Beauty & the Beast (11 page)

“Nice try, smart girl,” Svetlana said. Then she got up and left. The cell door lock clicked ominously behind her.

But she had left the camping lantern on. On purpose? As a gesture of kindness? Heather had often listened to Tess and Cat discussing their cases back when they were partners—on the phone or during a movie night at the apartment—and one of the most interesting things they talked about was getting a bad guy to “flip.” To become a good guy, basically. To reveal information that would solve the case, incriminate his or her friends, or confess. Most of the time, people flipped to save their own skin. But sometimes they did it because their conscience was bothering them. They weren’t completely bad. They were still redeemable.

Was Svetlana redeemable? Svetlana had stepped into Heather’s line of vision when Ilya had killed Ravi. She’d made him back off when he’d taunted her. She’d brought Heather a sandwich. And she’d left the light on even after glancing up at what might be a dirty window.

Does she have a guilty conscience? Can I use it against her to get her to help me? Or should I try another way to flip her?

It was perfectly acceptable to lie to suspects and tell them that someone else connected to the case was spilling their guts and blaming everything on them. Cat and Tess were excellent liars themselves—look at how well they had covered up for Vincent all this time—and Heather had picked up pointers about how to lie convincingly: keep your eyes wide open, keep your story simple, and don’t try too hard.

She doesn’t like Ilya. Could I lie about something he told his uncle? They probably only speak to each other in Russian. What could I make up that she would believe?

“Nothing,” Heather whispered. The jitters came then; she shook uncontrollably and her eyes welled with tears. Control. She had to stay in control. But it was so hard when she was frightened, dirty, hungry, and exhausted.
She
wasn’t a cop. She was an event planner.

But I’m Catherine Chandler’s sister
, she reminded herself.
Okay, her half-sister, but I’ve got the half that matters. Mom was smart, brave, and sneaky, and so are we. I can do this.

And I
will
do this.

“Bring it,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The
Sea Majesty
had left the Port of Los Angeles behind and made for the open water. The passengers were busily acquainting themselves with the pools, the volleyball court, the casino, and the shopping mall, which was extensive. There was a queue in the Majestic Memories shop to see the embarking photographs, which were displayed on video screens.

“There she is.” Cat gave Vincent a nudge in his side. The girl she had noticed before sat on the side of the grotto pool with her legs in the water. She was wearing a black nineteen-thirties-style bathing suit and a broad-brimmed black straw hat, and she was hunched over a book.

“And there
he
is.” Vincent gestured with his chin.

The guy in the black suit and sunglasses was barely visible as he studied the girl.

Cat sauntered casually over to the pool and stopped beside the girl. She allowed her shadow to fall over the girl’s book. No reaction. Cat squinted at the page.
Poems of the English Romantic Period.
Homework?

“Is the water nice?” Cat asked.

The girl shifted slightly but didn’t answer. Cat leaned over and stuck her hand in the pool. “Ooh, it’s a little chilly.”

Huffing, the girl looked up from her book. “It’s perfect. You should go in.” Judging by her tone of voice, she was silently adding,
And leave me alone.

Cat slipped off her wedges, lowered herself to the cement, and put her legs in. She fanned them back and forth but didn’t speak.

The girl turned a page. Then she looked over at Cat, looked again. Gave her head a quick shake.

Cat glanced at her. Without looking up, the girl said, “I thought you were Kate Middleton.”

Cat was so surprised that she guffawed. The girl frowned. She said, “It was an honest mistake.”

“Oh? Have you met Kate Middleton?”

This time the girl looked at her full on. “Yes, I have. Haven’t you? I thought they put all the people who had met Kate Middleton on the same deck.”

Oooh, touchy.
Cat moved her shoulders. “Okay,” she said, “I think I’m busted. Here’s the deal. My husband and I noticed a man following you and we want to know if you know him.”

Paling, the girl sucked in her breath. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “
No.
”

“You do know him,” Cat pressed, senses going on alert.

“Where…? I mean, I have to go.” She closed her book. Cat placed a hand on her forearm.

“Let me help you. Who is he? Are you traveling with him?”

“Stay away from me.” The girl got to her feet and looked around. Cat began to get up too, but by then the girl had taken off—in a one-eighty away from the man.

Cat looked over at Vincent, who gave her a nod—
I’m watching
—pulled her legs out of the water, put on her wedges, and headed straight for the man. He saw her coming, turned away, and disappeared around the corner.

She edged her way through the small crowd—their deck was very exclusive—and saw him moving down a narrow passageway dotted with rows of plain metal doors. He glanced over his shoulder, spotted her, and picked up speed.

“Wait,” she called, but that was all she could say. She couldn’t invoke the power of her badge. She wasn’t a cop here. She was just a civilian.

I’m never not a cop.

He took a right.

So did she.

He went down a flight of metal stairs, ducking beneath a sign that read No P
ASSENGERS
P
LEASE
! apparently in several different languages. She heard his footfalls clanging, then her own, as she followed him. When she reached the bottom, she saw him moving down another tight passageway. As before, she pursued, and when she was almost close enough to reach out and grab him, he whirled around and yanked on her arm.

Instinctively Cat executed an open-palm strike, slamming the heel of her hand beneath his chin. God, he was made of iron; his thick neck muscles prevented his head snapping back so much as a fraction of an inch. He deflected her uppercut to his midsection, wrapping his hand around her forearm and throwing her against the wall. Anticipating his counterattack, she had tucked in her chin and so her shoulder took the brunt of the impact. She used her own momentum to push off with a sidekick that caught his jaw, and before he could grab her ankle, she twisted around and rammed her elbow into his side and punched him in the face.

Then she let herself fall to the floor and contracted her legs into her chest, thrusting hard when he began to bend over her. But it was a feint; he had backed off. She jackknifed to her feet—and faced down the barrel of a gun.

“Fire!” she shouted without hesitation. “Fire on the ship!”

That was the magic word to utter in a crisis situation. Not “help” or “nine-one-one” or even “call the police,” unfortunately. That was because a fire could affect everyone including a random passerby who might not otherwise be inclined to get involved.

“Shut up.” The man raised his gun.

“I don’t think so.” She kept her voice even and steady. “Fi—”

“Who do you work for?” he asked at the same time she started to yell.

“I’m NYPD. You?” she shot back.

“
You’re a cop?
Where’s your badge?”

“Who wants to know?”

“You know who I am.” But he looked uncertain. He dabbed at his split lip and frowned at the blood. “Wait. What’d she tell you?”

“Who are you?” she said again, sensing that once he’d realized she was a cop, he abandoned the idea of shooting her.

“Terry Milano. Her bodyguard.”

“No way,” she blurted.

His smile was sour. “Let me guess. She told you I was some master criminal after her father’s business secrets. Or some pervy pedophile.”

“But you’re… her
bodyguard
? Do you have credentials to prove that?”

He reached in his pocket and handed her a wallet. She checked it. He had a California driver’s license identifying him as Terence Milano. She also found a permit to carry a concealed weapon.

“My best credential is inside the Neptune Suite,” he said. “My boss, Forrest Daugherty. Her father. You can speak to him if you want. Or to the head of security aboard the
Sea Majesty.
His name is Brian d’Allesandro.”

That was correct. From force of habit, Cat had looked up the name of the ship’s security chief when she and Vincent had booked the cruise. Sometimes you came across ex-cops who had left the force. They got paid a lot more doing private security and put up with a lot less politics.

“D’Allesandro knows I’m carrying,” he added. “He knows I’m working for the Daughertys.”

I’ve been played
, Cat figured.
That girl is probably laughing her head off right now.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” Cat asked him.

He shrugged. “Not in my job description. And if I’m not mistaken, you don’t have a job aboard this vessel.” He decocked his gun and put it in a pancake holster inside his jacket and held out his hand. She took it. They shook.

“What’s her name?” Cat asked.

“Well, her code name used to be Six-Six-Six but she found out about it and told her father. I could tell he thought it was funny but he told me to change it. So now it’s Garbo. For Greta Garbo, the actress. She was a recluse. ‘I vant to be alone,’” he mimicked. “But her real name is Bethany.”

He gestured for them to walk back the way they had come. It looked like all she’d given him was a split lip, but she was a little sore. Her ego required her to mask the damage, and she kept pace with him.

“Are you going to tell her father?” she asked him.

He scoffed. “What, and lose my job? She used to pull this kind of crap from time to time, but that was when she was in playgroups. I hadn’t seen her for a while. She’s gotten more sophisticated.”

“Poor little rich kid?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

“You could say that, but I never would.” He wrinkled his nose. “I think you might be getting a shiner. Sorry about that.”

“No problem. I’ve had worse.”

“So you’re not here on the job,” he said. “Buy you a drink?”

“I’m here on my honeymoon. I’m sure my husband would love to join us.”

He grinned at her. “All the good ones are married or gay.”

She grinned back. “Trust me. They’re not.”

They walked up deckside to find Vincent standing expectantly beside Bethany Daugherty, whose arms were folded and her shoulders hunched. If looks could kill, no one within a fifty-mile radius of her would be alive. When she spotted him with Cat, she practically spit fire. She wheeled on her heel but Vincent had hold of her arm. She jerked herself out of his grasp but made no effort to flee. Maybe she realized her goose was cooked.

“So this is what happened,” Cat began, but Vincent said, “Got it figured out. You okay?”

“Thankfully, yes,” Cat answered. “Although Mr. Milano was compelled to pull a weapon on me.”

Vincent gaped at her. Lowering her eyes, Bethany smiled.

“Oh, I almost forgot to make introductions. Terry Milano, Vincent Keller.”

The two men shook hands. “Sorry I kind of beat up your wife,” Milano said.

“We’re cool,” Vincent replied.

“So, hi, Bethany,” Cat said pleasantly. “I’m Cat. Terry and I decided we should attack that truffle bar and get to know each other better.”

“Sure,” Milano said. “Sounds terrific.”

Dear Bethany let loose with a barrage of swear words, some of which Cat had never heard before—and she was a streetwise New York City cop. Vincent chewed the inside of his cheek, equally impressed.

“There is no way I’m going anywhere with any of you,” Bethany informed them.

“Fine. We’ll pay your dad a visit instead,” Cat said.

“He’ll be too busy to talk to you. He’s always too busy.”

Cat didn’t press. She didn’t want to get Milano in trouble with his employer. And while she was used to the self-absorbed sulkiness of teenagers—after all, she’d practically raised Heather herself—she knew that bratty behavior often masked real pain. Maybe she could do something to help Bethany.

“I need to feed Sprinkles,” Bethany told Milano flatly. “Let’s go. I have to change.”

“That’s her dog,” Milano explained. “They’re keeping him in a kennel below decks.”

“This ship sucks,” Bethany grumbled. “Last time I got to keep my dog in my stateroom.”

“That was Mariposa, and she was a Yorkie,” Milano filled in. “Sprinkles is a little bigger.”

“Still, if their suite’s the biggest one on the ship, it would seem like a trivial matter to let her keep her dog with her,” Cat argued. “I’d hate to be separated from my dog if I had one.”

“You can come with me to see Sprinkles.” Maybe Bethany knew Cat knew she was playing her in return, or maybe the girl really did want Cat to come with her. She looked straight at Cat. “Just you.”

You’re not armed, are you?
Cat asked silently. She met Milano’s gaze over Bethany’s head. He gave her a quick nod— permission granted. Maybe he would follow at a more discreet distance, or maybe he would trust a cop—even an unarmed one—to take care of Bethany for one harmless stroll.

Cat kissed Vincent’s cheek and said, “Catch you later. We have the late seating for dinner, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll catch up on my video games.”

A flicker of interest lit up Bethany’s eyes. “What do you play?”

Vincent rattled off a short list of titles. Cat had grown to accept that her man had a boyish side that included making cannonballs when he jumped into swimming pools and playing video games. Lots of video games, preferably games that required two players and had a lot of explosions. Enter the necessity of a best friend, that being JT.

After a long, hard, dirty day as a cop the last thing Cat wanted to do was pretend-drive a speeding car and pretend-shoot bad guys. On the other hand, Vincent had no interest in watching TV shows about doctors, or chick-flicks “where nothing ever happens.”