Going Overboard (33 page)

But he couldn't forget the raw panic in her eyes—as if her world had shattered.

Carly finally took stock of her surroundings, frowned and made her way to Mel's cabin. McKay was nowhere in sight when the door swung open to the thunder of rock music.

“I was just going to call to see where you were.” Grabbing Carly's arm, Mel pulled her into a room that looked like postapocalyptic chaos. Books, magazines, and shoes were piled on the bed and couch, and computer equipment took up all the remaining space.

“Well, what do you think?” Mel demanded.

Carly managed to smile. “I like the beaded negligee, but the purple sneakers have to go.”

Mel shot her an imperious look. “The sneakers were

purchased in a moment of temporary insanity. I was asking about the film.” Impatient, she gestured to the huge flat-screen monitor where a man stared into a fiery sunset with a glass of champagne raised to the horizon. He looked even more amazing on film than she remembered his face burnished by sunlight and his eyes dark with secrets.

Secrets she would never know.

Carly's heart lurched painfully. “It's got punch.”

“It's got more than punch, my dear. That shot is going to make the cruise line millions—and it's going to make us flat-out famous, to say nothing of drumming up a flood of new projects.”

Carly summoned a tone of enthusiasm. “Let's hope you're right.”

Mel's brow rose. “Hope has nothing to do with it. They've shown the edited footage in New York, and the client is over the moon. Do you know what that means?”

“No retakes?”

“You jest at a time like this. What it means,” Mel said with a dramatic flourish, “is that our budget just got doubled again, and no questions asked. It means prime-time ad placements and maximum exposure for the agency. It means a celebration because lots more work will be coming your way, which is exactly what you wanted.”

“Of course it is.” Carly wondered why her words sounded so hollow.

“In that case, listen up. The cruise reps want us to work up different story lines for each of their ships. We're talking twelve different itineraries, my dear, and you're going to be traveling on every one over the next six months as part of your preparation. Is that heaven or what?”

Carly tried to focus, tried to remember that this project was the culmination of years of struggle and dedication. “Wow. Six months…”

“After we dock in Miami, we head right into meetings. Two members of the marketing team will meet us in port

so we can set up a preliminary schedule. After that we'll tackle a budget.” Mel frowned. “Are you listening to all this? You look spacey.”

“Of course.” Carly swallowed. “It's just a little hard to take in, considering the size of the project.”

Mel pursed her lips. “This is no time for second thoughts. We'll be working twenty-hour days to get this project wrapped in time for fall scheduling. If you've got a problem with your commitment, I need to know now.”

“No problems.” Carly told herself it was true. Having a personal life wasn't half as important as an opportunity like this. “When do we start?”

Mel flipped off the monitor. “Tomorrow we strategize. Tonight we celebrate. You've earned it. And bring Ford along. I intend to convince him that he needs a major career change.”

Carly turned away, wrestling her emotions back into some semblance of control. “I'll let him know. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“No, that's it.” Mel's gaze tightened. “Are you certain you're okay with this? I get the feeling you're on autopilot, and that's not like you.”

“I'm fine.” Carly felt the first stab of a headache. “I need to take care of a few loose ends and then I'll talk to Ford.”

“Dress up,” her boss ordered. “Slinky and glittery. I want everyone in the mood to celebrate. This is going to be a major campaign, and I plan to launch phase two with full pomp.”

Feeling oddly empty, Carly went back to her cabin. She told herself there would be plenty of time for relationships after the campaign was finished. If McKay was interested in staying in touch, he could arrange it. Six months wasn't so long to wait.

Yeah, right.

She hesitated at her cabin door, remembering all of his security precautions. Taking a deep breath, she unlocked

the door and shoved it open with one foot, feeling like a fool.

No shots were fired.

Always a good sign, she thought tiredly.

A quick look told her the room was empty. The bathroom and veranda were also empty. As she kicked off her shoes, she noticed a vellum envelope angled against her pillow.

Cruise-line stationery. The expensive kind.

She tore it and read the message, then read it again, feeling her body go numb. There were three handwritten lines:

The words ran at a slant, as if written in haste. Carly blinked sharply as they started to blur.

So this was it. No soft vows, no romantic declarations. Not a goodbye or a hint of an explanation.

That was exactly what she'd told him she wanted wasn't it?

She tossed the note onto her desk and stared at the silent room. Who was he to discard her like an old shoe without making any attempt to explain in person? It wasn't that easy to leave a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean.

Maybe something had happened on Santa Marina.

She swept up the phone to call Daphne, then put it back down slowly. Daphne would have told her if there were problems, which killed that possibility. Meanwhile, Carly realized she couldn't even reach McKay without calling every ranch in Wyoming—assuming his story of owning a family ranch was true. The thought made her crumple his letter and toss it angrily into the wastebasket by her bed.

The bed where they'd ripped off each other's clothes and nearly killed each other.

There was a soft tap at the door. Carly froze, willing the visitor to go away.

As she waited tensely, the tapping came again. “Carly, are you in there? It's Izzy. I need to speak with you.”

She opened the door, then stood back as he moved inside and put a pile of neatly folded towels on her table, all the time watching her face carefully. “You got his note?”

She nodded.

“He had to go.”

“Why?”

Izzy ran a hand across his jaw. “I can't tell you that.”

“Where did he go?” Carly fought to keep her voice steady.

“I can't tell you that either.”

“Then tell me how I can reach him.”

“You can't,” Izzy said quietly. “I'll be your contact now. If you have a problem, call me at this number.” He held out a slip of paper with ten digits. “Use it anytime, day or night, and I'll answer.”

“You mean while we're on the ship?”

“I mean anywhere in the world. That number will reach me in three rings max.”

Carly stared at the numbers. “Does McKay have a phone number like this?”

Izzy ran a hand over the folded towels, his expression guarded. “Just memorize that number,” he said softly.

Carly looked down, committing the string to memory. “I've got it.”

“Good.” He took the paper, crumpled it in one hand, and went into the bathroom.

Carly heard the rumble of plumbing. “What if I need to talk to him?”

He emerged with his usual quiet, confident gait, but he looked different now, she realized. Expectant, even excited.

“Talk to me instead. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Tell me where he is.”

“I can't do that.”

“At least tell me if he's in danger.” She heard her voice crack slightly.

He stared at her for long moments. “You want the truth or something to make you feel better?”

“The truth.”

“Then here it is. I think you already know that if he isn't in danger now, he will be soon. It's what he does,” Izzy said gently. “No one does it better. Tight spots happen to be McKay's specialty.”

“That's all you can tell me? Not where he is, or why? If something happens, I won't even know.” She turned away, struggling against raw fear.

“Worrying won't help.” Izzy gestured to the digital camera equipment on Carly's desk. “Right now you've got your own work to handle. Why don't you focus on that?”

As if she could. As if she wouldn't be wondering every second where he was. If he was bleeding, or even dead.

Dead.

She squeezed down hard, trapping all the panic, fighting a wave of dizziness.

Izzy continued to study her face. “Remember the number?”

Carly rattled off the string.

“Good. Use it if you need to. Meanwhile I'll be close. Try not to worry.”

“Sure. I'll try,” she said hollowly.

The door had barely closed behind him when the phone rang. Carly picked up the receiver, feeling a wild burst of hope. “McKay?”

“No, it's Mel. Everyone's waiting for you. What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”
Everything.

Carly swallowed hard. “It's t-taking longer to get ready than I thought.”

Tinny calypso music echoed from the other end of the line, mingled with the sounds of loud laughter.

“Well, get into gear, love. The wrap party is about to start, and it's your baby. Come and take credit for your success. I warn you, if you don't, I will.”

Carly looked around the room. The rose was still in its vase beside her bed. The amber necklace he'd given her gleamed on the desk, and night was falling. Through the windows, sea and sky ran together in a blur of restless silver.

It was time to focus
, she told herself. This project was hers, and she had carried it off well. It was time to file McKay under past history and move on.

If he isn't in danger now, he will be soon.

Tears were running down Carly's cheeks as she saw the crumpled note in the garbage. Blindly, she retrieved it, smoothing it open on her lap. “I'll be there,” she whispered. “In a little while.”

“Carly, I can barely hear you. Is everything okay?”

Watching the endless expanse of water shimmer beyond the windows, Carly thought of a man who had made no false promises, a man who faced danger without blinking. “Everything is exactly the way I wanted, Mel.”

Her hands were shaking now, so she put the receiver down very gently, feeling as if something deep inside her had torn free and lay bleeding.

I
t was raining when McKay hit the tarmac at Little Creek, Virginia. It had rained for six hours straight since he'd left Miami, and there was still no sign of a letup.

So much for sun and fun in paradise, he thought grimly. He'd been summoned back to HQ abruptly, so he knew something serious was in the works, and it wasn't taking place on any cruise ship.

The attacks had been a diversion—or maybe designed to put extra pressure on Brandon. Now that Brandon had caved in, Vronski's focus would shift to the main event— whatever that was. Meanwhile, Carly would be all right, he told himself harshly. Izzy was under orders to watch out for her, and Izzy's moves were good.

His instincts were on full alert as he shouldered his duffel bag and trotted to the waiting Jeep. The driver, a fairly new arrival from Georgia, saluted smartly, with excitement in his eyes.

Something big was definitely going on, judging by the charged atmosphere on base. Everywhere, personnel moved with silent competence as they readied for an unknown mission, their adrenaline spiking with the knowledge that drop orders were imminent. There was no time for fear and no room for second thoughts. Fighting was what SEALs did best, and McKay knew that better than anyone because his team was the best of the best.

Train hard and fight harder. McKay made damned sure it was a principle they lived by. Now it looked like training time was over.

Grimly, he pushed a final thought of Carly out of his mind as the Jeep fishtailed over the wet runway into the darkness.

He barely had time to stow his bag, wash his face, and make sure there was no sign of
GQ
polish left before he headed off to be briefed. No one he passed made any comment, but McKay was experienced enough not to expect any.

The mission briefing room was full when he arrived, and he snagged a seat against the wall, instantly hit by the hum of expectation that meant an active mission on the boards. Turning his head, he glanced around in search of his team, frowning at their absence. Where the hell were they?

The door closed. Everyone in the room sat up straight as a lean, gray-haired man strode to the front podium.

His eyes scanned the room. “Gentlemen, I'm afraid we have a situation in the Caribbean.”

The muscles tightened at the back of McKay's neck. It had to be Santa Marina.

The dock in Miami was hot and noisy as Carly wrestled her bag of camera equipment onto her shoulder, caught in a stream of sweaty, milling tourists.

By sheer force of will, she had endured the rest of the cruise with her emotions locked down tight, though pain continued to throb just below the surface. If Daphne and the crew had noticed her strain, they had been wise enough not to mention it. Only Mel had sent her an occasional questioning look, which Carly had resolutely ignored.