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“No!”
Torres jumped as Jordan, Amy and the bodyguard all yelled the same word at the same time. But the ambassador’s eyes were knowing, even as Amy slipped into the seat she’d just vacated to rub Elaina’s back. “We’ll get you a new room.” A safe one.
The last line was unspoken but louder than her other words.
Suddenly the door swung open and the captain and another man in a starched white jacket—the second in command—entered.
“My apologies,” the captain said. “This is Julio Xavier, my staff captain.”
Jordan shook Xavier’s hand but skipped the pleasantries. “The ambassador, his daughter and their bodyguard need to be moved to a new suite right away.”
Captain Robertson nodded and motioned to Torres, who stood, still holding Elaina. “I’ll take care of it personally. Follow me.” Just before he slipped out of the office with Torres and Elaina, and their bodyguard following closely, he turned back to Jordan. “Xavier oversees security and is in charge of our prisoner.”
Jordan nodded but addressed Amy instead of the staff captain. “It’s been a long night. You should get some rest.”
Her lips pinched at his words, and she pressed flat hands together in front of her so hard that her arms shook. He could almost see the steam coming from her ears.
She was clearly exhausted, and he’d assumed that she’d be grateful for the chance to get some downtime, knowing he’d handle things here. Apparently not.
He scratched at the back of his neck and frowned at Amy, who gave him one shake of her head before turning toward Xavier and pointing toward the glass window into the single cell.
“With your permission, sir, I’d like to interview this man.”
Jordan stepped forward to interrupt. After all, he wanted to do the interrogating.
But Xavier was focused on Amy, shaking his head at her. “It’s my jurisdiction. I’ll take care of it.”
“Sir, I’m a DEA agent and that little girl’s aunt. And that man shot at me today. I’d like to know why.”
The staff captain ran his hand along his jaw, pinching his features as though in deep thought before letting his gaze land on Jordan. “Suppose you’re DEA, too.”
“No, sir.”
Xavier visibly relaxed.
“SEAL teams.”
The older man’s pinched expression immediately returned. “SEALs, huh? So you’ve worked with terrorists before.”
Jordan wasn’t quite sure where this line of questioning was going, but he’d answer nearly any question to get a chance at asking a few of his own. “No, sir. I don’t work with terrorists.”
“Ha.” Xavier’s chuckle was as dry as dust.
“What do you say you let us stick around?” Jordan said. “We’ll stay out of your way.”
Amy cleared her throat as if she wasn’t willing to make that concession, but Jordan kept going.
“Maybe ask a follow-up question or two.”
Xavier rubbed at his chin for a long moment before glancing at Cortero, who had remained silent in the background. “I guess that’s fine.”
As jails went, this one looked more like a hospital, all sterile white walls and a bench that looked like it belonged in an accessible shower. It wasn’t exactly homey, but neither did it suggest that the man in the black suit would face serious consequences for his actions. Which left Jordan with a distinct feeling of unbalance.
Xavier began his interview in a calm voice. “I’m Julio Xavier. What’s your name?”
The thug shook his head. He attempted to cross his arms but winced when he bumped his forearm. “I need to see a doctor. That guy broke my arm.”
Amy shot Jordan a look, and he shrugged. He’d take the man—or any other—down again in a minute if he threatened Amy or Elaina.
Xavier sucked on his long tooth. “First, you have to tell me your name.”
The big man squinted hard, his eyes nearly disappearing in his round face. His bald head didn’t do anything except make his face look fatter.
After a long staring contest, where the staff captain didn’t back down, the man said, “Dean.”
“Is that a first name or a last?”
Again, he stared like he was trying to figure out what Xavier wanted to hear. Jordan couldn’t stop his hands from rubbing together or force his feet to stand still. Not when there was another man out there, probably still looking for Elaina, and this man in front of him was answering none of the questions burning a hole in Jordan’s gut.
Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t doing the questioning because Jordan suddenly had patience for no one and nothing.
Come on, man. Get it going.
But the staff captain kept his pace slow and easy. “Is your first name Dean?”
The man shook his head.
“Your last?”
Finally a nod. Now they were getting somewhere. Mr. Dean had half a name, and Xavier nodded to Cortero. “Look it up.”
The security guard did as he was told, turning to the computer on the desk before him, his fingers making the keyboard clack. “First name?”
The man in black responded with silence, long enough to make Jordan’s blood begin to boil. He shot a scowl into the cell, but it was Amy who spoke up.
“Now.”
One word. One syllable. It was all she needed.
“Eric. Eric Dean.”
Jordan couldn’t contain the smile that bubbled into place, and he shot Amy an approving nod as Cortero typed in the first name.
“There’s no one by that name on the passenger manifest.”
Amy drew in a quick breath. He could feel it more than hear it. And he was pretty sure they were thinking the same thing.
This man had either lied about his name or found a back door onto the ship. With a gun.
And he wasn’t alone. There was at least one other dangerous person working with him, and they were both working for someone else. But if there was a back entrance, there could be a whole lot more than that.
“We’re going to need your fingerprints to confirm your identity,” Xavier said.
But Eric shook his head. Hard. He looked like a five-year-old refusing to go to bed. “I’ll wait to see the doctor first. And then I’ll wait for the local authorities in St. Thomas.”
His words were straightforward and clear, but something about his expression made Jordan’s skin crawl. He wasn’t scared or upset, or even resigned to his fate. He seemed to be suppressing a smile at the thought that he’d ever have to face the consequences of his actions. Either he was a sociopath or he knew something that Jordan didn’t.
Jordan guessed that when it came to this situation, there were a lot of things he didn’t know.
And that didn’t sit well with him.
Turning to Amy, he frowned, trying to figure out how to convince her that pressing Dean for answers was a dead end. But she beat him to it.
“We’re not going to get anything out of him tonight,” she said. Then she looked right at Xavier. “Will you call me if he gets talkative?”
He nodded, and she strode toward the exit. As she walked out into the hallway, Jordan waved at Xavier and chased her down. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”
* * *
Amy didn’t have the energy left to fight with Jordan about where she was going or why. In fact, all she really wanted to do was crash in her bed and sleep until this night was nothing but a bad dream.
But that wasn’t an option.
So she stopped and put her hands on her hips, looking way up into his face. “I’m going to talk with Michael. Because whoever this Dean guy is, he was serious about finding Elaina. If someone’s after her, it’s got to be because of Michael. And anyone with the audacity to try to kidnap an ambassador’s daughter isn’t going to stop after one failed attempt.”
Her stomach clenched as she spoke the words aloud.
It was one thing to know they were true. Another entirely to speak them.
Jordan didn’t look surprised in the least, and his brown eyes only turned darker. “Then I guess we better find their new room.”
He said it casually, as though they were stuck together, and she couldn’t help but blurt out the truth. “You can go, you know. Get some rest. It’s late. It’s been a long night, and this isn’t your problem. I’ll be fine.”
He shrugged, not bothering to reply to her dismissal. “Let’s swing by the captain’s office to get their new suite number.”
She frowned but didn’t have any choice except to follow him, racing to keep up with his long strides.
“I’ll handle it. She’s my responsibility.”
His eyebrows bunched together as he stared at her. “What about her dad? Isn’t she his responsibility?”
Amy’s chest tightened, her hands drawing into fists. How could she possibly explain that while she loved her brother-in-law and understood that he had an important job, lately he’d been breaking promises to his daughter and missing family dinners. She knew he cared deeply for Elaina, but he was neglecting her, all the same. Maybe Amy saw it because she knew the signs. Because she’d lived through it. But she wasn’t eager to parade the pain of her own childhood, so she squared her shoulders and clarified, “She’s my niece. And I won’t let anything happen to her.”
Jordan stopped short, and she nearly bumped into him. He faced her and bent until they were practically nose-to-nose. “Neither will I.”
And as though that closed the door on any argument, he began walking again. She had to run to catch up. But there was a piece of her—infinitely small—that smiled at his announcement. She’d rather have a partner in this than not. Jordan wasn’t the partner she’d have chosen—but when it came to her niece’s safety, she’d take any help she could get.
In no time at all they reached the captain’s office, received Michael’s new suite number and arrived at the cabin. Jordan lifted his hand to thump the side of his fist against the white wood, but Amy grabbed his forearm before he could connect.
“What are you doing?”
The lines around his mouth deepened, his eyebrows angling down. “What do you mean? I’m knocking.” He spoke like she was a child, and she glared back at him, wishing he wasn’t quite so much taller than she was.
“Elaina might have fallen asleep. So maybe don’t wake her up and scare her socks off by pounding on the door in the middle of the night.”
With a frown and a shake of his head, he stepped back and waved his hand in front of the door. “By all means. Show me how it’s done.”
Oh, she could show him a thing or two.
And she would...if Elaina wasn’t in jeopardy and there wasn’t at least one thug still free on this ship.
Rolling her eyes at him, she gently rapped on the door with the edge of her knuckles. Bump-bump-buh-buh-bump. Bump. Bump.
The door quickly opened, and Jordan whispered in her ear as Michael led them into the suite, “No fair. You didn’t tell me there was a secret knock.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Hmm?” Michael looked up, his eyes wild and dark hair thoroughly disheveled as though he’d been running his fingers through it all night. He probably had. “Did you say something?”
“No.” Amy gave the room a quick visual sweep, taking in Pete standing beside the closed door on the far side of the room. That had to be Elaina’s room, and it was clear that Michael’s bodyguard wasn’t going to let a soul past. That, at least, unwound one string from around her lungs.
Michael’s restless marching threatened to tie it right back up.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, shooting a quick glance toward the kitchenette to her left. It had a not-quite-full-size refrigerator tucked between two lengths of Formica countertop. Each slab was bare save for a coffeemaker that could make only one cup at a time. “Water? Tea? Decaf?”
Michael’s eyes were trained on the floor, and when he looked up again, they narrowed in confusion. “What?”
She glanced at Jordan, whose eyes mirrored the concern she felt. With a gentle sweep of his hands, he encouraged her to keep going.
She lowered herself to the edge of the chocolate-brown sofa. “Michael, why don’t you sit down with me for a minute? Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Keeping her voice low and even, she managed a half smile, which didn’t garner any reaction from her brother-in-law.
“Michael, what happened tonight?”
He stopped pacing, slammed one hand on his hip and stabbed the other through his hair. “You were there. You’re the one who told me.”
Taking a deep breath through her nose, she let it out through tight lips, trying to formulate a line of questioning that would lead to answers.
She needed to know what he knew. And she needed that info now.
But she was going to have to guide him there.
Jordan cleared his throat from across the room. He’d taken up a chunk of space outside the kitchen area, leaning a shoulder against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest but the relaxed angle of his neck made him seem...what? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
At ease, maybe.
And somehow it helped her breathe just a little easier.
Maybe Michael picked up on that, too. He took a step, then paused. Then he sank into an overstuffed armchair.
“The man in the cell tonight,” Jordan began slowly, thoughtfully, “have you ever seen him before?”
Shoulders slumping until his arms rested on his knees, Michael shook his head. “No.”
Jordan kept his voice low and easy. “Had Elaina ever seen him before?”
“I don’t think so. No. I’m pretty sure she hadn’t.”
Jordan scratched at his chin, his gaze going to the ceiling like he was formulating his next question. “Do you usually go on vacation with a bodyguard?”
The question made both Amy and Michael snap to attention, and she stared at Jordan.
“I’m just saying,” Jordan continued, “Lybania’s a high-risk area, so I’m sure you’re provided with a protection detail when you’re at the embassy or traveling in Lybania. But I don’t know very many ambassadors who vacation on US soil with a bodyguard.”
“We’re not on US soil,” Michael said.
Jordan uncrossed and recrossed his arms, his gaze never wavering. Silence lingered too long and too heavy to last.
Even the silent bodyguard in question shifted from one foot to the other.
Finally Michael put his hands over his face and sighed.
“I think someone is trying to kill me. And now they’re coming after Elaina.”
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