UNDER SUSPICION

For FBI agent Sam Steele, there’s no room for error or emotions on his latest undercover assignment. Getting close to gallery owner Jennifer Robbins while on an Alaskan cruise is the only way to catch her dealing stolen art. Out on the icy seas, Jen suddenly goes from suspect to victim when she’s targeted by a deadly enemy. And Sam’s mission goes from investigating an art crime to protecting the woman who’s begun to melt his heart. As danger looms closer, he’ll do anything to save her life—even if it costs him his own.

The mist rolling over the water obscured the view of land, kind of how Sam felt about this case.

And if he didn’t get his bearings soon, he might just run aground. The fact that almost getting killed hadn’t been enough to convince Jen to divulge her secrets made it look as though she was neck-deep in the art fraud.

On the other side of the balcony divider, he heard Jen cry out. He scaled the balcony rail, swung around the partition and hurried to her side as she wrestled a blanket in her lounge chair.

“Jen,” he whispered. “It’s just a dream. You’re okay. Wake up.”

Her eyes flew open. “Sam? What are you doing here?”

“You cried out. I thought you were in trouble.”

“I must’ve been dreaming. Every time I close my eyes I see his face, see him lunging toward me.” She shivered.

Against his better judgment, Sam folded her in his arms. He couldn’t help himself. She looked utterly stricken. He wanted to say It’s okay. You’re safe now. But he didn’t know that. In fact, he doubted it with every ounce of his being.

SANDRA ORCHARD

hails from the beautiful countryside of Niagara, Ontario, where inspiration abounds for her romantic-suspense novels—not that she runs into any bad guys, but because her imagination is free to run as wild as her Iditarod-wannabe husky. Sandra lives with her real-life hero husband, who happily provides both romantic and suspense inspiration, as long as it doesn’t involve poisons and his dinner. But her truest inspiration comes from the Lord, in the beauty of a sunrise over the field and the whisper of a breeze, in the antics of a killdeer determined to safeguard its nest and the faithfulness of the seasons. She enjoys writing stories that both keep the reader guessing and reveal God’s love and faithfulness through the lives of her characters.

Sandra loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website, or at www.Facebook.com/SandraOrchard or c/o Love Inspired Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

Perilous Waters

Sandra Orchard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.

—Isaiah 43:2

To my husband, my favorite person with whom to celebrate life’s special moments.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to my daughter Christine for patiently deciphering and typing my handwritten manuscript. Words flow much faster from a pen than a keyboard for me. Thank you to my faithful accountability partner and prayer warrior, Patti Jo Moore, for helping me through the rough spots. And thank you to my critiquers—Wenda Dottridge, Vicki McCollum, and Stacey Weeks—whose unique insights enriched the story in many ways.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

EXTRACT

ONE

“Please tell me those women aren’t why you’re really in town.”

Sam Steele shifted his gaze from the gorgeous heiresses dining in the corner of the dimly lit Seattle bistro and grinned at his brother. “They’re not why I’m in town.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Right. Now tell me the truth.”

“What?” Sam brandished his most offended tone, hoping not to give away that Jake had nailed his mission. “Can’t I look at a pretty woman?” Pretty hardly did Jennifer Robbins justice. His fingers itched to tug her blond locks free of the tidy bun she’d tamed them into.

“Sure, but I thought you gave up women after that jezebel almost cost you your job.”

Sam gritted his teeth at the reminder of the woman he’d blithely dated for weeks until she’d manipulated him into being late for a rendezvous with a critical informant, who’d later turned up dead, and he’d had to prove he was merely a gullible idiot and not complicit in the plot.

Sam forced his shoulders to relax, sipped his water.

“Still a sore spot, I see.” Jake smirked. “Want me to ask the twins to join us?”

“You know them?” The question came out strangled. Investigating women his brother knew would not go over well with his family, or his boss.

“The heiresses to the Robbins Art Gallery?” Jake said in a do-I-look-like-I-was-born-yesterday tone. “Everyone in Seattle knows them.”

Sam leaned forward, holding his brother’s x-ray-vision gaze without so much as a flinch. “They’re not why I’m in town. I’m here to join our parents, you and my adorable nephew Tommy on an Alaskan cruise. Remember?”

Jake studied him a moment longer but thankfully didn’t question Sam’s sudden generosity in surprising them with the cruise tickets. He probably didn’t want to risk being asked to pitch in. Jake drew back his hands, palms out. “Okay, I believe you.”

No, he didn’t. Bringing Jake here tonight had been a mistake. He knew Sam specialized in the FBI’s art crime investigations, so he was bound to be more suspicious than ever when they “ran into” the women on the cruise next week.

Jake glanced over his shoulder again.

This time the twin sister, Cassandra, noticed and offered an inviting smile.

Terrific. Just what Sam didn’t want. Now she’d be suspicious of them on the cruise, too. Could anything else go wrong?

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” Sam ordered. “Mom would kill you if you brought home a girl like that.”

The corner of Jake’s mouth hitched higher. “So I guess that means you’d prefer the more conservative-looking one? Her name’s Jennifer, in case you’re interested.”

Yeah, but Sam didn’t let on that he already knew. He knew more about the pair than Jake could imagine. Like the fact that their parents died in a tragic car accident when the girls were seventeen. That their former guardian, longtime family friend and gallery curator, Reginald Michaels, was their estate trustee until their twenty-fifth birthdays. That, although identical twins, the two women couldn’t be more different.

Cassandra wore too much makeup, and flashy designer outfits that revealed more than they concealed. Meanwhile, Jennifer was as buttoned-up as they came in her navy suit and sensible shoes. She didn’t seem to favor the nightclub photo ops like her sister, either. In fact, in the few publicity shots Sam had managed to dig up of the reclusive twin, her gaze held a lost-soul quality that had tugged at something deep inside him.

He shook away the thought. He shouldn’t be noticing a suspect’s ocean-blue eyes, except to be able to identify her in a lineup.

“She goes to church,” his brother said, with a hint of amusement. “Has been going for a while.”

“Good to know,” Sam acknowledged, letting Jake have his fun if it meant diverting him from Sam’s true interest in the women. But the backhanded reference to Ms. Jezebel stung. She’d orchestrated their acquaintance at his church, and because she hadn’t seemed to have any affiliation to any of his cases, he’d trusted her far too easily. A mistake he never planned to repeat. “And you know this how?” Sam asked, suddenly curious how Jake happened to know so much about the women who were supposed to be out of their league.

Jake leaned back and took a long draw of his ginger ale before answering. “She goes to the same church as the fire chief.”

Sam steeled himself against a spark of doubt about the woman’s guilt. Jennifer might not work at the gallery like her sister, but as part owner, she’d have some inkling of their illegal dealings. Why else would her computer’s IP address and cell phone have logged as many as six searches of the FBI’s National Stolen Art Information Registry in the past week and a half—the last one while she was in the gallery earlier this evening?

According to the Anchorage office, the tip that a stolen Native American painting had surfaced in a Skagway gallery came from a reliable source. A wiretap on the gallery’s phone had logged several suspicious calls from the Robbins Gallery. Two days later, Cassandra and Jennifer were booked on an Alaskan cruise.

Across the bistro, the women asked for their bill.

Sam pushed aside his half-finished dessert. “You done?”

Jake shoveled tiramisu into his mouth and shook his head.

The women stood, and Jake must’ve guessed at Sam’s real reason for asking. Well, hopefully not the real, real reason.

Reginald Michaels’s suspiciously worded conversations with the Skagway gallery had convinced Sam the twins’ roles would be pivotal in smuggling the pieces south. He needed to know for sure.

In his six years on the FBI’s art crime team, Sam had specialized in recovering stolen art, usually by posing as an unscrupulous private collector willing to overlook a masterpiece’s provenance for the opportunity to own it. First he’d cultivate the seller’s trust, then he’d set up the buy, and a combined team of FBI agents and local law enforcement would have his back. But time hadn’t been on his side in this case.

Jake shoveled in another mouthful then quickly wiped his face. “Okay. I’m good.”

By the time Sam paid the bill, the women had just about made it to their car, which was perfect because Sam could say bye to Jake and quietly tail the pair to their next destination. The late-June sun was sinking fast, which would make it easier to follow unobserved.

A scream split the air. One of the twins.

Jake hoofed across the parking lot with Sam on his heels, more than a little uneasy about meeting the twins this way. When he was close enough to see they were unharmed, he slowed and let his brother take the lead. The last thing he needed on this case was more complications.

“Are you two okay?” Jake asked.

The women, clearly shaken, both nodded.

Keeping his distance, Sam rounded behind them, taking in the slashed tires and the smashed driver-side window of the Ford Focus. An economy car. Another of the heiresses’ anomalies.

Jake pulled out his cell phone. “Did you see who did this?”

“No, but—” Jennifer’s voice wobbled as she reached through her shattered car window “—he left this.”

“Don’t touch it!” Moving in quickly to intervene, Sam caught her arm. The sheer panic in her eyes sliced off his breath. That and the ivory-handled knife pinning a torn note to the driver’s seat headrest. On the paper, blood-red letters said You’ll pay.

A chill skittered down his neck. Oh, this was a big complication.

* * *

“Let go of me.” Jennifer tried to jerk free of the man who’d appeared out of nowhere in the secluded parking lot. But he held her arm fast while Cassandra just stood and stared.

“Hold still. You’re bleeding.” The man pressed a tissue against her palm.

“What?” Jen glanced down at his hand holding hers so determinedly. Oh. He meant to help her. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she stopped resisting.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said in a rumbly voice that soothed her frayed nerves. “The police might be able to get fingerprints off the knife and note.”

“Of course, I wasn’t thinking.” All she’d been thinking about was the A Duel After the Masked Ball painting she’d spotted squirreled away in the gallery’s back room tonight.

She tamped down her panic at the sight of the knife and the thought that it must be connected to the painting. A painting of a stabbing.

She shuddered at the memory of the image. She hadn’t wanted to believe Uncle Reginald could be mixed up in anything illegal. She’d actually convinced herself that the person who’d told her as much—the man she hoped to soon sell her share of the gallery to—was just trying to scare her out of soliciting other offers. But then she’d spotted the Duel painting where it shouldn’t have been.

It wasn’t wildly valuable by art standards, but it was listed as stolen on the FBI’s online database.

And for all she knew this threat could be some kind of revenge.

Her rescuer squeezed her hand, mercifully disrupting her spiraling suspicions. He had a bump on his nose like maybe it had once been broken. His sandy-brown hair curled over his ears, grazing his collar, and his three-day beard growth made him look like a rugged cowboy, except for the sports jacket. He searched her face. “Or do you already know who did this?”

At the apprehension shadowing his coffee-brown eyes, butterflies fluttered through her stomach. “I—”

“It’s got to be one of those nutcase grant applicants!” her sister shrieked. “She assesses them for a charitable foundation. They’re always threatening her when she turns down their applications.” Cassandra waved her arms at Jennifer. “Tell them.”

“Calm down.” Jen fought to keep her tone low and even. “These gentlemen don’t need to know that.”

“Do you see the size of that knife?” Cassandra wailed, louder than before, thrusting her finger at it. “The guy’s a whack job!” Her gaze darted to the bushes that edged the parking lot, and she finally lowered her voice. “For all we know, if these guys hadn’t shown up, the creep might’ve jumped us, too.”

Jennifer shivered. Maybe her sister was right. Maybe this didn’t have anything to do with Reginald or the painting. When she broke the news to Lester this morning that his proposal hadn’t met the foundation’s grant qualifications, he’d been irate.

But he had to know that this was no way to change her mind. Threats like this would only land him in jail.

Her rescuer’s grip tightened, drawing her from her thoughts, and she realized he was trying to still her trembling.

“If someone has threatened you, you need to tell the police when they arrive,” he said, although he looked as though he wanted to press for those details himself.

Her gaze skittered from the endearing concern in his eyes to the small frown curving his lips. She swallowed, not sure what had her feeling more off kilter, the note in her car or the man comforting her. She slipped her hand free of his hold. “Yes, thank you. I’ll do that.”

Turning away, she winced at the curious gazes of people spilling out of the restaurant. She hated being the center of attention at the best of times. If the press caught wind of this, they’d be haunting her for weeks.

The man must’ve noticed her distress because he immediately motioned them to move on. “Everything’s okay, folks. Nothing to see here.” The other man positioned himself in front of her car door, effectively blocking the view of the knife.

A few people craned their necks for a better look but then wandered off like the others.

“Thank you, Mr....” Jennifer whispered. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know your name.”

“Sam. Sam Tate.” He motioned to the tall, lanky fellow guarding the car door. “And this is my brother, Jake. He’s with the Stalwart Fire Department north of the city.”

Jake dipped his head toward her. “Ma’am.”

She could see the family resemblance in their faces, especially the kindness in their eyes, but other than that they seemed as different in appearance as she and her sister were in personality. “Pleased to meet you both. I’m Jennifer Robbins, and this is my sister, Cassandra.”

“What’s taking the police so long?” Cassie fretted. “It’s going to be dark soon.” She wrapped her arms around her middle and flitted her long lashes at the tall fireman. “You’ll stay until they come. Won’t you?”

Jake grinned. “Be happy to.”

His brother didn’t seem in a hurry to leave, either. He crouched down and studied the slashed tires as Jennifer silently thanked God for bringing these two Good Samaritans in their time of need.

Cassie paced. “What if this guy knows where you live, Jen? If only we were leaving on the cruise tomorrow. Then he wouldn’t be able to find you.”

“You’re going on a cruise?” Jake asked. “Which one?”

“Alaskan. We’re supposed to leave Monday.” Jen frowned at the note’s sinister threat. She hadn’t agreed to go yet, but maybe getting out of town for a week would be a good thing.

“Alaska? No way.” Awe filled Jake’s voice. “Us, too. What are the chances?” He turned to Sam, eyebrow arched.

“The trip is a birthday gift from our uncle.” Cassie flashed a photo-worthy grin. “We’re twins.”

“Cool. We’re celebrating our folks’ fortieth wedding anniversary.” Jake hitched his thumb toward his brother. “Sam’s treat.”

A wealthy cowboy then? And generous. Not that Jen cared about a man’s wealth. She just wasn’t interested in any guy who only cared about hers. Which seemed to be every guy who gave her a second look. Maybe the rest were too intimidated by her bigger bank account. Too bad Ian hadn’t been. He’d done his homework so well that she’d gullibly believed he wanted the private family life she craved. Right up until Uncle Reggie presented him with an ironclad prenuptial agreement to sign.

Cassie tugged on Jen’s sleeve. “See, Jen, the cruise won’t be just partiers. You have to come with me.”

Sam turned to her, looking surprised. “You’re thinking of turning down an Alaskan cruise?”

Jen shrugged. Maybe going away for a week would stop whoever did this from bothering her again. Except she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling Uncle Reggie wanted her out of Seattle for a reason.

Like maybe he’d heard that she’d secretly found a buyer for the gallery come their twenty-fifth birthday...when he lost his veto power.

She’d wanted out from the day her parents died driving home from a gallery gala. And the desire had only intensified with every gold-digging suitor who’d knocked on her door since. Uncle Reggie had to know she’d act on it.

She sucked in a breath. Two weeks. And she still had to win Cassie’s agreement to sell her half, too, for the deal to work. Which wouldn’t be easy, considering Cass had worked at the gallery since high school and loved everything about it. The last thing Jen wanted to do was take that away from her. But finding that stolen painting tonight, and now this, changed everything.

She’d already lost her parents and scarcely saw Aunt Martha since she’d divorced Reg. Cass was the only family she had left. She couldn’t bear to lose her, too. And she could, because if the deal fell through, it was only a matter of time before the police caught wind of what Reg was up to. And Cass would be implicated alongside him. Perhaps getting her away from him and the gallery for ten whole days might make it easier to win her over.

The wail of a police siren drew closer.

She sure wouldn’t have another opportunity tonight to broach the subject.

Sam studied her, his head tilted, as if he couldn’t figure out why anyone would turn down the gift of a cruise.

She chewed on her bottom lip.

If she went and won her sister’s agreement, she’d still have two days to finalize the sale once they returned before the buyer’s deadline expired. And she couldn’t let it expire. Not now that she knew his warning wasn’t just a scare tactic.

TWO

The fog didn’t look like it’d lift any time soon...in more ways than one.

Sam stood at the ship’s rail, scrutinizing the latecomers rushing up the gangplank as he listened to his deputy director on the other end of his cell phone. “It won’t be a problem, sir,” he assured.

“See that it’s not.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Understood.” He clicked off and shoved the phone into his pocket. The guy had been gunning for him ever since he showed him up on the Carlisle case.

And the fiasco with Jezebel—as his brother fondly called her—had given his boss the ammunition to take him out. He couldn’t afford to mess up again, especially on a case with a couple of beautiful women involved.

Jake sidled up beside him and slapped him on the back. “Looking for a certain someone?”

“Just waiting for you guys,” Sam said, refusing to rise to the bait.

“Right.” Jake chuckled as his four-year-old son bounced up and down, tugging on his arm, begging to explore the ship.

Sam pressed his fingertips to his forehead and massaged the dull throb that had been there since seeing that note in Jennifer’s car.

“Hey, you okay?” Concern replaced the amusement in Jake’s voice.

“Yeah.” Sam dropped his hand and returned his attention to the wharf. He’d be a lot better if he knew who’d left Jennifer the note and why. Unlike her hysterical sister, Jennifer had kept a tight rein on her emotions, but he’d felt the tremble in her hand, seen the quiver in her lips. The guy had gotten to her. Thrown her off her game.

Maybe left her too spooked to make this trip.

“Hey, relax. You’re supposed to be on vacation. Remember?”

Yeah. The other night when Jake questioned him about giving Jennifer his undercover name, Sam had told him it was a precaution. He posed as a buyer in the art world too often to be known to people in it by any other name. Jake clearly hadn’t bought the excuse.

And Mom and Dad would not be impressed if he bailed on the trip.

But if Jennifer and Cassandra didn’t board, he’d have no choice. He couldn’t afford to let them off his radar.

Tommy tugged on Sam’s pant leg. “Can we explore now?”

“Sure.” Sam took one last look at the gangplank. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

“They headed up to the buffet for something to eat,” Jake said. “I told them we’d meet them there.”

“Hey, strangers!” a friendly female voice chimed from behind them.

“Look who’s here.” Jake leaned back, his arms resting on the rail, and nudged Sam’s arm. “Good to see you.”

Cassandra flounced toward them in a multicolored, artsy-looking getup with an uneven angular hem that reminded Sam of a court jester.

But when her sister didn’t appear behind her, Sam didn’t feel like laughing. “Jennifer’s not coming?”

“Sure.” The twinkly smile in Cassandra’s eyes conveyed almost a giddy pleasure in his interest in her sister, which could nicely work to his favor. Cassandra fluttered her hand in the direction she’d come. “She just wanted to make a few phone calls before we left port and lost cell phone reception. I’m meeting her at the buffet in twenty minutes.”

“That’s where we’re headed, too,” Jake piped up. “Would you like to join us?”

“Love to.” She hooked her arm through Jake’s. “Do you mind if we zigzag through the middle decks? Check out where everything is?”

“Sounds good.” Jake reached for Tommy’s hand.

Cassandra paled as her gaze dropped to the boy she clearly hadn’t connected to them.

“It’s okay. I’ve got him,” Sam reassured. When Jake hesitated, as he always did since losing his wife, Sam added, “He’s safe with me.” His mind flashed to Jimmy, and he strained to swallow the lump that rose to his throat.

But Jake nodded as if he had no doubts, then led the way with Cassandra on his arm, leaving Sam and Tommy to trail behind. At least the woman was dressed in something more modest than the outfit she had on the other night.

The main lobby atrium, with its four-story ceiling and glass elevator, was even more crowded than when they’d boarded an hour ago. They took the spiral staircase to the next level, admiring the opulent crystal and brass fixtures, then rode the glass-walled elevator up another level to the promenade deck.

Tommy pressed his nose to the glass, entranced by the glittering lights.

“Ooh, I hear music. Let’s go this way.” Cassandra led them to an open lounge where a gifted musician played nostalgic tunes on a shiny baby grand.

Tommy tugged Sam toward brightly colored paintings lining the next hall. “Tommy and I are going to check out the art gallery.” He’d already scoped it earlier, but another look wouldn’t hurt.

“Sure, be right there. Be good for Uncle Sam, okay?” Jake called after them.

Sam wasn’t convinced his brother had actually registered his own words. Not that Sam begrudged him the flattering attention of a beautiful woman. It’d been almost five years since Jake’s wife had died. Sam just wished the woman wasn’t one of his suspects.

Tommy tugged free of Sam’s hold and veered toward the biggest and brightest painting—rainbow-colored air balloons floating in a pure blue sky—propped at floor level outside the gallery door. Along the way his foot caught the easel of another painting. Sam lunged to stop it from teetering over as Tommy skidded to a halt in front of the air balloons. “Look, Uncle Sam, there’s a dog riding in the balloon!”

“Oh, we can’t touch them,” a kind voice singsonged. Jennifer Robbins. She squatted beside his nephew, her pleasant smile tempering the swiftness with which she’d caught his arm before he danced his grubby finger over the canvas. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Tommy bobbed his head up and down.

“Makes me wish I could ride in such a beautiful balloon.”

The balloons weren’t the only thing that looked beautiful. Sam almost hadn’t recognized Jennifer with her blond curls spilling over her slender shoulders and wearing a casual, earthy-looking skirt and blouse that reminded him of commercials for romantic beach getaways.

“Do you like to draw?” she asked, and Tommy’s head-bobbing grew more exaggerated.

Sam stepped behind him.

Jennifer glanced up, her warm smile turning to surprise. “Sam, hi!”

He placed a cautioning hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Sorry about that. He got away from me.”

Her glance skittered to his left hand and back to his face. “This adorable little boy belongs to you?”

“He’s my nephew, Tommy. Jake’s son.” The ease with which she interacted with Tommy stirred an unwelcome appreciation for the woman. Her sister had scarcely looked at the boy—a fact that would eventually cool Jake’s interest, he was sure. “We were heading up to the buffet to meet my folks.”

“Well, hi, Tommy! I’m Jen,” she said then turned to Sam. “Let me see if the gallery has any coloring books and then I’ll walk with you. I told my sister I’d meet her there.”

“Yeah, we ran into her on deck.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “She and Jake stopped to listen to the piano player.”

Jennifer frowned. “Tommy’s mother isn’t here?”

“She died when Tommy was an infant.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sadness shadowed her eyes as she rose. “Let me get that coloring book.”

As Jennifer spoke to the balding middle-aged man behind the counter, Sam took the opportunity to scan the gallery for the two contributions the Robbins sisters were to bring aboard for auction. Contributions that might also prove to be pivotal to his case. Cruise lines normally auctioned prints, not originals, and would ship a comparable one from their warehouse to the winning bidder, rather than the actual item displayed. The fact that the cruise line had agreed to ship the Robbins Gallery’s actual contributions to the winning bidders, suggested they were originals, or if not, begged the question—was there more to the items than there appeared?

Jennifer knelt in front of Tommy and offered him a booklet of ship-themed coloring pictures and a package of four crayons. “For you.”

Tommy grinned. Sam gave his shoulder a squeeze. “What do you say?”

“Thank you!” He threw his arms around Jennifer, who toppled back onto her behind then laughed at his exuberance.

Sam’s heart squeezed uncomfortably at how good she was with the boy. He scooped Tommy into his arms then offered Jennifer a hand. “Sorry about that.”

Laughter continued to brim in her eyes. “No need to apologize. That’s the best hug I’ve had in a long time.”

“How have you been? Did the police catch the jerk who vandalized your car?” Sam knew they hadn’t, but he hoped his concern would win her confidence.

“No, but thankfully there haven’t been any more incidents.” She fussed with the delicate gold cross resting on a fine chain at her throat, and Sam wondered if the symbol actually meant something to her. She bit her bottom lip, looking way too vulnerable for his comfort.

She’s a suspect, he reminded himself. Just because she got threatened didn’t mean she wasn’t guilty. Criminals threatened other criminals all the time. For all he knew, she was aware of who was behind the attack and couldn’t identify him without revealing her own crimes.

“Except...” She let out a breath. “Last night someone kept calling my apartment and not saying anything.”

That wasn’t good. “You tell the police? Try getting the number from the phone company?”

Her rejected grant applicant hadn’t had an airtight alibi for the night of the attack, but without fingerprints or security video to connect him to the scene, the local PD hadn’t been able to charge him.

“No, I just unplugged the phone.” She offered a self-deprecating smile.

“That works, too.” He didn’t want to examine too closely why seeing that smile made him happy. She’d confided in him. It was a good start. His job was to gain her trust. Pure and simple. He set Tommy down as they stepped out of the gallery.

“Hold up a sec.” The clerk hurried over and pressed a small note into Jennifer’s hand. “The information you wanted.”

“Thank you.” She quickly tucked the note into her pocket before turning back to Sam.

Instinctively he knew the exchange had to be connected to his case. Another piece of the puzzle falling into place. So why did he feel so disappointed?

* * *

Jennifer fingered the paper in her pocket, debating how to get away from Sam for a few minutes to make the call in private. She’d recognized the ship’s curator from the Seattle gallery where he used to work—one that had had a scandal he’d exposed, much to the owner’s dismay. He’d seen right though her veiled questions about his experience and offered her the number of the PI he’d used.

Sam steered his nephew a wide berth around the art displays lining the hall. “I guess the art world’s tight-knit?”

Reflexively Jen’s hand crumpled the paper with the PI’s number. “Pardon me?”

Sam motioned to the ship’s gallery curator. “You all know each other.”

“Oh, yes, he used to be at a Seattle gallery, but I’m not actually all that involved with the gallery, aside from attending the odd opening night for special exhibits.” She glanced around at the ship’s eclectic collection. There were few pastoral scenes like her mother’s beloved early works. “My uncle insists I put in an appearance. Says it’s bad for business if the owners don’t show.” Why was she telling Sam all this?

“Your uncle?”

“The gallery’s curator. He’s not really an uncle. He was our guardian after our parents died, so we call him Uncle.” She bit her lip to stop her nervous rambling. She wasn’t sure what had her more rattled—the idea of hiring a PI to spy on him while they were away, or the thought of what other illegal activities he might be up to. “Um... could you excuse me a minute? I need to make a phone call before I catch up with my sister.”

“Go ahead. Tommy and I will browse for a few minutes.”

Jennifer moved to the groupings of couches and chairs on the other side of the wide hall opposite the specialty dining room next to the gallery and, turning toward the ship’s windows, pulled out her cell phone.

The same sense of being watched that she’d felt outside the gallery last week shivered down her spine. Surreptitiously she scanned the wide hall and dining area beyond. A waiter in a crisp white shirt and black pants and vest approached. A linen napkin lay draped over his arm, and a glass of amber liquid on ice sat on his small round tray. He presented it to her with a slight bow.

“You have the wrong person. I didn’t order a drink.”

“It is complimentary,” he said in broken English.

Jen glanced toward the bar, wondering if he meant someone had bought it for her, but she didn’t see anyone looking her way. Her gaze skittered down the hall to the gallery where Sam stood with a cell phone pressed to his ear, frowning at the waiter. His attention jerked back to Tommy.

“Thank you,” she said to the waiter without reaching for the glass. “But I don’t drink.”

“Not alcohol. Ginger ale,” the waiter assured.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

She scanned the bar area again, but no one seemed ready to take credit for the offering. “Did someone buy this for me?” she enunciated each word slowly, hoping the waiter would understand.

He shook his head. “First day. First drink free.”

The ice tinkling in the glass sure looked tempting. Everyone else sitting along the window seats held similar glasses. “Thank you.” She accepted the drink and took a sip.

After a slight bow, the waiter withdrew.

Jennifer dialed the PI’s number, but the call rolled immediately to voice mail. She waited a minute and tried again. Then a third time. She glanced at her watch. Five-thirty. They had two and a half hours before the ship left port and perhaps another hour after that before she lost cell phone reception. She’d try again later.

She stuffed her phone back in her purse and rejoined Sam and Tommy, who’d plopped himself on the floor and started coloring.

“Get ahold of who you were after?” Sam asked.

“Busy. I’ll try again later. Ready to go?”

“First, what do you think of this piece?” Sam pointed to a Native American sculpture. “I’ve heard the artist’s work is internationally sought after.”

She shrugged. “Not really my taste.”

“But for what it is, do you think it’s a good value or overpriced?”

She eyed him speculatively. Men—the kind who were guaranteed to be wrong for her—inevitably tried to gain her attention by feigning an interest in art. That or they really were connoisseurs. Yet the curious sparkle in Sam’s eyes didn’t give away any hidden agenda. Then again, her track record for spotting them wasn’t the best. She glanced at the four-figure ticket price. “I don’t know what its market value is. Sorry.”

He studied her intently then chuckled. “But you’d never pay that much for it.”

She let a smile slip. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hey, you found her.” Jake’s voice boomed from behind them.

“Dad-eee,” Tommy snatched up his coloring book and scurried into Jake’s waiting arms.

Jake scooped him up in one smooth sweep, his face glowing with fatherly pride.

Cassie’s complexion went pasty, but to her credit she didn’t give away her discomfort in any other way. Jen hadn’t been surprised that Cass had attached herself to someone aboard. She never could stand to be alone. Of course, now she’d probably want to hunt down someone more her type—not a man tied down by a child but someone wild and daring...a playboy. Definitely not the kind of guy Jen wanted to spend ten days around. And if Cass spent all her time flirting, Jen would never get the chance to broach the subject of selling the gallery.

“Can we eat now?” Tommy squealed.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam and Jake said in unison.

As they made their way down the hall, Jen admired the view through the ship’s windows—clear blue skies, sunlight dancing on the choppy water, the odd sailboat gliding by. She misstepped, feeling as if the ship had dipped over a wave, but the ship wasn’t moving yet.

Sam caught her elbow. “You okay?”

“Yes. I—” She swayed, and not just from the tingle skittering up her arm at Sam’s touch. “Whoa. Um, I guess I got a little dizzy looking at the water.”

He held her steady. “Do you get seasick?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been on a ship. I put on a patch, just to be on the safe side.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and pointed to the seasickness patch she’d put on last night—twenty-four hours before setting sail, like the directions had said.

Sam moved to her other side, between her and the window. “Maybe just focus on the hall for now, until you get your sea legs.”

“Good idea.” She tried not to think about how sweet Sam was being. Her sole mission this trip was to convince Cass to agree to sell her half of the gallery. Maybe one day, after their names stopped being synonymous with wealthy heiresses, she could trust a man’s attention again.

They soon reached a bank of elevators and Cass hit the up button. The numbers above each door all hovered around fourteen. “Looks like everyone has the same idea about hitting the buffet,” Jake said.

A group jostled past them, glanced up at the numbers and then climbed the spacious stairs. Jen hoped the men wouldn’t suggest they do the same. She suddenly didn’t feel so good.

They stepped on the first elevator that opened. It stopped one deck up, where a waiter stepped on—the waiter who’d served her the drink. He nodded then turned to the front. The elevator’s movement made her brain feel like Jell-O jiggling in a bowl. She pressed her palm to her temple.

“You getting a migraine?” Cass’s face swam in front of Jen’s eyes.

“I don’t know.” Jen’s muscles turned as jiggly as her brain. “I suddenly feel weird.” Her head seemed to be floating. She felt her legs give way in a kind of detached, surreal way. As she was sinking, the lights went out. Strong arms came around her—solid, unwavering.

Cass called her name as if she were far away. A male voice, too. Sam’s. But she kept sinking until she couldn’t hear anymore.

THREE

“What’s wrong with her?” Cass screamed.

Sam eased Jen gently to the elevator floor so he could check her airway, breathing and circulation. The ABCs of his first responder course spiraled through his mind like a CD on replay. “Jake, help me.” He was the firefighter. He knew what to do. Jake knelt beside him, Tommy clinging to his neck.

The elevator doors opened.

“Gran—” Tommy squealed and lunged for his grandparents, who were standing at the door waiting to board.

Sam’s mom quickly overcame her surprise at the sight of the slumped woman and wrapped Tommy in her arms.

“We’ve got to get this woman to sick bay,” Jake said. “We’ll meet you at the buffet when we can or back at the room.”

“What deck is sick bay?” Sam asked the ship employee standing in front of the elevator panel.

“Oh, uh, Deck Five, Plaza,” he said in a thick Eastern European accent.

“Well, hit it, will you?”

The man did as he was told, but the elevator stopped at the next deck down. “Excuse me. I get off here.”

Cass lunged at the control panel and slapped the five again. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Her respiration is good. Pulse is rapid,” Jake said. “Does she have any medical conditions or allergies?”

“No, not that I know of.”

The elevator doors opened on the fifth floor and Sam swept Jen into his arms. She was impossibly light, as if a strong nor’easter could sweep her off the deck. His chest crunched at the unwelcome image.

“Which way to sick bay?” he asked the startled passengers waiting to board the elevator.

“Deck Four—Gala, one down—turn left,” a woman spoke up.

Cass slapped the 4 button. “How could a ship employee not know where sick bay is? He told us five.”

A few seconds later the doors pulled open again, and Sam charged left with Jen in his arms, Cassandra and Jake following.

A middle-aged woman in green scrubs directed him to lay her down on a bed, then she immediately checked Jen’s vitals as they relayed what they knew.

The nurse pulled on reading glasses and jotted down Jen’s blood pressure reading. “What has she had to eat or drink in the past three hours?”

Cassandra perched on a chair beside the bed and clutched Jen’s hand. “Nothing that I know of.” Black tears streamed down her cheeks. “We were on our way to supper.”

“She had a glass of something a bit ago,” Sam interjected. “I didn’t see what.”

The nurse eyed him suspiciously as she felt Jen’s glands. Not that he blamed her. He was kicking himself for not intervening when he saw that waiter press a drink on Jen that she didn’t seem to want.

The nurse’s expression changed. She swept back Jen’s hair and pulled off the seasickness patch. “Not sure if this is a contributing factor to her blacking out. But we’ve seen a number of negative reactions to these.”

Cass gasped. “Is she going to be okay?”

The nurse patted Cass’s shoulder. “Her respiration is a bit slow, but her vitals are good. We’ll continue to monitor her until she comes to, unless you’d prefer we evacuate her to a hospital immediately.”

“Do you think we should?”

“The doctor will be here shortly. Let’s wait to see what he thinks.”

“But that’s what you think it is?” Sam asked. “Just the seasickness patch?”

“Did she take any recreational drugs? Alcohol?” The nurse’s gaze narrowed in on Cass. “It’s important you tell me everything so we can provide the best care to... This is your sister, right?”

“Yes. She doesn’t do drugs.” Fresh tears streamed down Cass’s cheeks. “Or drink.” Cass swiped at her damp face. “This is all my fault. She didn’t even want to come on the cruise.”

Jake rubbed Cass’s back. “It’s not your fault. She’s going to be okay.”

The nurse turned her attention to Sam. “You said she had a drink. What was it? Did she leave it unattended?”

“Can we speak outside a minute?” He cupped her elbow and steered her firmly out of the room. Once the door was closed he asked, “You think someone put a roofie in her drink?”

The nurse looked at him over the rim of her glasses. “And how do you know about Rohypnol?”

“C’mon, you just went through the list of what every woman shouldn’t do if she doesn’t want her drink spiked with a date rape drug.”

Jake appeared at the doorway, listening in.

The nurse shrugged. “I can’t verify it without a urine sample.”

“But the symptoms fit?” His heart went back to racing a mile a minute. “Even if she only had the drink ten minutes before she passed out?” Sam knew why the nurse was being cagey. She wasn’t at liberty to discuss a person’s medical condition with a nonrelative. But if he was going to catch whoever did this to Jen, he needed answers.

The nurse perched her reading glasses on her head. “Depending on the dose, roofies can take effect within minutes. Symptoms typically peak at two hours.”

“How long before she wakes up?”

The nurse hesitated.

“How long is a patient typically out?” he rephrased impatiently.

“A few hours, at least.” She glanced toward a couple of other occupied rooms and lowered her voice. “If you think she ingested the stuff less than an hour ago, the doctor will give her activated charcoal. It’ll soak up the drug from her stomach and intestinal tract.”

Sam inhaled. “And if I’m wrong?”

“If it’s been longer than an hour since ingestion, or we’re wrong about the substance, it’ll be pretty useless, but it won’t hurt.”

“Good. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can track down the source.” He turned to Jake, still standing at the door to Jen’s room. “You mind staying with them?”

“No problem. You go on.”

Sam raced up the three flights to the lounge where Jen was given the drink. A balding, forty-something Caucasian man staffed the bar. The waitstaff was all female.

Sam stepped up to the bar.

“What can I get you?” the barkeep asked.

“I’m looking for the waiter who served the customers by the windows about forty-five minutes ago. Do you know where I can find him?”

“Him?” The bartender frowned and went back to polishing the glasses lining the bar. “Not sure who that’d be. My staff tonight are all women.” His bar phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, reaching for the phone.

Great. So someone impersonating a waiter brought her a drink. That made the elimination process a whole lot tougher. He hadn’t gotten a look at the guy’s face, and Jen wasn’t going to be in any condition to look at passenger photos any time soon.

Sam pictured the man he’d glimpsed from behind. As soon as the bartender finished his call, Sam said, “The guy I’m looking for was about five-ten, short dark hair, wore a black-and-white waitstaff uniform. Did a guy fitting the description order a soft drink from you?”

“You with the woman in sick bay?”

How’d he—? The phone call. The nurse must’ve notified security already. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry. No men dressed like that ordered a drink from me.” He waved over a waitress. “Hey, did a waiter-looking guy order a drink from you?”

“No, I would’ve remembered that.” The woman laid her empty tray on the bar, along with an electronic cruise-card reader.

Although food was included in the cruise price, drinks weren’t, which meant that if a passenger bought Kate the drink, his card would’ve been swiped. “Hey, can you get security back on the phone and ask them to look up everyone who paid for a soft drink—” Sam glanced at his watch “—between four and four-thirty? If they can line up the customers’ photos, my friend should be able to identify the guy.” And Sam wouldn’t have to reveal he was FBI or that his interest in finding the guy went beyond a drugged drink.

“Sure thing. They’ll be all over it.”

Sam scratched his arm, his finger catching on a fine gold chain that was snagged on his sleeve. He carefully freed it, and a tiny cross slipped into his palm. Jen’s. He stroked his thumb over the delicate etching, recalling how fragile she’d felt in his arms.

He clapped his hand closed and shoved the pendant into his pocket. “Jezebel” had pretended to believe in God to wile her way into his confidence. Wearing a cross didn’t mean anything.

What he needed to know was who would want to knock Miss Robbins out? And why? And did the reason have anything to do with his investigation?

He needed to talk to her sister. He rode the elevator up to the Lido deck to grab some pizza slices for everyone first, then headed back to sick bay.

Outside Jen’s room, Sam got an update on her condition The doctor felt certain she’d been drugged, but would be fine, and her sister had opted not to have her transported off the ship.

“Anything?” Jake asked as Sam rounded the corner.

Sam shook his head. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if Jen could’ve been slipped the drug earlier because from what he’d seen, she’d only sipped whatever the waiter had brought her, and there’d been less than twenty minutes for it to take effect. Rohypnol was fast-acting, but...

He offered Cassandra a pizza slice. “I know the nurse asked you this before, but are you sure your sister didn’t eat or drink anything else? Maybe stop for a coffee before you boarded? Take any medicine?”

“I don’t know. We met at the pier and came straight aboard.” Cassandra had wiped the mascara streaks from her face, but she still looked as if she’d gone through an emotional ringer. “There was a fruit and chocolate basket waiting for us in our room. She might have taken something from it.”

“Do you mind if we go check?” He motioned to her plate. “After you’ve eaten. Knowing what your sister ate or drank might help the doctor speed her recovery.”

Cassandra ate faster and asked Jake to stay with Jen in case she woke while they were gone.

Sam leaned over the bed and brushed a wisp of hair from Jen’s cheek. She looked like Sleeping Beauty lying there, waiting for a handsome prince to awaken her with a kiss. His stomach fluttered at the thought and he quickly straightened. His hand knocked a crumpled paper on the bed. The note from the gallery curator?

Sam palmed the paper, stepped away from the bed and shoved his hand into his pocket. Taking a chair behind Cassandra’s line of sight, he glanced at the paper. A phone number. Seattle area code with the name Watson. He pulled up the internet on his cell phone and looked it up. John Watson, private detective.

Why was his suspect calling a PI?

Too soon, Cassandra was ready to head up to her room. He feigned surprise when her room turned out to be next to his—an arrangement that had cost the bureau an extra three hundred bucks. Their carry-on luggage lay open on the bed. Their larger bags hadn’t yet been delivered. Cassandra pointed to a large basket on the desk next to the balcony’s sliding glass door. The plastic wrap and ribbons lay open beneath it. “Looks like Jen got into it, but—” Cassandra sifted through the contents “—I’m not sure what she had. The water bottles are missing, but she probably put them in the fridge.”

Cass checked the small bar fridge in the opposite corner. “Yeah, there’s only the two bottles that our steward left here and one from the basket.”

Sam lifted an empty bottle from the trash can under the desk. “A raspberry-flavored water.”

“She always drinks the raspberry. I hate it. Tastes too much like medicine.”

“Who sent you the basket?”

“Oh.” Cass flushed, apparently cluing in to the implication of his question. “Uh, Uncle Reg.”

“And what flavor did your uncle include for you?”

“Blueberry.”

Sam dropped the empty bottle into a plastic bag sitting on the desk, along with the unopened bottle.

Cass gave him a curious look. “What are you going to do with those?”

“Show the ingredients to the nurse.” He had no means of testing it on the ship, but at the first port he could have it couriered to their Anchorage office or, better yet, he could send it back to Seattle with the pilot directing the ship out of the Sound. He glanced at his watch. He probably had time to catch him. “Could you collect any medicines Jennifer might have taken?”

“You think there might have been some weird interaction?”

“It’s a possibility.” He examined the fruit and chocolate in the basket for signs of tampering.

“I had that happen to me once. Broke out in hives whenever I ate a banana within a couple of hours of my multivitamin.” She dug through the night table drawer next to the bed and pulled out a box containing seasickness patches and a bottle of ibuprofen. “Switched vitamins and never got them again.” She dumped her find into his bag.

“Do you mind if I check the bathroom?”

“Go ahead. She’s particular about her moisturizers and shampoo and stuff. All scent-free. I don’t think any of that would have reacted.”

The bathroom barely had enough space to turn around in, let alone enough counter space to sort through her makeup bag. He carried it out and dumped the contents on the bed. Toothpaste, lip gloss, an assortment of lotions. Sam returned the contents to the bag. Any of the products could have been injected with a substance that soaked through the skin, but it was improbable. And she would not be happy if he unnecessarily confiscated them all.

The water was a likely source, but what motive would her uncle have for making her temporarily incapacitated at an unpredictable time of day or night? Sam picked up the small card lying next to the basket on the desk. It wasn’t signed. “How do you know the basket was from your uncle?”

Cass stood by the balcony door, looking out, and jumped at his question. “Uh, it said so on the card.”

“No, it didn’t.” It merely said “Bon Voyage.” He angled it her way.

She stared at it dumbly. “You’re right.” She sounded surprised. “I guess we just assumed since he gave us the cruise as a birthday gift. Who else would?”

“Either of you have a boyfriend?”

“I have lots of guy friends.” Cass’s cheeks reddened. “But I told your brother. Just so you know, I’m not leading him on or anything.”

“Okay.” Explained a lot. No wonder Jake had been enjoying her company so much—no strings. “Could any of your guy friends have sent this?”

She shrugged. “Maybe Uncle Reggie’s son. Reg isn’t really my uncle, of course.”

Uncle or not, the idea that their long-time guardian would slip a roofie into Jen’s drink was downright disturbing. “Let’s get back to your sister. You might want to grab a sweater and a book. Could be a long night.”

Sam escorted Cass back to sick bay, and Jake slipped out of the room as she took his seat next to Jen. “Find anything?”

“Maybe.” Sam drew Jake deeper into the empty waiting room and lowered his voice. “I’m going to see if I can send these back to Seattle with the pilot. Have them tested. Do you mind hanging around a while longer and keeping an eye on Cass and Jen?”

“Do you know why someone would do this to Jennifer?”

“No.” Sam felt in his pocket for the PI’s phone number, hoping it might offer some answers.

Jake narrowed his eyes. No doubt rethinking Sam’s lame excuse for identifying himself as Sam Tate to the women the other night.

“I don’t.” Sam insisted. “Believe me. I wish I did.”

* * *

Jennifer squeezed her eyes against the light seeping past her lashes. Her head felt ready to explode. And the bed...

Why was it rocking from side to side like a...boat!

She lurched up. “We’re moving!” She clutched her head and dropped back to the mattress, rolled onto her side and curled her legs into her chest.

“Jen, what’s wrong? Do you feel sick?” Cass’s worried voice sounded above her ear.

“My head hurts,” Jen moaned, trying to remember what she’d wanted to do before they left port. She massaged her fingers over her forehead, straining to coax out the memory, but she couldn’t make sense of anything. Faces swam through her mind—Sam’s, his sweet nephew’s, a waiter’s?

“Can you remember anything?”

Jen slit open an eye. “Where am I?” Why did her mouth taste so acidic?

“Sick bay. You passed out in the elevator when we were heading up for dinner. Sam carried you here.”

Sam? This was the second time something bad had happened when he was nearby.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” another female voice said.

Jen tilted her head to see who belonged to the voice—a woman in green scrubs. “Are you a doctor?”

“Nurse.” She plugged a stethoscope into her ears and pressed the other end to Jen’s chest. “We believe you were drugged.”

Her heart lurched. “Drugged? How?”

The nurse placed two fingers at the pulse point on Jen’s wrist and turned her attention to her watch. “That’s what your friend’s been trying to figure out.”

“Sam,” Cass filled in.

After another ten seconds or so, the nurse dropped Jen’s wrist and recorded something on her chart. “You had a drink not long before you blacked out. Do you remember?”

Jen clutched her head tighter. “I knew I shouldn’t have accepted it. I had this feeling. But the waiter said it was complimentary, and everyone seemed to have one.”

The nurse rubbed Jen’s shoulder consolingly. “Well, we’ve given you charcoal to absorb whatever might have been in the drink, and notified the ship’s security. One of the officers will be here soon to talk to you.”

“Does she need to stay here?” Cass asked.

“I’d like to continue to monitor her vitals through the night. If nothing changes, she can go back to her room in the morning.” The nurse patted Jen’s arm. “But I’m afraid you’ll likely have a lingering headache for a few days.” She paused at the door. “Your fellow’s out here pacing the hall, anxious to see you. Shall I let him back in?”

Unable to comprehend what the nurse meant, Jen flashed Cass a questioning look.

“She means Sam.” Cass grinned. “He’s really worried about you.”

Something warm and soft filled Jen’s chest at her sister’s words. “Let me freshen up first.” She sat up and the pain in her head exploded. As Cass helped her to her feet, Jen swayed, taking Cass sideways across the room in a zigzag toward the washroom.

“I’m so sorry,” her sister whispered.

Jen stiffened, trying to make sense of the apology through her pain-filled fog.

“Here I talked you into coming on this cruise,” Cass went on, “saying you’d be safer, and look what happened.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Jen assured, except...who was to blame? Her limbs began to tremble. “Why would someone do this to me?”

“Some men are just sick.” Cass waited for her to do her business then helped her back into bed and cracked open the room door. “You need to be on your guard.”

Shivering, Jen closed her hand over the cut she’d gotten after that creep stabbed the note to her car. The police hadn’t been able to prove it was Lester. Some stalker might’ve followed her onto the ship. “Do you think this is connected to the note in my car?”

“Do you?” Sam asked from the doorway.

The concerned timbre of his voice rumbled through her chest. Gripping the edge of the sheets, she pressed her arms against her rampaging heart. “I don’t know. I don’t know why anyone would do this to me.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Sam hovered over her bed, deep grooves slashing his forehead. At the tender look in his eyes, her stomach cartwheeled. “Why...why do you care so much?”

He straightened abruptly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Strangely, his sudden retreat endeared him to her more. Most guys would be quick to take advantage of her vulnerability.

“Sam talked to security about your previous attack so they’d check the passenger manifest,” Cass said. “That Lester guy isn’t on the ship. I think you just got targeted by some creep for no other reason than he’s a creep.”

Jen couldn’t pull her gaze from Sam’s. “Is that what you think?”

His brow creased with sympathy. “It happens. Can you remember anything that might help us figure out who did this?

“The waiter had an Eastern European accent.”

Cass sprang to her feet. “Like the waiter in the elevator?”

Jen squeezed her eyes shut, trying to dig up the memory. She shook her head. “I don’t remember being in an elevator.”

“It’s okay,” Sam soothed. “But in case this wasn’t a random act, or the guy fears you’ll identify him, it’d be better if you don’t go anywhere alone.”

“Are you volunteering to be her bodyguard?”

“Cass!” Jen gasped at her sister’s brazenness.

Sam chuckled. “I’d be happy to escort you any time.” The light dancing in his eyes reeled Jen in and spun her in dizzying pirouettes, leaving her breathless. She pressed her palm to her head. That drug had to be seriously affecting her brain. She did not let herself get swept up by guys she scarcely knew. Not anymore.

That was Cassie’s department.

FOUR

The next morning, Sam phoned the FBI’s Seattle office from the balcony of the room he shared with his brother and nephew. He couldn’t make out what was going on in the twins’ room next door any better from out here than he had with his ear to the wall inside as Jake and Tommy watched morning cartoons. And he doubted Jake had bought his neck-stretches excuse for hovering near the wall, no matter how lumpy the sofa bed looked.

“I put a rush on those bottles you sent in with the ship’s pilot. Came back clean,” the agent assured. “Couldn’t find out who ordered the basket. Buyer paid cash. Not that it matters now, I guess.”

Great, so they were back to square one. The PI had claimed he’d never heard of Jennifer Robbins. Not that Sam expected him to admit if he had. Not to some guy over the phone anyway.

“I spoke with the ship’s captain,” the agent went on. “Since their test confirmed Rohypnol in Miss Robbins’s system, he’ll get you the names of everyone who ordered soft drinks. But man, you might as well look for a needle in a haystack. We’re talking hundreds of names.”

Sam clenched the balcony rail, tamping down his frustration that Jen hadn’t been able to pick out the waiter in the employee-photo lineup security showed her last night. “She told me that someone kept calling her the night before she boarded but didn’t say anything. See if you can get a trace.”

“You still think her spiked drink is connected to that note speared to her car last week?” the agent asked.

You’ll pay. The note’s threat had careened through his mind all night. Sam rammed the heel of his hand into the rail. “Yeah. Until we prove otherwise, I assume everything’s connected.”

The agent let out a low whistle. “If whoever drugged her planned to kidnap her and demand a ransom, he wouldn’t have been able to stash her for long on a ship.”

“Making a threat of ‘pay now or you’ll never see her again’ all the more believable,” Sam muttered, sideswiped by images of a bloated body washing ashore. How had this assignment veered so far off course? “Let me know if you find out anything else. Thanks.”

He pocketed his phone and lifted his gaze to the horizon, where water met sky without a landmark in sight—kind of how this case felt at the moment.

Hearing a neighboring balcony door opening, he leaned over the rail to glance at the twins’ balcony. One of the women stood with her back to the open door.

His own balcony door slid open and Sam jerked away from the rail as Jake poked out his head. “We’re meeting Mom and Dad in the game room. Okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sam’s gaze strayed to the partition between the adjoining balconies. “I—”

Jake flicked his hand in the same direction. “Just knock on their door, why don’t you? And invite them to join us.”

“It’s not what you think. I was just wondering how—”

Jake chuckled and retreated into the room. “Yeah, yeah, save your breath. We’ll see you there.”

Sam took his time securing their balcony door. This case was getting too messed up. He shouldn’t be letting his family think his concern for Jennifer Robbins was personal. Not when the attacks were likely connected to the gallery’s illegal activities.

Or she could be innocent.

Sam yanked open the door to the hall. They weren’t innocent. He’d heard Cass on the wiretap confirm the appointment her uncle had arranged with the gallery owner in Skagway. He shut out the voice that reasoned that that didn’t mean the women were guilty. He was not going to let a beautiful woman derail another case. He’d stick to Jennifer Robbins like a barnacle to a ship’s hull, be a friend but strictly to do the job. Period.

As he lifted his hand to tap on their door, it opened.

“Oh,” Cass exclaimed. “Good morning.”

“Hey, I thought I’d check in on our patient.”

“Thank you.” Cass grabbed his arm and tugged him inside. “I’m going stir-crazy in this tiny room.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Jennifer stood at the balcony door watching the water and lowered her voice. “I couldn’t even get her to go out for breakfast. But when I ordered room service, she was too afraid to eat it. Said someone could’ve poisoned it. I have to get out.” She wore black tights and a tank top and had her hair pulled into a high ponytail.

“You going for a jog around the deck?”

“Zumba class.” She held up the ship’s activity schedule. “It starts in five minutes. Could you please talk Jen into getting out of the room and enjoying the cruise?”

“Sure, you go on. I’ll keep her company.”

As Cass disappeared out the door, Jen turned from the balcony, startling at the sight of him. “How did you get in here?”

His heart kicked at the wobble in her voice. “Your sister let me in. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Even in a bright floral top she looked alarmingly pale. “My family’s in the game room, and I wondered if you’d like to join us.”

“Oh.” Her breath left her in a whoosh. But whatever relief she’d felt at learning his intentions were honorable—at least honorable as far as she knew—was short-lived. “I...I better not.” She stood by the open balcony door, cradling her middle.

He moved toward her but then thought better of it. “Does your stomach hurt? Would you like me to take you to see the doctor?”

She dropped her hands to her sides and shook her head, and then as if she didn’t know what to do, she scraped her thumbnail on the edge of the chair next to her. “I feel fine. Just...a little headache.”

“Are you sure? Cass said you didn’t eat.”

Jen’s gaze dropped to her thumb scraping back and forth. “Cass talks too much.”

“You missed supper, too. You must be hungry,” he said gently. “Eating might help with the headache.”

She scooped an apple from the fruit bowl the steward had left on the desk. She rolled it between her fingers, scrutinizing the surface, then seemingly satisfied, she took a bite. “This is fine. I’m not a big breakfast eater.” She was clearly trying to put on a brave front, but the deep shadows under her eyes and the defeated slump of her shoulders betrayed her. His heart went out to her—went out more than he wanted it to. More than was smart.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for hers. “C’mon and hang out with my family today. It’ll take your mind off...last night.”

“I can’t even remember last night.” She blinked rapidly as if staving off tears. “That’s what scares me more than anything. Imagine what could have happened and I wouldn’t have even known.”

Yeah, that’s all he’d been doing all night. “Hey.” Despite his good intentions, he grazed his knuckles along her jawline. “We’ve got your back. Don’t let this creep spoil your holiday, okay?”

Her eyes met his, appreciation brimming in their sparkling ocean depths. “You’re right. Thank you. I’d love to meet the rest of your family.”

Perfect. Maybe this assignment would be a cakewalk after all. If she was willing to hang out with them for the whole cruise and Jake sweet-talked her sister into joining them, he might not have to tail her on their Skagway excursion. She might invite them along.

He led the way to the game room, which was on the same deck as their rooms. Mom, Dad, Jake and Tommy sat near the windows at a large round oak table covered with dominoes.

Mom and Dad rose together and Mom clasped Jen’s hands. “How are you feeling? We’ve been praying for you ever since we learned what happened.”

“Thank you.” Jen blinked again, her bottom lip quivering.

Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “She’s fine, Mom.” The instant the words left his mouth, he wished he’d stayed the instinct to rescue Jen from his mother’s inquisition.

Mom’s gaze skittered from his arm on Jen’s shoulder to his face, and a not-good pleasure lit her eyes.

He resisted the instinct to jerk his arm back to his side.

Dad extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Jen. I’m Sam’s dad, Will Steele.” He smiled at Mom as she loosened her hold on Jen. “My wife, Anne.”

Jen’s forehead furrowed. “Steele? I thought...” She turned to Sam. “Didn’t you say your last name was Tate?”

Dad’s mouth flattened into a grim line. His parents knew better than to blow his cover, but the disappointment in Mom’s eyes made him feel lower than dirt. This was supposed to be a special vacation. Not a job. The thought was written all over Mom’s face.

Jake laughed. “He’s always doing that. Doesn’t think a woman will believe him if he tells her he’s Sam Steele.” Jake’s foot pushed a chair into Sam’s gut, letting him know he wasn’t happy about what he’d just done for him.

Oh, yeah, he’d owe his brother big-time for his quick thinking.

Mom and Dad regained their seats, looking relieved by Jake’s save.

Jen laughed. “Are you serious? People tease you about being a hard-boiled detective?”

“That was Sam Spade.” Sam held out a chair for her. “But yeah, it’s happened.” To his parents he said, “Jen and her sister own the Robbins Art Gallery,” hoping they’d assume he’d called himself Tate out of habit. He might do most of his undercover work on the East Coast, but the art world was too small to take chances.

“O-o-h.” Mom patted Jen’s hand. “I’m so sorry about your parents. I remember reading about their accident in the papers. You were much too young to lose them.”

“Yes,” Jen’s voice cracked.

Sam steeled himself against a rush of sympathy he couldn’t afford.

Tommy pressed a picture into her hands of a family waving from a boat with a bright yellow sun shining in the sky. “I drew this for you. To feel better.”

Jennifer looked at the crayon drawing as if it were the most valuable piece of art she’d ever seen. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She pulled Tommy into a warm hug.

His nephew beamed under her attention.

Sam bumped his shoulder. “Good job, Bud.”

Tommy slapped the table, sending the dominoes jumping. “Play it again, Sam?”

Jen smothered a giggle with her hand, her eyes twinkling, which got Mom started over Tommy’s unintended Humphrey Bogart impersonation.

“See what I have to put up with?” Sam said.

Mom ribbed his arm. “Oh, you’re so hard done by.”

They flipped over all the dominoes and started a new game. Jen wasn’t competitive at all. In fact, she seemed to go out of her way to set out pieces Tommy could use.

“Hey, if I draw you a pretty picture, will you help me, too?” Sam begged after Tommy laid a double combo, winning the game.

“Maybe.” She flashed him an eye-twinkling grin, clearly enjoying the simple pleasure of playing a game with his family. Not something he would have expected.

Mom turned the played pieces over, mixing them for a new game. “You’re just out of practice. You need to get home more often.”

“You don’t live in the Seattle area?” Jen asked.

Did he imagine the hint of disappointment? He shook his head. She was a suspect. Their “relationship” wasn’t going anywhere. “No, Boston.”

“What do you do?”

Cringing at his family’s collective breath, he said, “I’m in security.” Experience had taught him to stick as close to the truth as possible, and given Jen’s current trouble, he suspected she’d be more apt to trust someone in security than the art broker he usually posed as. “I’ve actually done a lot of work with art galleries.”

“Look at the time,” his mother jumped in. “That Iditarod racer is giving a slide presentation in ten minutes. I really wanted to hear that.”

Jake started gathering dominoes. “Oh, yeah, about her sled dogs. You wanted to see that, didn’t you, Tommy?”

“Yeah!” Tommy eagerly joined the cleanup, as Sam’s dad sat back looking amused by his family’s theatrics. A veteran police officer and sheriff, Dad likely hadn’t doubted Sam could handle Jen’s question. Not that Sam didn’t appreciate his family’s efforts to cover his back, except...more than once he’d infiltrated networks that wouldn’t have just sliced his throat if they’d figured out he was an undercover cop; they’d have killed his family, too.

Another reason he preferred working on the opposite side of the country.

“Are you interested in seeing the presentation?” he asked Jennifer.

“Oh, yes, I think my sister mentioned that, too. I should leave a note in our room to let her know where I’ll be.”

“We’ll save you seats,” Mom chirped as they headed out.

“Beside me,” Tommy squealed.

Sam couldn’t blame his family for taking such a shine to her. But it was the gleam in his mother’s eye that had him worried. That and Jen’s wistful tone when she whispered close to his ear, “Your family’s great.”

They were. But they might not think the same about him after her arrest.

* * *

Leaving Sam in the hall, Jen crossed her cabin to the desk to jot a quick note for Cass. A smile tugged at her lips. Years ago, before the art gallery, she, Cass and their parents could while away an entire rainy afternoon playing games. Thank you, Lord, for allowing us to cross paths with Sam and his family.

A breeze whispered through her hair.

Jen’s attention jerked to the open balcony door—then the closed bathroom door. “Cass, you back?”

No response.

The hair on Jen’s neck prickled. Had she forgotten to close the door before she left? She reached to close it and glimpsed a man’s shoe reflected in the wall mirror. “Sam!” she screamed.

Her intruder sprang from his hiding place and shoved her hard into the desk.

Sam rushed into the room just as the guy leaped onto the balcony rail and scrambled up a rope.

Sam grabbed his foot, but the guy caught Sam’s chin with a wild kick, sending him reeling backward. Jen rushed to help him, but roaring his anger, Sam lunged for the guy a second time.

The guy shimmied out of sight, taking the rope with him.

Sam peered after him. “He climbed into the lifeboat suspended over the next deck up.”

Jen raced back into the cabin and phoned security.

In minutes, the same security officer who’d questioned her last night showed up at her cabin door. As Sam relayed what happened, she looked in drawers and cupboards and suitcases to see what was missing. Trembling overtook her limbs. “Why was he here? What does he want?”

“Did you get a good look at him?” the officer asked. “Was it the same man who gave you the drink last night?”

“I don’t know.” She clenched her fists, refusing to fall apart in front of these men. “It happened too fast. And last night is too fuzzy to remember. But he had dark hair. I couldn’t tell what color eyes. He was four, maybe six, inches taller than me. Wore brown leather shoes. And gloves. The surgical kind.”

The officer relayed the description over his radio to men scouring the next deck. “Can you think of anything else? Clothes? Hair length?”

“He wore jeans,” Sam said.

“Short hair,” Jen added.

“Okay, my men are checking security footage now. Hopefully we’ll be able to pinpoint who this guy is. What did he take?”

“Noth—” Jen swallowed to clear the catch in her throat. “Nothing that I can see. The safe hasn’t been opened.”

“What do you think he was after?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know!” She ducked her head and chewed on her bottom lip, embarrassed at her outburst. “Cass and I don’t have any more valuables in here than anyone else would.”

“But given last night’s incident, this doesn’t feel like a random robbery.” The officer clicked his pen. “Did you recognize any names on the list?”

“What list?”

The officer shifted his attention back to Sam. “We sent it to your room this morning. Didn’t you get it?”

Sam pulled an envelope from his pocket—the envelope that had been sitting in the holder outside his door when they’d arrived. He removed a paper and handed it to her. “This lists every passenger who bought a soft drink anywhere on the ship in the thirty minutes prior to the waiter offering you that drink last night.”

She stared at the list—three columns long—and gulped.

“You recognize any of the names?” the officer asked.

Jen sank onto the bed, the paper shaking in her hand.

Sam hunkered beside her and rested his hand on her forearm. His warmth seeped into her chilled bones and stilled her trembling. She darted him a grateful glance, but his attention was fixed on the page.

The names were listed alphabetically. By the time she reached the Ps, she shook her head. “I don’t know any of these people.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “You know at least one.”

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