Authors: Rebecca York
Again he had to rest. This time he stared at the dead man on the floor, thinking about where to hide the body.
When the answer came to him, he laughed.
He was on a ship. All he had to do was toss the evidence overboard. Yeah, if he could get the body to an open deck without being questioned.
His brain was still fuzzy, and he struggled to plot out a plan of action. Finally, he decided that his best chance was in the guard’s uniform. Too bad the shirtfront was soaked with blood. But the good news was that the blue color would hide some of the mess.
He stripped off the guy’s shirt and pants, then took the shirt into the bathroom. First, he took a long drink of cold water. It helped to clear his head a little, which only made his lack of recent memories more disturbing. As he searched his mind for facts, he washed out as much of the blood from the shirt as he could.
The hair dryer at the sink came in handy for partially drying the fabric.
He dressed in the uniform, thankful that the clothing fit him reasonably well. His own clothes were in a heap on the floor where he must have torn them off. He folded them up so he could carry them over his arm.
Remembering the specifications of his own room, he went to the closet where he found the spare blanket neatly wrapped in a large plastic case.
Since rigor mortis hadn’t yet set in, he was able to fold the body up and stuff it into the bag.
After making sure that the safety was off, he slid the gun into his pocket, hoping he didn’t have to use it.
There was still a large bloodstain in the middle of the carpet, but that was going to be someone else’s problem.
He stripped the spread off the bed, and folded it around the plastic case. Then he sat down heavily at the desk, resting again as he pulled out the
Windward
guest literature and determined the closest open deck and the best way to get there. He thought he was on Deck Three. He’d have to verify that. If so, he could get to the outside on Deck Four.
He was exhausted beyond belief, and it was tempting to simply leave the body in the room, but it would start to smell, security would come to investigate, and they’d find the man had been mauled by a large animal. Better to follow his original plan.
After taking several deep breaths, he got up and wiped off anything he might have touched before unlocking the door. Seeing the corridor was empty, he picked up the wrapped-up body and started down the hall, keeping his head down.
He made it to the stairwell without incident, and saw from the number on the door that Deck Four was the next one up.
Grimly he started to climb. But he’d made it only halfway when he heard voices above him.
He couldn’t run back. His only option was to stop where he was and hope for the best.
Leaning against the wall, he put down the wrapped body and got out the gun, hoping he wasn’t going to have to use it.
A young man and a woman came into view. He was blond and muscular. She was slender and Asian, and groaning softly as the man spoke quietly to her, supporting her weight. Naked to the waist, she looked like she’d been whipped.
As the man spotted a guard holding a gun, surprise and anger clouded his face. “What are you going to do, shoot us and claim we’re part of the mutiny?”
“No.”
The man snorted.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” Cole advised.
“What do we have to lose?”
“Everything. Just go on past. I’m not going to stop you.”
“Why should we trust you?”
“Because I’m on your side.”
The man answered with a harsh laugh.
The woman dug her fingers into his arm. “Come on,” she whispered.
To his relief, they slipped quickly past him. Feeling queasy, he waited until they were a level down before picking up his bundle and heading up the stairs again. To his vast relief, he saw no one else.
On Deck Four, he stepped out of the stairwell and headed for the exterior of the ship.
He crossed quickly to the railing, hoisted the body up, and threw it over the side, hearing it splash as it hit the water and seeing the wrapping spread out in the water.
He hadn’t weighted down the package because he’d known he couldn’t carry anything extra. Maybe that wouldn’t matter, since the
Windward
was moving at a good clip. Maybe sharks would take care of the evidence.
It was tempting to keep the guard’s weapon, but having the gun in his possession was too incriminating. After a moment’s hesitation, he tossed the gun over the side as well.
Again, he heard footsteps and faded into the shadows. This time it was an older man and a young woman, laughing and talking, obviously drunk. Hopefully, they wouldn’t remember a random guard out on the deck.
When they had passed, he ducked into a storage closet and stood leaning against the wall. Had he really gotten away with murder?
Not murder. Self-defense he reminded himself.
Yeah, but the guard had only been doing his job.
On this hellhole of a ship.
Those thoughts chased themselves around in Cole’s mind as he pulled off the uniform and put on his own clothes. After emerging from the closet, he tossed the uniform over the rail.
Now what?
Was it better to go back to the cabin?
Or leave Emma hanging out to dry on her own?
No choice at all, really. But where was his room, exactly. Deck Three?
No, they’d been moved to Deck Seven. Somehow he managed to dredge up the room number.
Almost too exhausted to stand, he headed for the stairs again. Centuries later, he finally located his room.
He couldn’t find his key, and when he knocked on the door, nothing happened.
He knocked again, louder.
The door flew open, and Emma stepped into his line of vision.
A whole wealth of confused emotions welled inside him. Relief. Apology. Shame.
What he saw in her eyes was anger—which had to be fueled by worry.
“Where in the hell have you been?”
He hadn’t been sure how he was going to act when he came in. Now he understood that he had to be Cole Mason.
As he shoved past her into the room, her voice followed him.
“I’ve been worried sick.”
She stopped as she took a good look at him, and he could only imagine what she was seeing, if he looked as bad as he felt.
“Cole?”
“Be right back.” He staggered across the room, made it to the bathroom, where he threw up the water he’d drunk. He stayed kneeling in front of the toilet longer than he needed to because he wasn’t viewing his immediate future with happy anticipation.
After flushing the mess away, he grabbed a glass, filled it and cautiously rinsed out his mouth before taking a few cautious sips. He felt like hell and when he raised his face to look in the mirror, he was shocked by his appearance.
His face was pale. His skin sweaty. His hair mussed. If he’d seen this man on the street, he’d think he was recovering from a bender. Which was impossible in this case. A werewolf couldn’t drink enough to get wasted.
That couldn’t be what had precipitated this whole mess. But what?
Behind him, Emma appeared in the doorway. Her expression had changed from anger to worry. “What happened?”
He knew part of it. The part he couldn’t tell her. And the rest of it was locked somewhere inside his churning brain.
oOo
Karen sat hunched over on the bunk in the cell where she’d been moved, wondering if she was ever going to get off the
Windward
. And wondering if she’d view the world the same way when and if she did.
As dark thoughts filled her mind, she shuddered and clasped her arms around her shoulders. She had dozed off when she sensed someone outside her cell.
Fearing she’d see another burly guard—or Del Conte, she looked up and found herself staring at a tall brunette woman wearing a green cocktail dress.
The woman gave her a sympathetic look. “How are you doing?”
Was it a trick question? What should she answer?
Finally, she shrugged.
“I’m sure this must be hard for you.”
“Yes.” She admitted, struggling to keep her voice from trembling.
“It would be good if you could give me some help.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing difficult.”
“Who are you?”
“Stella. A woman who works on the ship.”
Karen tipped her head to the side. “What do you do?”
“I entertain guests.”
Karen nodded, thinking that was probably a sucky job, no matter how polished and confident this woman looked.
She was carrying a large envelope. From it she pulled a couple of photographs, which she turned toward Karen.
“Do you know this man and woman?” she said.
Karen studied the picture. The man was dark-haired and tough looking. The woman was a pretty blond with short hair.
“Am I supposed to know them?”
This time it was Stella who shrugged.
Karen kept her gaze fixed on the pictures. If she said she knew these people, would it help her get out? And if she said she knew them, then what? As she stared at the pictures, she had a flash of memory.
“I think I saw them,” she murmured.
The woman’s shoulders straightened. “Where?”
“I think they came running through that room with the waterfall where I was at first.”
“Yes, they did come through there. But you hadn’t seen them before that?”
“No.”
“Think carefully. You’re sure?”
“Yes,” she whispered, wishing she could be more helpful.
The woman’s voice hardened. “You will be punished if you are lying.”
Fear twisted Karen’s stomach. “I’m not lying. I mean maybe she looks like somebody who was in my school.”
Stella gave her a sharp look. “Your school?”
Karen shrugged. “I mean, I guess she wouldn’t be here.”
“What was her name?”
“Emma something. I don’t remember.”
The woman gave her a sharp look. “But it was Emma?”
“I’m not absolutely sure. I mean, it probably wasn’t her.”
“What school?”
“The Carlton Academy.”
The woman spun on her heel and marched away, leaving Karen sick and shaking. Had she done the right thing? Or not?
On this ship of horrors, how could you know?
oOo
“What happened to you?”
The question sent a wave of panic surging through Cole. When he looked away from Emma, she grabbed his arm.
He dragged in a breath and let it out. He couldn’t tell her the part with the guard and the wolf. Not now, because that would be a death sentence for both of them.
The rest of it was a blank. He’d pushed the bout of amnesia out of his mind during the crisis with the guard. Now it was back in the center of his mind.
He watched Emma’s expression harden as she took in his reluctance to come clean with her. “You mean you won’t tell me.”
Anger and fear tangled on his face.
Punching out the words, he said, “I mean I don’t know!” At least that was partly true.
He crossed the room, dropped onto the bed and lay down with his shoes on the spread, his arm over his face and his eyes closed. To his chagrin, he suddenly started to tremble, and he couldn’t stop.
oOo
Emma’s chest tightened. She had been so angry she’d been ready to slug Cole. Now she could see that something had shaken him to his core. Had he gotten dragged into some S and M scene that he couldn’t handle? She didn’t know, but all she wanted to do was help him. When she crossed the room and eased down beside him, he tensed.
“Leave me alone.”
She reached to cup her hand around his shoulder. Keeping her tone gentle, she said, “This is a . . . seductive place. Did you do something you don’t want to talk about?”
“Do you think I’m lying?” he asked in a gritty voice. “What do you think—that I whipped some slave and fucked her—and I don’t want to tell you about it?”
It took several moments before she answered, “I hope not.”
“Jesus!” When he tried to wrench himself away, her grip on his shoulder tightened. Maybe he didn’t really want to get away because he flopped back onto the bed. Or maybe he didn’t have the strength to escape.
That in itself was terrifying. She’d never seen Cole Marshall like this, and she was realizing how much she’d come to rely on his steady dependability.
“You really don’t know?” she murmured, thinking that they were in a very bad situation. In the first place, somebody could be listening to this conversation. Probably they
were
listening. And she’d better keep that in mind.
She thought back over their dialogue. Had they said anything that an ordinary man and woman wouldn’t say to each other?