ” Darcy was determined to avoid the perception of a personal tie to Abby, though she'd failed horribly by pressing about Abby's whereabouts in such a persistent manner her first day on board. Which was precisely why reporters never worked an undercover case with personal ties. It compromised one's ability to investigate without bias.

Mullins cleared her throat. “Are you going to continue your sentence, or is that the extent of your request?”

Darcy smiled.
So not a fan of this woman
. “The morning I boarded the
Bering
, Ms. Walsh indicated that she had kept a travel journal of her experience on the excursions and offered to let me read it—as a resource for my articles. I asked her roommate about it, and she said you'd collected her things.”

Mullins rolled back from her computer with a huff. Propping her elbows on her chair arms, she steepled her fingers. “When an employee leaves without taking their belongings, we remove them from their cabin. It's standard protocol.”

“Do employees do that often?”

“Do what?”

“Leave suddenly without taking their things?”

Mullins sighed. “You'd be surprised. Some people are so eager to abandon their commitments, they will leave everything behind.”

Hmm.
This could be her chance to get into Mullins' good graces. “That's terrible.”

“Don't take a job if you aren't willing to stick with it—that's what I always say.”

Darcy sank into the chair facing Mullins' desk, wondering
just how many employees had been reamed out while sitting in it. “Perfectly reasonable.”

Mullins eyed her like a hawk eyeing a mouse. “Was there something you wanted?”

Either Mullins hadn't been listening or she was avoiding the subject. “I was hoping you'd let me look through Ms. Walsh's belongings.”

Mullins gaped at her.

“To find her travel journal. It could be a great resource for my blog posts. A day in the life of an excursion chef . . .”

Mullins rolled back to her computer. “I'm afraid that's not possible. While we were docked at Eagle Cove, I had Ms. Walsh's belongings shipped to the address she supplied on her application.”

Interesting, and surprisingly thoughtful on Mullins' part. “That must have cost a lot.”

“We deducted it from her paycheck.”

“Of course. Well, in that case, may I have Ms. Walsh's contact information?”

Mullins' head snapped up from the monitor, and she stared at Darcy as if she had three heads.

Darcy leaned forward, praying she appeared far more composed than she felt. “I could still interview her over the phone. I want my coverage of the
Bering
's adventure excursions to be complete.”

“While I appreciate your dedication, Ms. St. James,” she said dryly, “I'm afraid all information in an employee's file is strictly confidential—contact information included. Nevertheless, I'm confident your coverage will be perfectly complete without having to interview every crew member who has ever worked the
Bering
excursions.”

“Of course.” Darcy eyed the line of file cabinets flanking
the left wall and stood. “You're right. I'm sure I have plenty to work with right here.”

“Glad to hear it.” Mullins waved her hand in dismissal, then reached for her phone.

Darcy smiled—she knew when she wasn't wanted. If Mullins wouldn't give her access to what she needed, she'd simply come back after hours and take a look for herself.

Gage stood to leave as Darcy exited Mullins' office, but she stayed by the door and leaned close, as if listening. He had less than ten minutes to make his excursion meeting, but he wasn't heading there without her. He was about to ask what she was doing, tell her to get moving, but she finally turned and approached with a twinkle in her eye. And that meant only one thing—trouble.