Authors: Chris Keniston
At the elevator banks Luke caught up with Herbie on his way to rendezvous with Sophia. “Hey.”
Startled out of his thoughts, Herbie glanced over his shoulder at Luke. “Oh, hi. Just going to meet the girls.”
Luke didn’t have to look at his watch. He knew what time it was. The game would probably be almost over by the time they got there. “Same here.”
Herbie patted his breast pocket, as though nervous his notes might be gone, and then waited without a word for the elevator to stop on the Gender Game floor.
Inside the spacious lounge Luke directed Herbie to Sophia’s table, except Sophia wasn’t there. Neither was Sharla. After too many years fighting bad guys in ugly places, Luke’s instincts set him on high alert before his eyes caught sight of grandmother and granddaughter on stage. Each holding a big cardboard number in front of them and running in circles around four other women.
On the other side of the stage, six men did the same thing, but the women came to a stop first. From left to right they displayed the number the game host had been repeating over the loud speaker: 164,532. The women won the point.
Next came the ship’s rendition of a human phone booth. Each group stood locked in a wide-armed circle while as many same-gender passengers crammed inside the circle. The ladies were the first to realize that raising their arms in the air allowed for more people to fit. In the end the women were ahead three to two and crowned the Better Gender. At least for tonight.
Luke had to admit it had been a long while since he’d smiled and laughed as much as he had in the last few hours in the company of Sharla and her grandmother. Though when he looked at Sharla, laughing was the last thing he felt like doing. The need to touch and hold her came fast and hard and often. Never could he remember wanting the simplest of touches more than he wanted air to breathe. Not that he didn’t want to touch and taste her all over, but there had been plenty of women whose pants he couldn’t wait to get into. Pure unadulterated lust he was used to. He was a sailor after all. Nothing unusual about a girl in every port.
But his need to just be near her was totally different. Totally new. And totally terrifying. And not much terrified a SEAL.
“Celebratory drinks are on me.” Sophia held up her near-empty glass. “I highly recommend this coconut chi chi. Delicious.”
“Just to show I’m a good sport”—Herbie smiled at Sophia—“first round is on me.”
“Not me, you two. It’s been a long day. All I want is to crawl into bed with my book.”
Visions of Sharla crawling into bed were the last thing Luke needed. What he really needed was to get on a computer to see what he could dig up on George and now Herbie. Maybe that would keep his thoughts out of Sharla’s bed.
Right
. And the Queen of England drinks bourbon not tea.
“I actually have some work to do.” Luke pushed to his feet and turned to Sharla. “I’ll walk you back.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
Sharla frowned; her grandmother beamed, and Herbie chuckled. “Might as well accept it, dear. You can’t take chivalry out of the navy.”
“Navy?” Sharla’s eyes rounded in surprise at Luke.
“Not anymore.” He wasn’t going to elaborate. If the words
Central Intelligence Agency
came out of his mouth, she’d never let him walk her to her cabin, and, though he had no intention of acting on his attraction to her, he very much wanted to escort her safely to her room. “Shall we go?”
Gathering up a light shawl, Sharla stepped out in front of him and walked to the exit. At the elevators she turned to face him. “I don’t think there’s much risk of being mugged on my way to my cabin.”
“Did I say there was?”
“The cabin stewards are all over the place, tending to rooms and doing whatever it is they do.”
“Making animals out of folded towels.”
That made her face light up. “They are good. I got a puppy dog wearing my sunglasses.”
“Monkey hanging from the ceiling.”
Her eyes did that rounded thing again. “How’d they do that?”
“With a coat hanger.”
“I hope I get one.”
“It’s a long cruise. I’m sure we’re going to see quite a menagerie.”
The elevator opened on the fifth floor. She stepped out and came to an abrupt stop when he followed her. “You really don’t have to do this.”
“I’m heading to the computer stations on the other end of the ship. You’re on my way.”
He recognized the moment she resigned herself to an escort. Her breath blew out heavily, and her shoulders relaxed. But the giveaway was the gentle shaking of her head. “You win.”
He didn’t even try to hold back the smile that took over his face. “I always do.”
* * *
Each step down the narrow hall made Sharla more intimately aware of the man at her heels. Ignoring him was becoming increasingly difficult. Especially since he seemed intent on inserting himself in her path at every turn. Which, considering they appeared to be one of the few single adults on the ship under the age of sixty, shouldn’t come as a surprise to her. She just wished he wasn’t so…much.
At her room, she slid in the keycard, dipped the handle and shoving open the heavy door, turned to glance at him over her shoulder. Determination to hurry inside and keep away from the temptation that was Luke Chapman waged a small war with the sappy girl who wanted to simply stand there and stare at him. Or worse, pull him into her arms and kiss him until they docked in the next port.
Luke bobbed his head and, to her chagrin, took a step back. “I don’t think I need to check under the bed for the bogeyman.”
Words wouldn’t come. The innocent mention of a bed in Luke’s deep hypnotic voice was enough to turn her mouth dry, and make other places wet and moist. The best she could do was shake her head, and even then she wanted very much to nod and have him come check under the bed, around the bed, on the bed. Dear heavens, what was she doing to herself?
“Good night.”
His voice had dropped an octave, and the raspy sound had her almost regretting her no-flings rule. But learning he’d been a navy man only confirmed her initial impressions and explained the determined-bachelor thing. A girl in every port and all that.
Swallowing hard, she croaked “Good night” and, closing the cabin door behind her, fell heavily against it. Her heart racing like an overeager thoroughbred. It was definitely time to make a change in her life. Someplace in South Florida there had to be a banker or an insurance salesman with piercing eyes, a voice that could melt butter and a body that screamed “take me for the ride of your life.”
Right
. And the Queen of England drank coffee not tea.
* * *
Too damn close for comfort
. When Sharla had turned to face him, Luke swore he’d seen the same raw need reflected in her eyes that pumped through his veins. He also saw vulnerability and confusion and an emotion that had him taking a step back—fear.
His every nerve ending was still hyperaware of her. She might as well be standing next to him and not in her cabin down the hall. Even though it had been hours since the casual hug, there was no shaking the feel of her. Walking past one of the many cocktail lounges, he was tempted to grab a beer to take off some of the edge, but he knew he’d need a hell of a lot more than a few drinks to get Sharla out of his system.
Time to focus. Taking the stairs to the next deck up, Luke ran through the back of his mind what he’d observed today of Herbie and George, not allowing himself to think of Sharla. Finding an isolated cubicle in the far corner, and ignoring the grossly overpriced minutes, he logged onto the ship’s Internet. Five very long minutes later he was barely able to maneuver his way through the slow-moving cyberworld in search of a middle-aged George Bailey.
This was insane. Going a different route, he typed in a personal message address for Kate, the tech genius at his office, and wrote
Hi, beautiful
. Within seconds, a box popped up in the corner of his screen.
KATE:
Back at ya, handsome. This is a surprise.
Any past interaction between him and Kate had always happened on The Company’s accounts. Since this was neither business, nor did he want his boss to discover he was not totally resting, he approached Kate on her personal account. Besides, if anything came of his inquiries, it would be best if none of this were traceable through official channels.
LUKE: On the high seas as ordered
.
I need a favor
. Her lack of response lasted a bit too long, then the little stars that showed her typing finally appeared.
KATE: If I lose my job, you get to supplement my unemployment.
LUKE: Absolutely
! He didn’t need to worry about that. Techno geeks with the skill set of Kate—and honest to boot—were not that easy to find. The Company would turn many a blind eye before letting her go.
KATE: Liar. Whatcha need?
Steadily he gave her all the info, what little there was, on George.
KATE: I may be good, Bigboy, but I’m not that good. I need something else. A birth date, hometown, high school. Even narrowing it down to men over forty and under seventy with wives named Gloria, and assuming he was born somewhere in New England because he’s a Red Sox and Bruins fan, I’ve still got triple-digit possibilities
.
LUKE:
What about Herbert Klein? Former Philadelphia policeman, retired. Former Marine, probably around
—Before he could finish typing, a new pop-up box sprang open.
KATE: Wow. Two silver stars, a Purple Heart, commendations for valor. The list goes on. He should have his own TV show.
That made Luke laugh. He could picture it now, Herbie and a couple of old war cronies in plaid shorts, white socks and sandals, setting up shop as PIs, chasing bad guys for sixty minutes every Thursday night at eight o’clock.
LUKE: I’m looking for something out of the ordinary and recent
.
KATE: Nada. This guy makes squeaky clean look dirty. Wife Marjorie passed away thirty years ago. No children. Never remarried. Shares a condo with his brother-in-law, also a widower. Volunteers for Habitat for Humanity and a local soup kitchen.
So why the hell is he following George?
LUKE: Keep poking around, please. I’ll check in tomorrow night to see if you found anything
.
KATE: Will do, and don’t break too many hearts.
He knew she was grinning at him. Kate had worked IT at The Company for eons before he’d arrived. She was over forty and dressed like a college coed on the make. He had no idea if she was married or single, had kids of the two or four-legged variety or how the heck she managed to find obscure data in the blink of an eye, but she always came through.
KATE: Got something. May not mean anything but, around six months ago, his brother-in-law moved some serious change around and then nada.
LUKE: How serious?
KATE: Almost all he had. Fifty thousand.
Luke whistled. Still had no idea how she accessed information like that so fast, but, if she were here, he’d get down on bended knee and kiss her feet.
LUKE: You’re still my only girl. Keep working on Bailey
.
KATE: Slave driver.
Cringing at the amount of time he’d spent logged on to the ship’s computer, he signed off and decided to see if Mr. Bailey was still out and about. Keeping an eye on the guy would be easier on Luke than going back to his cabin to crawl into bed alone, stare at the ceiling and think of Sharla. Nope. R & R was overrated. Time to track down one George and Gloria Bailey.
Chapter Ten
When the hell had he grown so much older? Luke rolled over and climbed out of bed at…9:00 a.m. It was a SEAL’s standard to be fit, to be at the ready anytime, anywhere. The last two years under deep cover had kept him from partying all night, but who knew at only thirty-four that a bunch of ladies in red-hats could wear him out?
Especially the one in the wide-brim hat with an hourglass figure. The woman laughed from deep down in her gut, and her smiles always shone in her eyes. Cougar or not, any other time or place, and he would have been slipping and buttering a whole other kind of nipple. Instead they’d done one nipple shot after another, sang along with the piano man—who could most likely outplay Billy Joel—and, when the group of partying females finally called it a night at four in the morning, his sides hurt from laughing; his head hummed from too much booze; and Sharla was still the only woman on his mind.
Splashing cool water on his face now, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and then dared to look into the mirror. His hair sticking out every which way, and his eyes bloodshot with dark circles underneath, he’d scare his own mother. He had a little less than an hour before meeting Sharla and the gang for morning trivia. If he could manage a fast shower and shave without his head rolling off his shoulders, he could slip in a couple of cups of java before having to face the world.
Three cups of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs with bacon later, Luke felt almost human. If he wanted to keep going with an early morning fitness routine—so he could return to work when his thirty days were up—there would have to be no more partying with the red-hat ladies. Just to further clear his head, he’d make sure to hit the gym after trivia and make up for the morning workout he’d skipped.