Chapter Four

The limousine stopped in a small parking lot near the stunningly blue Saint Thomas harbor. Andrea’s driver, Greg Gregory, glanced at her in the rearview mirror and said, “This is as close as we can get to the entrance to the docks.”

She leaned to reach for the door handle, and he growled, “For Christ’s sake, don’t get out. You’re a superrich spoiled brat used to being waited on, remember?”

She started to defend Karli, who hadn’t seemed at all like a brat, but bit back the sharp retort. Speaking her mind rarely won her friends, and she needed to make a conscious effort to get along with her fellow Rangers. “Sorry.”

He motioned with his head. “That’s my partner Kenyon coming toward us in the golf cart. He’ll open the door, hand you the flowers containing a bulletproof shield, and you’ll walk between us to the cart. He’ll drive you through the marina and out to the boat.”

The cart’s rear seat had a high back and the sides were shrouded with tinted vinyl. A good arrangement. Closed in on three sides, she’d be a more difficult target. She decided she liked the idea of walking between the men, too. Gregory was built like a linebacker and would make a good guard. Kenyon was much thinner, but his body was still bigger than hers, and his presence would help her feel less like one of the yellow ducks rotating in a shooting gallery.

She remembered her weapons. “Would you do me a favor?” she asked Gregory. “I have a backpack mixed in with all of Karli’s luggage that contains some of my personal stuff. Would you hang on to it and get it to me later when no one will know it isn’t Karli’s?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll pretend it’s mine.”

“Thanks.”

Gregory popped a small white mint into his mouth. “Geronimo.”

He got out of the car and came around to the other side as Kenyon opened her door. She slid into the warm sunshine and, wobbling in her high-heeled shoes, walked to the cart. Her heart pounded and her breath quickened. She had the distinct feeling of being watched. She’d never been in favor of people tramping through the woods with guns looking for animals to kill. Now she understood the feeling of being targeted by a hunter stalking prey. And she didn’t like it at all.

Andrea sniffed the salty air, and the tension that had her shoulder muscles tight ratcheted higher. She could deal with docks and the harbor, but what if sometime during her assignment the crew untied the boat and actually took it out on the ocean? The open ocean. Where the waves would roll and roll, and the boat would roll and roll, and her stomach could churn and mutiny. Could anything be more mortifying than getting deathly seasick in front of a suave billionaire and her macho fellow Rangers?

Suck it up, she told herself. Don’t be paranoid, and don’t worry about things that might not happen. You’re tough and can handle anything life, or this assignment, throws your way.

Gritting her teeth, she raised her chin. Kenyon sped through the marina. Who would have ever thought it possible for a golf cart to go so fast? The trade winds blew through her hair; heat and humidity pressed on her skin. Worry made her palms slick. She tried to forget the danger by studying Kenyon. He tapped a finger on the steering wheel with a staccato rhythm. His shoulders were ramrod stiff, and she imagined a spring compressed in a cylinder, ready at any second to blast into the air.

After two minutes that crawled by like hours, Kenyon swiped an access card to open a wrought iron gate, they passed through, and the cart rolled out onto the crowded cement docks.

Colorful flags from countries near and far snapped in the breeze and boasted of exotic homeports. Motor yachts floated like fiberglass islands; sailboat masts reached skyward as if trying to snag the white clouds.

“Which one is it?” she asked, leaning forward.

“The four-deck black beauty out on the end.”

Andrea gasped. Dillon Stone’s boat was a sleek and shiny mega yacht, and without a doubt, the largest private vessel she’d ever seen.

Damian had one of the best contracts in the league, and his astronomical salary had allowed him to buy a hundred-and-fifty-footer. Xavier had used last year’s Super Bowl bonus to buy a sixty-foot sport fisherman he kept in the Florida charter fleet during winters while he was busy playing. Thanks to her father’s fame and associations, she’d been on board the yachts of several other rich and famous athletes in her life. Compared to the ship in front of her, all those seemed like mere toys.

Stone’s yacht had sweeping lines and curves, each deck was surrounded by polished rails that glinted in the sunlight, the steering station at the summit was at least sixty feet off the water, and a forest of antennae and communication domes rose even higher. Her brothers would have described the yacht as a babe magnet or sexy. But then again, they were crude and obsessed with sex. The adjectives that came to her mind were stylish and elegant.

Some yachts had to scream, Look at me. My owner has money. Dillon Stone’s yacht was so impressive that screaming was unnecessary. The huge vessel oozed luxury and wealth in a quiet way that boats owned by crass men like her brothers would never be able to imitate.

The ship’s stern was to the right, and Kenyon steered the golf cart toward a wide ramp with stainless steel railing gleaming on each side. When he braked and stopped, she pulled in a deep breath. Showtime. She climbed out of the cart, and placing her feet carefully to maintain her balance, walked toward the ramp.

A uniformed officer standing stiff and formal greeted her the moment she stepped on deck. He wore a crisp short-sleeved white shirt with black stripes on his shoulders to indicate rank, sharply creased white slacks, white belt, and black deck shoes. The man and uniform would have passed the toughest of military inspections. “Welcome aboard the Black Swan, Miss Stone. I’m Captain Pruitt. If there’s anything at all you need, please let me or one of the crew know.”

A small black swan emblem on his shirt pocket caught her eye as she juggled the flowers and offered her free hand. “Thank you.”

He shook her hand and said, “Mr. Stone will meet you on the sundeck for lunch in half an hour. He asked me to show you to your cabin first so you could freshen up after your trip.” He motioned toward the young woman standing next to but slightly behind him. “I’ll have a crew member bring your luggage aboard, and Fran will take care of your unpacking while you eat.”

“Yes. Thank you.” She nodded a greeting to the woman.

He motioned to his right. “If you’ll come this way please?”

Andrea followed the captain into a luxurious foyer where a life-size black swan was inlaid in the Italian tile floor. He directed her to an elevator complete with classical music pouring from hidden speakers and stepped aside so she could board first. He got into the cab and punched two, using buttons shaped like miniature black swans.

The captain supposedly knew she wasn’t Karli, but Andrea kept her gaze front and center and said nothing to acknowledge the substitution. He remained silent, too.

They stepped from the elevator, and he directed her to a set of doors on the starboard side of a corridor. The captain glanced around to be sure they were alone, then explained, “This is Ms. Stone’s cabin. We’re one deck down from where you’ll be eating lunch. There’s an elevator at the end of this hall. Would you like me to return and escort you?”

“No, thank you. I’ll find my way.”

After he turned and left, Andrea opened the teak double doors to the cabin, and her jaw dropped. This was no mere cabin; this was a luxury suite.

Directly inside the door was a cozy sitting area with a broad tinted window overlooking the harbor. A bookshelf and reading lamp were within arm’s reach. The room beyond the sitting area had pale pink carpeting and walls, accented with touches of lilac and gold.

She set the roses and her purse on a small table, closed the door behind her, and walked farther inside. The sleeping area held a queen bed with a ruffled comforter and an enormous built-in dresser situated under a matching mirror. A Rhode Island-size jewelry box stood to one side.

Andrea kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes. Sinking into the soft, plush carpeting, she crossed the room, opened one of two sliding doors, and found a closet that was probably twice the size of most of the cabins on the huge cruise ship at the wharf. She walked inside and blinked.

On the left side of the closet, upper rods held blouses, tops, and jackets. Lower rods held coordinated skirts and shorts. Slacks and suits occupied a separate area at the far end. The end wall held shoes from flip-flops to stilettos in every color of the rainbow. The slanted floor-to-ceiling racks probably held over two hundred pairs.

On the right side, an eight-foot section was devoted to dresses and, next to them, formal gowns. She ran her fingertips over the fabrics, most of which she hadn’t touched since finishing school. Silk, satin, velvet, linen, brocade, prints and patterns, solids and stripes. Her head spun at the thought of getting out of the shower each morning and having to choose what to wear. She noticed some of the labels and cringed. They read like a who’s who of famous designers. How could she wear any of this stuff and risk getting it dirty? What if she ripped a Gucci or Dior?

She continued to take in her luxurious surroundings. Her gaze fell upon an insane number of negligees occupying their own niche next to a bank of drawers.

Andrea paused. She’d never seen such a collection of tulle and chiffon and lace. But see-through scarlet? Flimsy black? Even the lustrous pinks were provocative. A worm of doubt wiggled into her brain. Did Karli have a man in her life?

The answer seemed obvious. The woman was twenty-eight. Rich. Attractive. Sophisticated. At least one man had to be chasing that combination, and the odds were slim that Karli was an innocent virgin.

Worry nipped at Andrea’s stomach. It seemed unlikely that the Rangers would miss such an important piece of information. A current boyfriend or lover who had seen Karli in any of her sexy nightgowns and expected to spend time in her bed would destroy this charade in a heartbeat. She hoped the negligees had some other explanation. But just in case, she pushed finding out whom Karli was sleeping with, and whether or not he’d been informed of the switch, to priority one.

She continued with her inspection, opening one of the built-in drawers. The subtle fragrance of a verbena sachet rose in a sweet greeting. The drawer was divided into two dozen separate little velvet-lined rectangles. Each rectangle held a pair of silky panties and a matching lacy bra. She opened the next drawer. Another two dozen sets. The first drawer had offered pastels. These were in inky black, crimson, navy, grape, and an assortment of other dark colors. More drawers held camisoles, hosiery—even panty hose—and accessories galore.

What else could possibly be in the dresser outside? Cashmere sweaters or six different styles of bathing suit? They were the only things missing. Or maybe… Please God, let there be jeans. She took a deep breath, buoyed at the prospect of peeling off this dress and getting comfortable sometime in the future. The buttons at her breast pulled taut, ready to pop, and the promise of jeans beckoned, but she resisted. She had to eat lunch with Dillon first.

A doorway connected to a dressing room with a full-length three-way mirror, and a bathroom with marble countertop, gold fixtures, plush towels with small black swans embroidered in the corners, and a large, elaborate tub. Bottles of expensive perfume sat on a mirrored counter. She sniffed the Shalimar. God, how heavenly. But again, how could she use something that cost hundreds of dollars an ounce?

The sliding door on her left opened back into the sleeping area.

She stood and looked at the suite. It was decadent and super feminine. She shook her head and pursed her lips. Looking feminine and weak invited men to test your mettle. How did Karli score on the tests? Was she a steel magnolia or a delicate violet?

A knock on the outer door interrupted her musings. She crossed the suite and swung open the door.

The man standing outside pointed a finger at her chest and growled, “Don’t ever swing this door open like that again unless you want to end up dead. You check who it is first, got it?”

She bristled. “Who the hell are you?”

His face registered in her brain, and she immediately regretted her sharp words: he was her partner and superior. Damn. Her big mouth had just gotten her off on the wrong foot with someone she needed to impress.

“Mitch Weaver.” His dour expression hinted he didn’t like her or this plan, but the next words he spoke came out in a more civil tone. “Listen, Carnegie, I’m the person responsible for keeping you alive. And I don’t intend to botch that job. You be more careful, got it?”

She decided she’d best be contrite and work her way back into his good graces, or she could kiss a Ranger pin and her covert ops career good-bye before it ever got started. “Sorry. I thought the boat was supposed to be secure and I could trust my partners not to let any assassins roam the hallways.”

He scowled, and his jaw knotted. Okay, she’d goofed again. Criticism of the security perimeter he had or hadn’t established wasn’t going to earn her any points.

She pulled in a lungful of air. “Could we start over here?” She took a step back and motioned him into the suite. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Weaver. Please come in.”

His coffee-colored eyes were focused on her breasts and the damned straining buttons. But at least he no longer looked ready to kill.

He was a handsome, well-built man, and having his attention glued to her breasts sent a tiny shiver of awareness into her bloodstream. His perfectly pressed uniform showed off well-muscled, bronzed arms and legs. Everything about him, from his sun-bleached hair to his confident posture, oozed über masculinity. Damn, being checked out by a hot, hunky partner was not part of her plan for interacting with her supervisor.

He stepped through the doorway, and she shut the door. She turned and his back was toward her as he scanned the room. His wide shoulders strained against the cloth of his uniform shirt. She scanned his broad back, lean waist, and tight butt, then quickly told herself not to notice. Trying for a more professional assessment of the man, she looked for telltale bulges. She detected no sign of a gun at his hip or tucked in his waistband, but assumed he had to be carrying a weapon.

“Have a seat. I seem to have plenty.”

His gaze swept the suite beyond the sitting area. “First things first.” Without another word, he put down the box of file folders and photo albums he’d been holding, walked inside, and started his own inspection. He moved like a cat stalking a mouse, with a grace and confidence that screamed well-toned muscles and training in the skill of survival. As a male physical specimen, he ranked a ten out of ten. She wasn’t as impressed with his personality.

When he disappeared into the closet, she walked up behind him and asked, “Do you have any idea if Karli has a lover?” She motioned toward the negligees. “Women don’t usually buy these things for sleeping by themselves.”

He cocked his head to one side and studied the garments. “No one’s mentioned a lover to me. There’s nothing in her dossier about one.”

“Maybe someone could ask?”

“Dillon might know.”

“He might,” she said with a tiny snort, “but women don’t always discuss their sex life with their brothers.”

“True. We probably need to get confirmation that our info is accurate straight from Karli.”

“It would be helpful to know things like who she’s having sex with before we get too much further into this assignment.”

He nodded. “That’s understandable. And that’s part of the reason we’re keeping you on the boat and alone for now. By morning, you should have had time to study her dossier and have a better chance of pulling this off.”

“I can pull it off if I’m not working in the dark.”

He walked through the dressing room and sleeping area. At a loss for what else to do, she followed.

He strode back to the sitting room, stopped, and planted his fists on his hips. “Okay, listen up. The rules of the job are: I give the orders, you follow orders. Under no circumstances do you leave this boat alone. Got that?”

She raised an eyebrow, pressed her lips tightly together, and nodded. Every game had rules. She played by them as much as possible. But she wasn’t above risking a penalty if the yardage might result in a score.

He picked up something out of the box. “This radio is locked on the Rangers’ frequency. Kenyon, Gregory, and I have similar units that we’ll keep in our possession. Stash it in the cabin somewhere the maid won’t see it. If you need help, press the transmit button, yell, and one of us will be here in seconds.” He pointed at a button on the side. She mimed using her thumb to depress a button and transmit and nodded her understanding.

He pointed at the box. “Go through everything in here, especially Karli’s dossier and the yacht’s floor plan.” He looked her up and down. “Miss Stone probably doesn’t go around with her breasts bursting out of her clothing. Otherwise, you look the part.”

She wanted to defend herself against the breasts bursting remark, but held back. He was either a normally unprofessional jerk, or he had a big burr under his skin about her or the mission. Rangers with enough experience to be team leaders weren’t likely to be idiots, so his problem was probably the burr. Maybe her probation status had him pissed, or he preferred assignments in war zones over those on yachts. Whatever it was, she’d have to identify his problem. But this wasn’t the time.

“Karli always wears a distinctive ring on her right hand and plays with it in public.” He removed a ring from his pocket. The delicate gold band supported a large marquise-set ruby with a tiny pearl mounted on either side. “This is a duplicate. We’ve put a mini GPS unit inside, so we can track you. Wear it. Don’t take it off.”

She took the ring and slid it onto her finger. Why did he think she’d need GPS tracking? Wasn’t he supposed to be nearby every minute?

He walked to an intercom near the doorjamb. “Stay inside this cabin after you return from lunch. Keep the door locked. Use the intercom to order dinner delivered to you here. You’ll meet Dillon Stone for breakfast at eight in the morning in the breakfast nook, and afterward we’ll decide the rest of your day.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is everything clear, Carnegie?”

She bristled at the way he said her name. Somehow he made it sound like an insult. “Maybe you should call me Andrea or Andi, or better still, Karli.”

“I’ll call you Miss Stone. You’ll call me Mr. Weaver.”

Chalk a point up for him. Karli and the crew wouldn’t be on a first-name basis. “Why weren’t you at the meeting in Boston? Was there another one I missed where all these details were worked out and decided?”

“I’m based here in the islands, and this operation is in our jurisdiction. The details were worked out among our station supervisor, my team, and me. You just need to concentrate on being Karli. Let me, and the other experienced Rangers, worry about catching the would-be killer or killers. Follow orders, and we’ll get along.”

Andrea wanted to do more than get along. She wanted to impress him so he’d send a glowing report back to her bosses. Chalk up a few points of her own. This assignment was a test she was determined to ace. But so far, she didn’t have a good read on Mitch Weaver. Her life was on the line, and she should get some of the glory when the mission succeeded. Would he play fair? Could she trust him not to downplay her contribution and claim the credit for himself?

She remembered the note her second-grade teacher had sent home to her father, telling him Andrea was not a good team player. Coach had given her a good dressing-down and a lecture that still rang in her ears. But this situation was exactly why she’d never wanted to be on a team. Her brothers were a prime example of what she feared. They acted as if the team was paramount, but behind all the talk of sharing and cooperation, they were only out for their own glory. Life was a competition, and to come out on top, they’d stab a teammate in the back in a heartbeat.

Partner or not, she didn’t trust any man, woman, or child to be as concerned for her welfare as she was, and wasn’t about to start blindly trusting now. Until she knew more about Weaver, and why he was in such a snit, she’d play this with the ball held close to her chest. For the moment, she would go along with his strategy and follow his orders.

She said, “I could use some rest. Jet lag. A night to study Karli suits me fine.”

He nodded. “Remember, keep the door locked. Kenyon will deliver your dinner. When he knocks, ask what he’s brought. He’ll say ‘lady fingers.’”

Andrea glared at him, crossed her arms, and blew out her breath. If she was going to show this man she was tough and capable and earn his respect as a Ranger, her battle would be steeply uphill.

“Are you ready to go meet Dillon Stone for lunch?” he asked.

She nodded and slipped on Karli’s shoes. “Of course. I’m a professional, and I’m always ready for anything.”