while I took a shower,” she breathed, shaking her head forlornly. “He had to’ve come to the room…figuring I wouldn’t hear him with the water running. And it matches up with the time that security guy at the gangplank gave me.”
Rio sighed heavily. Gave in to the urge to touch her, just letting his hands rest on her shoulders to reassure her.
She was shaking like a scared rabbit. Frightened out of her mind, on top of being upset because the man she was to marry had backed out on her so crassly. Betrayed her in ways they had yet to discover, if he had access to her clients and her plastic.
“We’d better report this immediately,” he suggested.
Lola nodded, wanting to cry and vomit and curl up in a ball. Hoping someone would tell her this mess had been straightened out—that Fletch had played one of his colossal jokes on her, and was on his way upstairs now to smooth things over.
But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? Fletch had never truly been hers, and she was paying now for refusing to see that.
“You’re right,” she sighed. “Let’s go.”
3
“This is Clive Kingsley, our concierge,” Rio said as he escorted Lola behind a counter and into a small, colorful office.
The man at the glossy walnut desk, stood up with a debonair grin. “So pleased to be of service! And how may I assist you, Miss—”
“Miss Wright has just discovered that her purse, cell phone, and cruise documents are gone,” the security agent filled him in. “Not to mention her passport. And we suspect her fiancé—”
“Ex-fiancé,” Lola muttered.
“—Dennis Fletcher, has taken them ashore and not returned to the ship,” DeSilva finished pointedly.
“Well, isn’t that nasty?” Kingsley exclaimed with a horrified expression.
His face softened when he looked at her, and the way he’d said nah-sty, with a British accent that flowed like hot fudge, would’ve sounded utterly delicious if she weren’t in such a pinch.
“But rest assured, Ms. Wright, we will get to the bottom of this! Mr. DeSilva here is the best security man sailing today, and the Aphrodite is equipped with cutting-edge technology.”
“Perhaps you could file the report and notify the credit card offices of this theft,” the agent went on, “while I check out a few other details.”
“Most certainly,” Kingsley said with a crisp nod. “Put out my sign as you leave, please, so we’ll have no interruptions. This is far more important than passengers wanting to book shore excursions or sign up for ballroom dance lessons. Shall we?”
The concierge, so dapper in his navy blue suit, gestured toward a doorway behind her. Feeling indecently underdressed, Lola preceded him into a cozy little sanctum decorated in brilliant jewel tones, where a flat-screen computer hummed quietly.
“Now, sit yourself down, my dear, and we’ll get you squared away so quickly you’ll still catch the captain’s champagne reception before dinner. Just let me bring up your account…and you’re in which stateroom again, please?”
“7010. Promenade deck.” She tried not to slump dejectedly, but the sleek wooden chair was so slick her silk robe gave her no traction. Gripping the edges of the seat, she thought about how ready she’d been to attend that gala reception—before this thing with Dennis came up, that is.
“And you would be Miss Lola Wright of Portland, Oregon, sharing the stateroom with Mr. Dennis Fletcher—”
Kingsley clicked through some screens and then glanced at her. “And you don’t have a single shred of identification, darling?”
Lola swallowed hard. Here again, under different circumstances she’d find Clive Kingsley’s baritone voice and dark, curly hair most alluring. His blue eyes glimmered with sympathy and perhaps even…interest.
“Not a shred,” she echoed. “The best I can figure, Dennis came up from—supposedly—the ship’s casino while I was in the shower. Stole my purse, my phone, my passport—”
“We’ll get him for that!”
“—and left me a note about finding his true soul mate, if you can believe that! Some woman with a seaside villa on Aruba!” she continued, fueled by her anger. “And this on the evening before we were to get married tomorrow, at sea!”
“Oh, and the ceremony is lovely!” Clive cut in, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “Our chef, Alphonse, outdoes himself on the ten-tiered cake—and the champagne punch cascades as a waterfall into an ice sculpture of a couple frolicking nude in a jacuzzi. This is an adult cruise, and we make every opportunity to keep our guests in the mood—”
Kingsley squinted slightly, and then slipped on a trendy little pair of reading glasses that hung around his neck. “Oh, my. My, my, my.”
Lola stiffened, straining to see the computer screen. But the concierge, whether to reduce the glare or protect her from what he saw, tilted the screen with a flick of his finger.
“What?”
Kingsley sighed and sat back. “I’ve brought up the various charges to the credit card with which you booked your cruise, dear. The account is in your name, correct?”
She nodded, getting that sick feeling again. “And?”
“It seems numerous charges have already been made to the ship’s bars and boutiques on Mr. Fletcher’s SeaKey—”
Lola cringed. They’d only been aboard for a day and a half! And she certainly hadn’t received any gifts from the fabulous shops here! What the hell had he bought? And what had he done with all that stuff?
“—so I’m wondering, since you mentioned he was in the casino—”
“How hard did he hit the ATM before he ditched me?”
Clive Kingsley’s face was a study in utter dejection. “I don’t show that information here, but I’d better find out. Excuse me while I make a call.”
Nodding, Lola pretended to study the array of appliquéd fabric montages depicting Caribbean street scenes. The vivid colors and textures played with her eyes, and she wished she were in the mood to appreciate such unique artwork. But who could possibly enjoy a vacation that had turned into the cruise from hell when her fiancé filched her plastic?
God, but I need a smoke!
Lola scootched back upright in the slick chair, while trying to keep her legs together and her boobs from falling out of her robe. A nicotine fit would be the pièce de résistance, far as impressing this courtly concierge. He was probably working so urgently just so he could get her out of his office.
Indeed, Mr. Kingsley’s low grunts into the phone, and the way he scribbled figures on a miniature legal pad, appeared anything but encouraging. Lola blinked rapidly and looked away, trying not to embarrass herself further.
Kingsley hung up. Did the math with quick,
