Going Overboard (8 page)

There was a definite glow in her cheeks as she stared blankly into space. After a moment, she looked down at his hands circling her wrists, then drew a jerky breath. “I'm going to pretend none of this happened,” she muttered. “It had to be the wine.”

“Put it down to curiosity.” He slid a damp strand of hair off her forehead.

Her brow spiked. “Is curiosity what's going on here?”

For McKay, what was going on was focused lust. Because he wanted badly to haul her close and kiss her again, he took a stiff step backward. “Close enough. We'd better shower, then go.”

“My shower can wait. I need to get back and check on my crew while they're still rational.” She glared down at her exercise attire. “Besides, it could take me an hour to wiggle out of this spandex thing.”

“I'd be more than happy to help you.”

“I'll just bet.”

Smiling faintly, McKay guided her to the door. As he flipped off the light, a clatter echoed through the corridor outside.

Cursing, he pushed Carly behind him, shielding her with his body and locking a hand over her mouth.

F
ootsteps shuffled up to the door.

   McKay pressed Carly flat against the wall.

There was a low click in the darkness, and the door opened slowly. He gave Carly's arm a warning squeeze as a long object emerged.

He slammed one shoulder low, caught the object and twisted it free, then pinned the man who'd been holding it to the floor. “Get the lights,” he ordered.

In the sudden glare of the overhead fluorescents, McKay saw a man wearing a gray uniform with the logo of the cruise line. He was white-haired probably seventy, and clearly terrified.

The object he'd been carrying was a mop.

Water flowed from an overturned bucket near the door, and McKay realized that had been the source of the sound from the hall. He helped the old man to his feet, then dusted off his shoulders. “Sorry,” he said briskly.

The man edged sideways. “Tonight's my cleanup duty here. It's on the schedule. Call and check,” he said anxiously.

McKay straightened the bucket and dropped the mop inside. “No need. I'm sure you're right.” But he intended to have Izzy check the story just the same. “The fault was mine. Anything I can do to help?”

The man pulled his bucket across the room, shaking his head. “Just a simple mistake.”

The moment McKay had escorted Carly out into the corridor, she spun tensely.

“You didn't learn that move in any health club.” Her face was pale. “What's going on?”

“He took me by surprise, that's all.”

“Don't brush me off. I have eyes. Who are you?” She swallowed.
“What
are you?”

He'd been expecting this. A woman of her intelligence was bound to notice his vigilance sooner or later and demand an explanation. His only surprise was how much he disliked lying to her. “I've worked in some unsettled places. When I hear a loud noise, I drop first and ask questions later.”

“But you didn't drop,” she pointed out tightly. “First you shoved me behind you, then wrestled that man to the floor, all in total darkness. It appears to be something you do a lot.” She crossed her arms. “I'd like an explanation.”

“Nothing to explain. He took me by surprise and I reacted too fast.” He said nothing more as he guided her to the glittering art-deco elevator.

“That's pure rubbish.” Carly pursed her lips as the elevator doors closed. “Lucky for you I'm too tired to argue. But I'll find out, I warn you.”

As soon as they reached her floor, she stalked out of the elevator, the mood of easy friendship shattered.

At her stateroom music drifted through the closed door, nearly drowned by laughter. Carly found her key and opened the door, amazed to see her head cameraman dancing a reckless hula in a red plastic skirt.

Hank smiled guiltily. “Just getting in the mood for tomorrow. You two have a nice date?”

“It wasn't a date,” Carly said firmly. “It was a business meeting.”

“Tell it to the IRS,” someone called out. The Hawaiian music stopped as Daphne appeared with a tray of fruit and cheese.

“One more for the road everybody.” Her eyes widened

as she looked from Carly to McKay. “So you're back. How was your date?”

“It wasn't a date,” Hank said grinning. If he noticed Carly's flush, he was too polite to mention it. Instead, he glanced at his watch. “Okay, people, party's over. We've got a five
A.M.
departure for Barbados and I want you revved and ready to roll. Let's call it a night.”

The crew members drifted to the door, and McKay followed them, giving Carly a last, appraising look. “You sweat well, Sullivan.”

“Compliments will get you nowhere.” She rested one finger on his chest and tapped lightly. “And my promise stands. You were lying and I'm going to dig the truth out of you.”

Not without a topflight security clearance, she wouldn't. “Happy hunting. Be sure to tell me if you dig up anything really incriminating.”

Daphne waited four seconds, then pounced. “So spill. How does he kiss?”

Carly tried to look affronted. “Are you suggesting I can't spend an hour in a man's company without locking lips?”

“Not with that man, you couldn't. Where did you go?”

Carly stacked dirty coffee cups and carried them to the kitchenette. “The health club. His idea of fun is going one-on-one with a treadmill.”

“He's certainly not your usual type.”

Carly's amusement faded. “Type?”

“Don't tell me you've forgotten your penchant for practical men. Last year it was the tax lawyer. His idea of romance was outlining a three-year plan to overhaul your stock portfolio.”

“He seemed charming and attentive. I still can't understand it.”

Daphne coughed loudly. Carly suspected it was to hide a snicker.

“He wanted to get his hands on your assets, if you ask me.” Daphne waved a finger. “What you need is a man who won't let you order him around. Someone who will make you sizzle while he gets under your skin.”

“Sounds like a nasty rash.”

“Don't be flippant. It's time you learned to let go.”

“What it is,” Carly said with a glance at her watch, “is time for me to check today's footage, then get some sleep. You too. Early call, remember?”

Daphne gave an expressive shrug. “When I was working in Paris, I'd be on location in full makeup by four, with a ten-hour day in front of me.”

Carly rolled her eyes. “Such terrible torture having to wear exquisite designer gowns and have your hair and face done by the best talent in the business.” Carly frowned as Daphne tucked some papers under her arm. “No last-minute faxes from New York, I hope. If Mel's switching plans, I'm going to have a serious meltdown.”

“No, these are for me. Father again.”

Carly put down the orange she had been peeling. “Uncle Nigel? Nothing's wrong on Santa Marina, I hope?”

“Not with him. It's me he's driving crazy,” Daphne said dryly. “For the last month he's been monitoring every move I make, keeping track of where I'm due and calling if I'm even ten minutes off. When I ask what's wrong, he turns stone faced and says it's perfectly natural for a father to worry about his daughter's safety.”

Carly squeezed Daphne's arm. “You're getting married soon. Sounds to me like he's suffering from separation anxiety. Having someone worry about you isn't such a bad thing.”

Daphne sniffed. “He won't let up. I even think he has me followed,” she said angrily. “That's partly why I jumped at the chance to pinch-hit on your shoot. I actually had to leave him a note and sneak off the island to get here.”

“Not many places safer than a cruise ship,” Carly said cheerfully. “Unless it's the
Titanic.
He should be thrilled that you're here.”

“Hardly. He keeps blitzing me with messages and asks me to check in with his office three times a day.” Daphne sent Carly a warning look. “Don't think you're safe, either. Now he's demanding every detail of tomorrow's shoot on Barbados.”

Carly strode toward the phone. “I'll call him. There's no reason for him to worry.”

“No, don't. He'll demand that you put me on and then we'll argue.”

“But you can't let him worry this way.”

“He knows I'm here and safe. That will have to do. I'll phone him from Barbados tomorrow, I promise.” Daphne studied the equipment humming on the long table. “Let's see today's film. I want to find out if my imagination is as good as the real thing.”

“He does have an amazing body,” Carly murmured, remembering how McKay looked on the treadmill, holding an effortless stride. “But let's see what the camera says.”

Across the room, Daphne powered up the camcorder plugged into a high-resolution screen. “These are the test shots you made this morning at the pool.” She watched McKay climb out of the water in full, chiseled glory. “Is the man buff or what?”

“He burns up the screen, just the way I knew he would.” Carly scanned the rest of the crowd. “Everyone else seems to disappear. Okay, move forward.” She sat mutely, savoring the sight of McKay cutting through the pool while the volleyball game raged off to the side. “This is where they started to get rowdy.” Abruptly she sat forward. “Wait. Pause and go back.”

She watched the crowd morph backward, then repeat their movements. “There,” she said, pointing to a man in a deck chair.

“The skinny guy with the bad hairpiece?” Daphne

leaned closer to the screen. “That orange Hawaiian shirt really has to go.”

“He seems to pop up everywhere I am. He was watching us before, on the opposite side of the deck. Now he's there in the corner, looking right at me. I'm beginning to feel stalked.”

“The man is just a tourist soaking up some sun. Since we happen to be astoundingly beautiful women, of course he's watching us, too.”

Carly sank into a chair beside Daphne. “I guess you're right. He's gone in this next pan. I must be suffering from post-treadmill trauma.”

“The shots from this afternoon are next.” Daphne crossed her legs, smiling smugly. “I have a feeling they'll be phenomenal.”

Ten minutes later, Carly sank back in her chair, feeling her heart slam.

The footage was unforgettable. McKay in a tuxedo against the dying sun. McKay holding up a glass of champagne to an unseen companion, cool triumph in his eyes. The man was a glory to behold.

“He's incredible.” Daphne's eyes crinkled. “Hank says he's never seen anything close in fifteen years of shooting.”

“I've got a feeling that we 're about to make history,” Carly whispered. But for some reason, the thought left her uneasy.

Nikolai Vronski hated the Americans. Of course, he hated most Russians, too. Humanity in general was tedious, incompetent, and self-indulgent, and Vronski prided himself on being none of those things.

He swept past the lone man sweating in the yacht's converted stateroom. With an impatient glance he scanned the long steel worktables. “What developments?”

The aged Japanese artist turned beneath the bank of bright halogen lights. His hands were scarred from decades of pounding and shredding fibers to make the

highest quality Japanese brush paper. “It is slow work, as I have explained before.”

There was little sense of movement below deck. The boat was perfectly stabilized to protect the expensive equipment that filled the shelves and long tables.

“I did not ask if the work was slow or fast.” Vronski's keen gaze ranged over the gleaming metal trays. “I want results. What have you to show me?”

The Japanese man bowed, shaking his head. “It is still too soon.” He was sweating heavily.

One blow from the Russian's fist sent him staggering to the floor.

Despite the pain, he was wise enough to stay absolutely quiet while Vronski stormed out.

W
aves lapped at the white sand beach, while palm trees rustled soothingly. The scene could have been lifted right off a postcard McKay thought.

Too bad it wasn't a real vacation so he could enjoy it.

Beside him, Daphne sighed. “Give me a box of Godiva chocolates, an Andrea Bocelli CD, and I'll be in paradise.” She drew in a hearty breath of sea air and jumped down onto the sand. “Barbados is spectacular, isn't it?”