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.
