Stranded (23 page)

“This is a really bad idea,” Gage said under his breath as Darcy worked the lock. Electronic key card locks were trickier to break into but not impossible. Fortunately, she'd had her fair share of experience. Under a minute and they were in.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Gage asked, glancing about the room.

“Anything that ties Ted to Abby. If nothing else, he might have some of her things stashed here. He's probably the one Mullins asked to mail Abby's belongings from Eagle Cove. Instead, he kept them and is no doubt doling them out as favors. You search the dresser and I'll take the closet.”

Ten minutes later, Darcy shut the closet door in frustration.

Gage looked up from the bottom dresser drawer. “You might want to be a tad quieter.”

“Right.” She bit her bottom lip. “Sorry.” She stalked across the cabin. “I just can't believe we're coming up empty. I thought for sure we'd find Abby's things here.”

“If Ted is involved, he'd have been smart to have dumped them. Leave no ties.”

“Then why keep the necklace and give it to Celia?”

“Who knows? Maybe he thought Celia would like it and he was into her. He probably figured no one would recognize it as Abby's or trace it back to him.”

Gage looked at the clock. “Let's quickly check Clint's stuff while we're here, but then we need to move.”

“You take the bathroom and I'll go through the rest,” Darcy said.

A few minutes later, Gage called, “Hey, Darc.”

“Yeah?” She stood, hitting her head on the top bunk. She rubbed it. That'd leave a bump.

“Come take a look.”

She found Gage standing on the commode, holding a black lockbox, the ceiling tile overhead shifted to the side. “How on earth did you even think to look up there?”

“I noticed a tile was askew.”

“Good eye.”

She set the lockbox on the lower bunk and picked the lock.

Gage paced. “We need to hurry. We're pushing our luck.”

Darcy pulled out a handful of pictures—women aboard the ship, lounging around the pool. “These look more like surveillance photos than consensual images.”

“Any of Abby?”

She thumbed through them. “No.”

He cracked the door and peered into the hall. “I've got a bad feeling we're about out of time.”

“Wait.” She fished out a plastic bag, and underneath she found a black leather notebook. She opened the bag. “Syringes, vials, and pills.” She held the bag up to the light. “You think they used this to drug Abby?”

“Time's up.” Gage stepped from the room, shutting the door behind him.

What on earth?
She slipped the black notebook in her
pocket and shoved the rest of the contents back in the box as the fire alarm went off.

Brilliant man
.

She put the lockbox back in place, slid the tile over, and shut off the lights. Stepping into the corridor, she quickly blended in with the stream of people pouring down the hall.

A hand reached out and grabbed hers.
Gage
. When they hit an intersecting hallway, they broke off from the crowd and rushed for the opposite stairwell. Now moving with a new mass of people headed for Deck 9—the designated emergency floor—she held tight to Gage's hand, moving with him to Deck 3 and then slipping out of the stairwell behind him.

They hurried to his cabin, slid inside, and locked the door.

“You don't think they'll miss us?” she asked.

“They'll be so relieved when they figure out it was a false alarm, I highly doubt they'll notice the new excursion leader and adventure journalist missing.”

“That was brilliant,” she said.

“I heard Clint's voice as the elevator doors opened and knew I had to do something. Saw the red switch not five feet from their cabin door and yanked it.”

“And, of course, Ted and Clint would follow protocol and report to their duty stations.”

“Exactly.”

“Duty stations,” she said.

“What about them?”

She loved that he knew her well enough to know she was on to something simply by how she phrased a statement or question. “Even if Clint was giving a massage when Abby went overboard, once the alarm was tripped . . .”

Gage smiled. “He'd have to report to his emergency protocol station.”

“So even if he wasn't part of the rescue crew, he probably had word of who went out. But he's so bent on protocol, protecting the cruise line . . . I doubt he'll spill.”

“Maybe he's trying to protect a friend or roommate,” Gage suggested.

“Ted? You think Clint is worried Ted's involved? The two have bunked together for years.”

“Maybe there are some answers in that black book you snagged.”

“How'd you know I took it?”

He gave her a sideways glance with a smile. “Because you're you.”

“I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult.”

“What do you think Ted's going to do when he realizes it's gone?”

“I'm hoping we'll have enough evidence to bust him before that happens.”

He reclined into one of the chairs. “Guess we better look at that book.”

Darcy sat, leaning forward, flipping through the pages. “It lists descriptions of women and notations about their cabins and various locations throughout the day.”

“We need to see if we can match those descriptions to the women we know have gone missing off the
Bering
.”

“Know?”

“There could be more. You heard what Jake said—the only time noise is raised is when the victim has family to advocate for them.”

“So there could be more than Mrs. Bowen, Abby, and the woman that fell off the balcony?”

“That reminds me . . .” Gage stood and strode to his closet.

“Me too.”

“Huh?” He retrieved his windbreaker, reached inside the pocket, and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper.

“Everyone keeps insisting that
Bering
employees leaving suddenly, like Abby did, isn't out of the norm. Maybe other crew members have vanished like Abby, only they weren't quitting . . .”

“They were being kidnapped,” Gage finished her thought. “That's a really frightening possibility.”

“We're going to need another look at those photos—show them to crew members, see if anyone recognizes the women as former crew members. See if we can't match their descriptions to ones in this book.”

Gage unfolded the paper he'd taken from his windbreaker and handed it to her. “Did you see her in any of the pictures?”

Darcy studied the photo on the missing-person flyer. “Where'd you get this?”

“Landon gave it to me last night in his tent.”

Her eyes scanned the information, freezing on the name. “Jessica Matthews?”

“Yeah.” He shifted closer. “Is that name significant to you?”

She shook her head. “Well, it explains the note we found in the Gideon Bible.”

“I still don't get it.”

Darcy clutched the missing-person flyer. “The head cheerleader was
Jessica
Hardy. My Bio I lab partner's name was Brad
Matthews
.”

“Jessica Matthews,” Gage said.

“Abby was trying to point to one of the victims she'd uncovered.”

“Smart lady,” Gage said.

“Great reporter.” She held the flyer. “I'm pretty sure she was in one of the photos, toward the bottom of the pile.”

“Are you sure?” Gage said, knowing the time pressure she'd been under when she'd found the lockbox.

“I can't be positive, but I'm pretty confident Jessica's picture was in there. I have a knack for faces.”

“That could be the solid evidence we need to tie Ted to the missing women.” He shifted. “What about the book? Is there a description fitting Jessica Matthews, now that we know what she looks like?”

Darcy thumbed through the entries. There were ten descriptions of women, but more than fifty location and date notations, though a vast number of the locations were duplicates. “White, fair, redhead, 100G. 5.4 Drop N57/W165.”

“Jessica was white, fair, slim, and redheaded. I'd say it's a probable match.”

“And the 100G?”

“The price someone was willing to pay . . . ?”

The thought made her sick. “And the rest?”

“The rest have got to be coordinates.”

“But it's incomplete. It's only showing degrees, not minutes or seconds.”

He took the book from her, studying the notations. “Maybe they are familiar drop spots so they don't need all the coordinates, just a marker to know which one.”

Darcy ran her hands through her hair, fighting the gnawing headache pulsating through her temples.

“You need to eat.”

“What?”

“You need to eat something. You look like you're about to pass out.”

“How can I think of food at a time like this?”

“You're no good to anyone if you're too weak to think, let alone fight.”

“Fine. I'll grab something.”

“I'll order room service.” He stood and strode to the phone. “What sounds good?”

“Nothing.”

“Then we'll go with a fail-safe option.” He pressed the room-service button and ordered two cheeseburgers, medium well with the works, and two sides of fries.

“Thanks.”

He smiled. “Someone's got to look out for you while you're trying to save the world.”

“Save the world, huh? That's a far cry from how you typically describe my profession.”

He sank in the chair beside her. “Not all reporters are the same—and you're definitely not as bad as most of the lawyers I know.”

She scooted forward. “Oh?”

“I owe you an apology.”

“You do?”

“Most definitely.” He reached over and clasped her hand. “You're not Meredith—nothing like her—and I'm so sorry for making you out to be.”

“I know what she did was—”

“It doesn't matter. She doesn't matter. Not anymore. What matters is you.” He clasped her hand tighter, meeting her gaze straight on, his soulful eyes brimming with emotion. “I love you, Darcy.”

“I love you too.”

He smiled, lowering his warm mouth to hers.

When he pulled back, she sank into his arms. “You weren't entirely wrong, though.”

He stroked her hair. “I wasn't?”

“No. I'm not cut out for being an undercover reporter.”

“But Abby, the women . . .”

“Don't get me wrong. I'm going to see this through to the end. Those men have to be exposed and their crimes brought to justice, but this is absolutely my last undercover case.”

He threaded his fingers through hers. “Why's that?”

“Because I know God is calling me to something different. I knew it when I first walked away, but after leaving Yancey and you, I started to doubt that. I felt restless, empty.”

“And you thought returning to a case with Abby would fix that?” he asked without any trace of judgment.

“Yes, but I was wrong. It wasn't Abby and undercover reporting He was pulling me back to.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what was it?” He brushed the hair from her face, cradling her cheek in his calloused hand.

She leaned in, hovering her lips over his. “You.” She couldn't explain it, but she knew in her soul that God was at work in Gage's life, that God was drawing him to a saving relationship with Him. She could practically see the Spirit quickening inside him. If she was wrong, she'd just told a man she could never be with that she loved him. But she did love him and he loved her, and she trusted the soft, still voice telling her Gage was turning to the Lord.

Room service arrived and Gage set the food before them. “So what's our next step?”

She loved the sound of
our
. “It all goes back to that first night, the night Abby went overboard. Whoever pulled her from the water has answers.” She popped a fry in her mouth. “There has to be a record of the rescue crew that night.”

“Of course there is.”

“It wasn't in Mullins' office.” She'd looked both times they'd broken in.

“That's not where they'd keep it.”

“Okay then, where
would
they keep it?”

“We keep our SAR logs at the fire station. Aboard ship, the most likely spot is the medical clinic.”

“Of course.” Why hadn't she thought of that? “Well, there's no breaking in there tonight. Not with everyone out and about with the medical emergency and then the fire alarm.”

“Maybe we don't have to break in to get a look.”

“What do you mean?”

“I've got an idea.” He smiled, popping a fry in his mouth—the mouth that had just been lusciously pressed to hers.