A Dangerous Arrangement (3 page)

Cataracts. Not life threatening but invasive enough to send a person blind if they weren't attended to.

Marina breathed a sigh of relief and keyed in a text to her sister. ‘I'm on tour, Michelle. I'll call in the next day or so. Go ahead and organise the op. Don't worry about the money.'

Don't worry about the money!

Marina put a hand to her forehead. She could afford it, provided she kept her tenure with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra.

And if she didn't?

There was no way she could afford to keep Michelle at home caring for their father with only a teacher's wage to rely on.

Marina dropped the phone in her lap and turned to gaze at the gondolas bobbing up and down on the water. Vlad was right. She should get out and do something. Sitting around the hotel room would achieve nothing. She had to stay positive. Her performance career wasn't over yet.

Curling her fingers into a fist, she prayed the rest time had been long enough.

Her hands were her livelihood.

Without them, she was nothing.

Chapter Three

At six in the evening the Mercurial Hotel was a busy place. Porters manoeuvring trolleys threaded their way through the crowded lobby. Tourists, mostly families, formed an untidy queue outside the Canal Ristorante in the hope of securing a table for the early sitting.

From his spot on a comfortable sofa, Dean watched the steady procession of guests from behind his newspaper. Progress reports continued to flow in from Sydney, relayed via Rask who'd stayed on the yacht to coordinate the investigation. According to the itinerary, Marina Wentworth was staying at this hotel prior to boarding a cruise ship in the morning.

Dean glanced down at his silent phone. He had no idea what she looked like, but if he wanted to find Victor Yu, he needed to locate Marina Wentworth before she embarked on that ship.

Eyes gritty from lack of sleep, Dean looked towards the concierge desk where a woman with an American accent, New Yorker maybe, was booking a water taxi for tomorrow morning. No prizes for guessing the reason for the concierge's overattentive manner. The woman was striking. There was no other word for her. She wore a blue silky top and tight white jeans, a silver belt draped over her hips and sandals with a blue stone in the centre. Long, dark hair fell in loose waves to just above her waist.

As if she sensed someone watching, the woman turned and scanned the people in the lobby. For a full second her eyes locked on his, and while Dean's heart might have stopped, another organ lower down stood up and took notice. Every facial feature was a fraction overemphasised, from the arched brows to the large vivid eyes, from the cut-glass cheekbones to the slightly wide mouth and full lips.

He smiled instinctively, but the woman had already turned back to the concierge.

Dean looked away. It had been a long time since a woman had evoked such an immediate physical response, especially when she'd barely glanced at him. And now wasn't the time to be distracted by a beautiful woman. He was here to find the teacher who'd leased out her second bedroom to Victor Yu, a week before he'd started work at the office.

The Taiwanese citizen had proved elusive, while the woman had been easier to trace. Her car had been left at Sydney airport, though a neighbour charged with the job of caring for Wentworth's cat insisted Marina was travelling throughout northern Australia.

So, the violin teacher was a liar, as well as a possible accomplice.

It was enough to set Dean's teeth on edge.

He lowered his newspaper as a flash of blue appeared in his peripheral vision. The American woman was walking towards the hotel entrance, shoulders straight, dark hair a striking contrast with her white jeans.

And then the bellhop, who'd jumped at Dean's inducement to point her out, opened the door with a flourish and looked directly at Dean.

‘Enjoy your evening, Ms Wentworth.'

Dean froze, though his heart kicked against his ribs so hard it almost robbed him of breath.

No way!

There had to be some mistake.

He stood, flung aside the newspaper and with his eye on the bellhop, strode towards the entrance.

With a faint nod the young man opened the door, and then Dean was on the street, punching in Rask's speed-dial number.

Rask had a theory: Yu and Wentworth had become lovers, the hacker had spent six months working his way through every security protocol in the office, and six months working his way into his landlady's pants. Together, they'd formed an image of a lonely, middle-aged woman, maybe coerced into breaking the law by a lover she didn't want to lose. But if this woman was Yu's accomplice, he and Rask had failed miserably in their profiling. This woman could have any man she desired.

Rask picked up after the fourth ring. ‘Yes, boss.'

‘Where's the photograph of Marina Wentworth?' Dean spoke in a low voice, dodging around strolling tourists, eyes fixed on the woman up ahead.

‘They're still searching. Apart from the itinerary, there was nothing on the desktop computer except orchestral music. Why?'

‘I might have found her, and she's nothing like we imagined. She's American. A looker, a
serious
looker.'

He sidestepped a queue of people waiting for the water taxis. ‘It doesn't add up, Rask. If Yu's seduced this girl, he's punching above his weight. Or he's offered her money.'

There was a short silence, and in his mind's eye Dean could see Rask's dour expression as he digested this latest piece of information.

‘How did you find her?'

‘I paid off the bellhop.' Dean broke into a jog as the woman turned onto the crowded Rialto Bridge. ‘Look, I understand she'll have all her identification on her, and her photographs are probably on a laptop or something, but there must a way to get a shot of her. Have you tried the neighbour?'

‘I'll ask Sydney to make it a priority. We're still trying to establish if Yu's left the country. The airline confirmed Wentworth paid for two seats, but she was the only one who checked in.'

Dean slowed to a walk at the top of the arched bridge, keeping his eye on Marina as she joined the queue for the gondolas. ‘Who was the second seat for?'

‘We're trying to find out. We think it was empty.'

Dean frowned, keeping Marina in his sights as he tried fitting the pieces together. Usually the only people who reserved two seats were the extremely overweight. And people like him, who would ordinarily fly business class but had missed out on a seat because of a late booking. On those rare occasions he'd purchased two seats so he could sleep on the plane. But to his way of thinking, it was unlikely for someone on a teacher's wage to blow money like that.

‘She's taking a gondola ride.' Dean stepped around a colourful display of leering Venetian masks. ‘As I said, it doesn't add up. If she's part of this, wouldn't she be holed up somewhere, not flitting around playing tourist? I'm not sure we're on the right track.'

‘We're on the
only
track. She left the country the day her flatmate locked up your entire system. We haven't located him, so we stick with her.'

A gondola laden with tourists moved away from the dock and into the busy Grand Canal. The moment it moved off, another took its place.

‘Any trouble with the paparazzi?'

The question took Dean by surprise, though it shouldn't have. Outmanoeuvring the paparazzi was a favourite part of Rask's job.

‘No sign of them yet.' Dean lifted his sunglasses from where they hung over his camera strap and slipped them over his eyes. The paparazzi hadn't crossed his mind since he'd piloted the chopper into Cannes and made the connecting flight to Venice. Still, Rask's reminder was timely. The last thing he needed was the press on his tail while he was shadowing Marina Wentworth.

‘Get me that shot,' he said into his phone. ‘Gotta go.'

He disconnected the call before Rask could answer, continuing down the bridge's steep decline until he was standing on the opposite bank.

Shouldering his way through the group of tourists, he murmured apologies and pointed up ahead as if someone were keeping him a spot in the queue. A few people frowned but no-one really objected, and moments later he was standing directly behind Marina Wentworth.

She stood statue straight, the strap of her handbag hanging from one creamy shoulder, a light jacket looped over her left arm. She paid no attention to the people around her, or the activity on the canal for that matter. She just stood there, a light breeze lifting long strands of her hair so he caught the scent of almond and vanilla.

Dean clenched his hands at his sides. He wanted to take hold of her shoulders, swing her around, look into those beautiful vivid eyes and extract a confession.

But he couldn't.

Not yet.

If Marina Wentworth became aware of his presence she didn't let on, and for the first time Dean wondered if she would recognise
him
. Despite the ‘no camera' policy in head office, Yu could have snapped him and shown her a photograph. It was unlikely though. She'd looked right at him in the lobby without a flicker of recognition, and his profile didn't appear on the website, or in any of the company's documentation. Plus, with Rask close at hand to deal with the paparazzi, he rarely appeared in the gossip magazines.

Dean shifted his attention to the shouting gondoliers and considered his next move. When Ms Wentworth with the American accent stepped into a gondola, he needed to be right there alongside her.

***

Marina felt the man's presence close up behind her. Warmth emanated from his tall, broad body, even as it cast a shadow over her.

Her thoughts shifted to the good-looking man she'd turned to find watching her in the hotel lobby. The one with the brooding brown eyes and stylishly cut hair. The one who'd almost smiled. The one who'd sent heat surging through her body with a single glance.

The queue shuffled forward as another group of eight climbed aboard a gondola. She was moving closer to the water's edge, legs growing more unsteady by the minute.

Damn Vlad for talking her into this!
All she wanted to do was go back to the hotel, pack her things for tomorrow and go to bed.

‘Are you a single?' A warm, rich voice broke into her thoughts as the man behind drew level with her.

Marina looked up, surprised and dismayed to hear an Australian accent. It was the man from the hotel, though trendy Ray Bans covered his eyes and his hair looked a shade lighter in the late afternoon sun.

Feigning disinterest, she gave him a cursory glance. She needed to kill this conversation right now. ‘Single by choice.'

His face broke into a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, skin tanned to the smooth caramel colour ski instructors often boasted.

‘I didn't ask if you were single.' He pointed to the gondolier. ‘He's saying there's two single spots left on this one. I'm a single.'

‘Oh.' Heat suffused Marina's face as she turned to look at the gondolier. Sure enough, he was nodding in their direction and beckoning them forward.

She opened her mouth to apologise, but the man's hand was already in the small of her back, hustling her along. People stood aside to let them through, and then the gondolier was pocketing their cash and pointing beyond the three couples already seated.

‘Take the two up front.'

‘Great.'

Her touchy-feely companion clambered aboard like he did it every day of the week. And then it was her turn. Mouth so parched her tongue was plastered to the roof of her mouth, Marina stared at the moving gap between the gondola and her feet.

‘Come on.'

The Australian was standing in the boat, perfectly balanced, offering her his hand while the gondolier held the vessel steady with his oar.

Steeling herself against the sight of the clay-coloured water churning below, Marina held out her good hand. Warm, strong fingers wrapped around hers, and with a firm tug he pulled her towards him, leaving her no choice but to step across the gap.

With her right hand engulfed in his, and favouring her left, Marina couldn't stop her shoulder striking him in the chest, though she needn't have worried about knocking him off balance. He just stood there, moving with the boat, solid and relaxed.

And then his mouth curved in a brilliant smile. ‘You right?'

‘Yes, thank you.' She pulled her hand free, bare skin brushing the soft material of his tee-shirt, her hip bumping against a muscular thigh encased in a stonewashed pair of Nudie jeans.

‘These things aren't exactly roomy.'

Aware of him behind her, Marina made her way to the front and sat down, grabbing at the side as the gondola rocked on the wake of a passing water taxi.

Beside her, the good-looking guy was trying to get comfortable on the small piece of wood that constituted a stool. While she could tuck her legs into the limited space, his were altogether too long. He shifted around, trying to get his bottom on the loose cushion, but it kept falling off.

Feeling better now she was seated, Marina scooped up the pillow and slid it back onto the seat, just as he sat down again—hard.

She gasped, unable to move as she stared at her good hand trapped between the denim-clad cheeks of his warm, firm butt.

He swung around. ‘Oh shit—I'm sorry.'

He levered himself up, taking his weight off her hand.

‘No problem.' Marina yanked her fingers free, chest contracting with silent laughter. It really was one of those ‘oh shit' kind of moments. ‘Just my standard pick-up move.'

‘Yeah?' He flashed her an amused look and somehow managed to arrange his large feet in the narrow space. ‘I think we got the cheap seats.'

He was sitting sideways, facing her, legs pulled up so high his knees brushed against her elbow. He looked so uncomfortable in the cramped space, she had to turn away and look out over the canal to hide her smile.