When I wake I’m caught for a few moments in that drowsy, neutral place where you’re still half-dreaming and oblivious to anything that happened the night before.
I stretch under the covers, reveling in the softness and expecting Damon to sling a sleepy arm around me.
Then I remember.
Following him onto the deck. Finding him tussling with Yuri. Our fight in the lounge.
And it feels like my life is over.
It was only one fight, but it feels like this one argument has spread debris over our entire relationship.
For some reason, my car wreck starts replaying in my mind. I was a junior in high school, driving Dad’s car to a football game or something—I can’t even remember where I was headed. I was already running late to pick up a friend and turned left in too small a gap. The other driver T-boned the passenger door and totaled Dad’s car. Standing beside the smoking Buick with police car beacons flashing over the wreckage, I tortured myself with an obsessive circle of thought: One split second. If I just hadn’t turned the wheel then . . . One split-second, awful decision.
That split-second devastation followed us for weeks of Dad riding the bus while I tried to pay off the repairs with my meager earnings from the job I had after school at a yogurt shop. A split second that I paid for, for a solid seven months.
This is like that. Only a thousand times worse. Yesterday we were blissfully happy, and today I don’t know how to scoop the egg yolk back into Humpty Dumpty’s cracked shell.
I roll over, but the other side of the bed is empty. There’s just a rumpled sheet from where he slid off the mattress. No sound of running water in the bathroom.
He woke up and left without telling me.
He’s an early bird. I’m sure I’ll wake many mornings to find the bed empty and Damon at the kitchen table with files and notes piled
around him.
But his absence in the wake of our fight feels ominous. Snatches of conversation from last night keep drifting back to me in unpleasant waves.
“Why is it bad to be responsible? Someone has to be, Jack. We can’t all keep living like college kids forever . . .”
“It was a reasonable risk the Bureau was willing to take . . .”
“Some things are more important than a vacation, you know? Some things are more important than . . .”
Me.
The hurt has permeated my skin, making me pained to the touch. I thought I made my peace with Damon’s job. I’ve known there will be parts of his life he can’t share. But I didn’t think he’d lie about it on this grand a scale.
And I never thought the job was more important to him than me.
Groggily I pad into the bathroom and shower to wash away some of the ache. I’m hoping Damon will return to the cabin and be waiting when I step out of the bathroom. But when I finish it’s still empty.
I dress in a bright T-shirt and Bermuda shorts, barely aware of what I’m putting on. It’s not like it matters now.
You’re being melodramatic again, I think as I head down the corridor. You had one fight. It’s not like your marriage is over. But it’s amazing how something that felt so solid yesterday seems fragile now.
On deck everything that dazzled me a mere three days ago I now find annoying. Stupid sunlight. Stupid clear, turquoise water. Stupid buffet, with all its amazing food. Stupid smiling people on their non-fraud vacations with their civilian spouses. Stupid.
I skip the bacon to select a bagel and fruit. Bacon is for winners. Not women who’ve failed at marriage in less than a week. Once seated I have very little appetite. If only I’d felt this way back when I was struggling to diet. Heartbreak is a great weight-loss tool.
I’ve only managed to swallow two bites when a voice behind me
says, “Hey.”
Instantly my body tenses as Damon sits in the chair across from me. Not since he was that bossy handler who wouldn’t give me a microphone have I seen his face so closed off.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks, taking a napkin.
“Okay, I guess.” I can’t help adding, “I know you did.”
His eyes flick up to mine. “What’s that mean?”
“Just that you drifted off like nothing had happened. Slept like a baby.”
Damon sighs and folds his arms. “So now you know what’s going on in my head too?”
“It would be handy since you don’t tell me.”
“Can we please not do this again?” he asks, and my gut tightens. I hoped when I saw him our stupid fight would melt away and we’d be us again. But this isn’t us. Not even close.
“Where’ve you been?” I ask, picking at my bagel. “Off investigating?”
His jaw works. “Please keep your voice down. And yes.”
I’m slowly stabbing a piece of cantaloupe over and over. “Am I allowed to know what you’re looking into?”
For a moment he doesn’t answer. Then he says, “Yuri jumping me forced my hand. I wanted to keep observing him and Matteo, see who else they met up with, try to get a handle on their routine. If Matteo was copying cabin cards, he’s probably the one going into the cabins to take people’s IDs.”
“You think that’s when the thefts are happening?” It’s noisy on deck, but I still speak quietly so no one will overhear. “When people are out of their cabins?”
“It would be a good opportunity. On a cruise people are away from their cabins for hours at a time. Even an entire day at certain ports. They’d have plenty of time to go into a cabin with a duplicate key and remove people’s passports or birth certificates then copy and return them before the passengers ever come back.”
“And then they what—give the passports and stuff to the Russians once they board the ship?”
“Whenever they get on the ship,” Damon muses. “Rod and Sully did surveillance of the exits and entrances yesterday. They didn’t see anyone unusual. As near as they could count, the same amount of passengers got off at Nassau that re-boarded.”
“Who’s Sully?” I ask.
“The other FBI guy. Agent Desmond O’Sullivan. Guys call him Sully.”
“Maybe they missed someone,” I say. For a moment we’re not a fighting couple. Just two people discussing the case. I wouldn’t presume to use the word partners. But when we’re examining facts, that’s how it feels. “It would’ve been hard to count every single person going both ways.”
“Maybe. Or maybe no criminals boarded at Nassau. St. Pierre is the next port. It could be there. Or an island after that.”
I gnaw my lip in concentration. “You know what I’m wondering? Where are these guys sleeping?”
Damon’s brow knits. “What?”
“Say they’re coming through the regular check-in somehow . . .”
“They could have someone working at the computer for embarking and disembarking. We’ve already been looking into the backgrounds of those crew members but haven’t found anything incriminating.”
I remember super helpful Brandi who registered us the first day. She seemed more like a mascot for an ice-cream shop than a criminal. But you never can tell.
“So maybe they have someone working at the computer who lets them through the check-in when they get on the boat. But . . . then what? They didn’t purchase an actual ticket, so they have no cabin assigned to them. With how packed the shipboard clubs and casinos are all night, they could probably stay up partying a few nights and no one would notice them. But they can’t keep that up for a whole week without sleeping. Some big Russian guys napping on deck would get suspicious at some point.”
After a pause, cogs working, Damon says, “They’d have to have someone in cabin registration who could . . . assign them an empty cabin. Then, when they’re checked in on the ship for the first time, they’re given the key to that cabin.”
“Wouldn’t the cleaning crew notice if the cabin was always empty, no one sleeping in it?”
“They could go into the cabins, make it look like someone had been there but was out. Or put on the Do Not Disturb sign.”
“What about luggage? Do they check off each cabin once it gets luggage so they know there are no mistakes?”
“They do.”
“So they’d notice if certain cabins didn’t have any luggage because no one checked in luggage for them.”
Damon nods. “We’ve discussed these things and concluded—”
“They must have someone in the luggage department too. And the cleaning crew.” Despite the warmth of the day the back of my neck feels cold. “How many crew members are involved in this thing?”
“No idea,” Damon admits. “But I think it might be more extensive than we originally thought.”
Again I’m aware of how remote this ship is. If several members of the crew are involved . . .
Civilian wife or not, they’d be stupid not to watch an FBI agent among their passengers.
Abruptly I’m charged with nerves. “So—so what are you doing to figure it out?”
“I told you we’re looking into the background of everyone on the crew. It’s a lot of data, but Rod and Sully are on it.”
“And they both know I’m here too?”
“They’re aware of the situation.” Damon nods. Such cop talk.
“And neither of them was concerned?” I ask, nettled. “About putting me in danger without my knowledge?”
“I told you the FBI considered it a reasonable risk.”
My eyes are burning again. “See, that’s the thing, Damon. Maybe it was a ‘reasonable risk’ to the Bureau. I just never thought it would be a reasonable risk to you.”
His gaze flicks back and forth between my eyes, but he doesn’t answer.
Quietly I go on. “When I agreed to pose as Carmella in Vegas you were furious.”
“Because I wanted to keep you safe.”
“Right. Because you were scared for my safety.” I pause. “So what’s changed? That Damon would never volunteer to bring me on a dangerous mission to provide a better cover for him.”
He looks away from me, out toward the water. For a while he’s so quiet I wonder if he’s drifted back into agent mode and is thinking about the case. Then, without meeting my gaze, he says, “Well, we’re here now. Just have to make the most of it.”
His indifference makes me twinge in a whole new way. Then I remember what Delia said the night before my wedding. How she prays for love when she’s angry at her husband.
And before I can even raise such a prayer, I find myself reaching out to catch his hand across the table.
Damon looks at our fingers then up at me. He seems startled by the sudden contact.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I mean, I . . . I’m mad and I’m hurting and I’m confused. I don’t get why you didn’t tell me.” I take a breath. “But I agreed to marry you, Agent Wade, and I knew what that meant. If this is one of those things I have to deal with as the wife of an agent, then I’ll try. I can’t promise not to be mad, but . . . I’ll try to support you.”
Damon’s brow creases slightly, his expression unreadable. Then he glances away again, like he’s afraid to meet my gaze. He doesn’t respond, but I know he heard me. That’s enough for now.
I squeeze his hand once more and then draw mine back, into my lap. I’m probably more shocked by the declaration than he is. It’s almost like someone else’s words in my voice. But I still meant it.
Even if I still want to smack him in the mouth a little bit.
And he’s right about one thing. We’re here, and I can’t mope around the ship for the next few days while he investigates. I’ll lose my mind.
“So . . .” I shift in my chair. “How can I help?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Help?”
“Yeah. How can I help?”
“Help?”
Annoyed I repeat, “Yes, help. What can I do for the investigation?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
We’ve turned into a set of parrots. “And why not?” I persist. “If I’m here, I might as well—”
Damon cuts me off. “I don’t want you involved.”
“A bit late for that, isn’t it?”
“Just enjoy your vacation.”
“While there are—” I drop my voice to a hoarse whisper, “crooked crew members running this ship?”
“It’s not that bad. Trust me, you’ll be safer if you just act like nothing’s wrong.”
“And what will you be doing?”
“Observing certain members of the crew. The ones who seem most likely to be involved.”
“Great! Just give me a name from that list.”
“No.”
“Oh, come on.” I glower at him. “You can’t possibly watch every member of the crew all the time.”
“I don’t have to watch every member. Just certain individuals.”
“And how many is that?” I snap my fingers. “Are there any women on that list of certain individuals?”
Again he looks like he senses a set-up. “Yes . . .”
“So you’re a man. You can’t follow the women into the bathroom without looking like a creeper.”
“I’m not going to follow them into the bathroom!” he says, a tad too loudly. “They’re not going to do anything incriminating in the bathroom.”
“You don’t know for sure,” I say. “Maybe they do the crime things in there for that exact reason. Maybe they go into the bathroom to unscrew the air vents and let the Russian assassins drop down from the ducts. Maybe that’s how they’re smuggling the Russians onboard!”
Damon looks utterly baffled. “Through the air ducts?”
“Why not? A girl from the crew could go into the bathroom and let a whole bunch of assassins down through the ceiling, and you’ll just be sitting outside the door, waiting, sipping on a pink drink.”
Damon’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile but doesn’t have it in him. “I doubt that will be the scenario.”
“But you can’t know for sure. So until you’re positive the ceiling grates around this place are assassin-free, I can help you.”
His mouth works briefly as though he’s not sure what ridiculous point to argue first. Finally he settles on, “Even if that was at all likely, you’re not trained to follow anyone.”
“It’s walking around looking at people. How hard can it be?”
Damon drops his head into his hands, looking like he wants to rip his own face off. “I don’t even know how to have this conversation. I’m not letting you take that kind of risk.”
“Letting me?” I say. This is one of the worst things you can say to a woman. I don’t know why men haven’t figured that out. “I don’t need your permission.”
“Actually you do. I could arrest you for impeding a federal investigation.”
My mouth drops open. “Fine, then! Arrest me and toss me in the brig with Yuri. Sounds like a blast.”
When I start to stand Damon takes my hand to stop me. “You don’t even know who you’re looking for. You going to follow around every female crew member on the ship?”
Valid point. Then I’m struck with inspiration. “I don’t have to. I just have to watch Brandi, the cruise director! If anyone’s involved, it must be her.”
“Jack, please.” He holds my arm, though I’m standing. “If you get spotted, it’ll complicate the investigation.”
I laugh. “If you didn’t want to complicate the investigation, you shouldn’t have brought me along!”