A Dangerous Arrangement (16 page)

Dean set aside Mooney's printouts, the ones he intended showing Marina later this morning. ‘It's Vivaldi.'

‘Who?'

Dean strained his ears to listen. ‘Vivaldi. My mother used to play the CD all the time. I'd forgotten.'

Dean stood, transported back in time until he was standing in the kitchen of his childhood home, watching his mother prepare dinner. His father had been gone for months, and it was just the two of them, chatting about sport and school and maybe taking the cruiser out on the weekend.

She'd died that weekend.

On that boat.

He tore himself away from the memories. ‘It's a good sign. She must be feeling better, comfortable enough to play.'

Rask picked up his cutlery and sliced off a piece of sausage. ‘She's good.'

‘Good?' Drawn by the music, Dean moved towards the door. Or maybe it was Marina drawing him downstairs, or a combination of both. ‘She's magnificent.'

Rask froze, his fork halfway between his plate and his mouth. ‘You're a fan of classical music now?'

‘Maybe I'm a late bloomer.'

Rask snorted. ‘I prefer Icelandic music.'

‘I know.'

‘Hard to beat songs about sailors and trolls.'

‘I'm going below. We're hours ahead of the cruise ship.'

While Rask went back to his breakfast, Dean made his way towards the master stateroom. Angela Logan had loved that violin concerto. How could he have forgotten something like that about his mother?

The music grew louder, and he wondered how much practise Marina could safely do without aggravating her condition. He'd sailed with blokes who'd developed RSI, mainly from working the coffee grinders. In the end, they'd lost the strength in their shoulder muscles and been forced to take on lighter jobs.

Some had abandoned sailing altogether.

Dean hesitated outside Marina's door. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to possess such a gift, and be in danger of losing it. Some parallels could be drawn between her situation and his, but no matter how much damage was done to his company, no matter how hard he was knocked down—in the end, he was still able to design and build another yacht. But if Marina couldn't play—that would be a tragedy of a whole different kind.

He rapped lightly on the door with one knuckle then was immediately overcome by doubts.

Shit!

What was he going to say?

That he felt a connection to his dead mother when he heard Vivaldi?

The rhythm changed.

The music didn't stop.

Dean closed his eyes and let the notes drift over him. He was sitting at the kitchen table, and his mother came towards him, holding a plate laden with food. She set it down in front of him and touched him lightly on the shoulder.

He smiled up at her.

When he opened his eyes, his hand was on the doorknob.

Was it wrong for him to interrupt, ask if he could come in and listen, watch?

She was used to performing in front of an audience, but this was her private practise time.

And it was
amazing
.

Before he knew it, Dean was turning the handle. The door was unlocked and opened easily. He paused, waiting for her to stop, but again the music continued. He pushed the door wider and stood on the threshold, looking in. She was sitting in one of the chairs that went with the small glass-topped dining table, back straight, chin cupped in the rest, face half-turned towards the window.

Dean watched, transfixed.

Her hair hung almost to her waist, her long, colourful skirt brushing the floor. Her left hand was a blur on the strings, her right manoeuvring the bow in quick staccato bursts. Then the rhythm changed, and her body began to sway as she guided the bow across the strings in wide, sweeping strokes.

She played from memory, eyes closed, cheeks wet, lost in another world.

Dean swallowed and stepped back.

He was an intruder here, uninvited. He had no right to invade her privacy because her music transported him to a place he hadn't gone to in many years.

This was her space, her time, her world—a world so different to his that sometimes she didn't seem real.

Like in the gondola.

And like now, when she was beyond his reach.

Doing his best not to make a sound, Dean pulled the door closed behind him.

Chapter Nineteen

Marina lowered the violin into her lap and wiped her cheeks with her fingertips. She loved that concerto. It never failed to bring back memories of her commencement recital, her father clapping enthusiastically, his proud face shining from among the audience when she'd taken her bow.

Of one thing she was certain—no-one would ever be as proud of her as her father.

She sighed and packed away her violin, trying not to dwell on how devastated he'd be when he learned of her RSI.

It was one more reason to keep the news quiet for as long as possible.

Winding her hair into a loose knot, she secured it with a Murano glass clip she'd bought in Venice and debated whether to make a flying visit to Boston when all this was over. She missed her Dad, but cataract removal hardly warranted her spending money on a long-haul flight when she might need to go later. She couldn't bear to break the news to him over Skype, then hang up and leave him and Michelle to cope alone. Or have them find out via the media.

No, when the time came, she would have to do it in person.

Pushing aside her troubling thoughts, she checked her watch. Hopefully Dean would be awake by now.

She found him in the saloon, a luxurious cross between living room, study and bar. He was sitting on the circular lounge where she'd sat yesterday. He was drinking coffee and looking through some papers.

‘Morning.'

He looked up at the sound of her voice, swept aside the papers and stood up. ‘Hello. You're looking better this morning.'

His eyes did that three-point skim thing—face, legs, face—like he wanted to really look but didn't want to offend.

‘It would be hard to look worse than last night.' Heat rose in Marina's cheeks as she thought of all he'd done for her. ‘Thank you for everything. I've never wanted to be in an ICU unit so much.'

He smiled, a brilliant flash of white that always made her heart skip. ‘I think the words were “let me die”.'

‘About the other thing, asking you to …'

‘Stay?' He waved a dismissive hand as if it were an everyday occurrence. ‘Seasickness is the absolute worst. Don't worry about it. Any hangover from the sedative?'

She shook her head. ‘Not really. I don't remember much.'

Liar! You can't stop thinking about the way he held you in the bathroom, the words of comfort he murmured in your ear.

He winked. ‘I won't tell you what we got up to then.'

She smiled, unsure if he was flirting, or trying to put her at ease after an embarrassing incident.

And then, there was the matter of the jewellery heiress.

‘Ah, Ms Wentworth.' Rask walked into the room. ‘Thank you for serenading us through breakfast.'

‘Oh, my pleasure. I can't afford to get rusty. And please, call me Marina.'

Rask's eyes widened, like it was the last thing he'd expected her to say. He glanced at Dean as if to gauge his reaction. ‘Er, very well, Hektor it is, or Rask. I answer to both. Anything this morning from our mutual friend?'

Marina shook her head. ‘I've been checking my phone every fifteen minutes.'

‘Have you eaten?' Dean asked, watching their exchange with interest.

‘Yes, earlier.'

‘Good.' He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, his relaxed stance reminding her of the way he'd looked when she first laid eyes on him in Venice. ‘Well, I guess we should bring Marina up to date.'

‘We have good news and bad,' Rask said, as Dean went over to the bar and topped up his coffee from the silver pot. ‘The flash drive contained the new designs. That's the good news. However, our friend attached new passwords to each file. The cybercrime squad and the best codebreakers in the business are presently trying to crack those passwords.'

Marina breathed a sigh of relief. ‘There's a good chance of that happening, right?'

Dean nodded. ‘Absolutely. And we have you to thank for that. Now it's time for us to help you.'

‘Our role is to support the police.' Rask's pointed remark was directed more at Dean than her. ‘Rather than taking matters into our own hands.'

Dean raised his eyebrows above his coffee cup. ‘You know I love working with the police, Hektor.'

Marina looked from one to the other, bewildered by the subtext in the conversation. Did Dean have a problem with the police?

Well, she didn't, and the more she thought about Victor, the angrier she got. He'd gone into her bedroom, hacked into her computer, and for all she knew rifled through her personal things. It was enough to make her skin crawl and her blood boil.

‘I'll do everything I can. The man has a cold heart. He knows my career means everything to me, and he doesn't care. One click, and he'll fire off an email to the SSO and everyone will know my business. It will be the beginning of the end.'

‘You don't have much faith in the people you work for, do you?' Dean put his cup down on the baby grand. ‘Isn't there some kind of support network? Surely other musicians have developed conditions like this in the past. I can't believe they'd just throw you on the scrap heap, so to speak.'

‘I have workers' comp and other insurances. Still, I can't afford to let them know I'm injured.'

Dean looked at Rask. ‘The insurance isn't much use then, is it?'

‘It's a reality of the industry. The competition's just too fierce.' Marina went over to the baby grand and ran her hand along its beautifully curved lines. Now here was a toy she could appreciate.

Her deal with Dean looked to be sealed, and she couldn't help the buzz of excitement that ran through her body at the thought of spending a little more time with him, even if that time had to be spent on a boat. ‘How far are we from Portofino?'

He cocked his head in the direction of the bridge. ‘Come with me for a sec and I'll show you.'

She followed him around the highly polished wooden bar complete with the ‘O' crest on the front, the same emblem that graced everything from Alain and Danika's uniforms to the kitchen crockery and the vanity packs in the bathroom.

They entered a hallway and Dean strolled alongside her, looking so relaxed it was hard to believe his company was in major damage control. To be fair, he was a cool customer, supremely confident in his abilities and calm under pressure. And he could afford to have the best minds in the business working around the clock with one aim and one aim only—to unlock the files and restore the company's computer system to normal.

At the end of the hallway a second spiral staircase gave access to the bow. Beyond the staircase was the bridge.

Dean waved her in ahead of him. ‘Welcome to the control tower.'

Marina stepped inside and gazed in awe at the spacious bridge. Two high-backed leather chairs were bolted to the floor facing an impressive bank of computer screens, while windows on three sides provided a 180 degree view. For the first time since embarking Marina had a sense of space, could imagine the control Dean would feel navigating the vessel from up here.

He urged her forward, pointing to each of the screens in turn. ‘Radar, sonar and the global positioning system, as well as all our other telecommunications equipment and the electronic chart display. And these are the control levers for the thrusters.'

Marina went hot all over. Thrusters had her thinking of something else entirely.

‘It's amazing. You get a whole different perspective from up here. The coastline looks so close, like you could reach out and touch it.'

He gestured to one of the chairs. ‘Take a seat.'

He sat in the captain's chair and waited as she settled herself into the other. The bow stretched in front of them, a gentle breeze drifting through the partially open windows, while all around them the sea sparkled silver in the early morning light.

Dean pointed to a screen which showed an outline of the coast. ‘We're anchored here, a mile north of where the cruise ship will come in, closer to Santa Margherita than Portofino.'

He pointed through the window to a perfect half-moon shaped beach directly in front of them. ‘That beach is part of a private estate. I know the owner, and there's no public access to the property.'

He pointed to the computer screen again. ‘See this headland, how it juts out? It's impossible for anyone to see us from the vicinity of the port area. The local police are already in town, on standby, for when the ship comes in. Of course, if Yu decides to come into Santa Margherita, there's every chance he'll spot the yacht, but that's a chance we'll have to take.'

He swivelled his chair around so he was facing her. ‘Got your bearings?'

She nodded. ‘I think so.'

‘Rask and I will run you through the plans we've put in place a bit later. In the meantime, do you think you can look at more images for us?'

‘Of course.'

They left the bridge, and to Marina's surprise he captured her hand as they retraced their steps to the saloon. Pleasure heated her body and her heart skipped a beat when he smiled down at her.

Until an image of a blonde heiress formed in her mind.

A possible reconciliation with Julia Montgomery.

Goddamn it!

The worry of protecting herself, rather than living in the moment, was really starting to piss her off. She fancied Dean Logan and she wanted to get a bit loose and ‘live it up' as Danika had said, let the future work itself out.

She gave an inward sigh.

If only it were that easy. She simply wasn't the type of person who could forget all her responsibilities and make the most of a bad situation.