Beauty & the Beast (13 page)

The thought galvanized her. She tiptoed to the camping lantern and grabbed it up, shining it on the dark square Svetlana had glanced up at. It was smudged glass, so yes, maybe it was a window. And it looked like it might be the kind that slid open sideways.

Am I dreaming? Is this really happening?

Sweat beaded on her forehead. Heather set down the lantern and carried one of the two folding chairs to the wall and set it beneath the window. She was dizzy; she hadn’t had any real rest and very little to eat. She could already see that the space between the chair and the window would be too high for her to reach.

She went back for the table, moved the chair, and put the table against the wall. She hefted the chair on top of it. Then she tried to climb up, but her little tower was too tippy. Adrenaline was charging through her system. Her body was quivering. She got the second chair and put it down beside the table to steady it, stepped up onto it, then hoisted first her right leg and then her left onto the chair on top of the table.
There! Yes!
Her fingers reached the edge of the window. Then the table made an ominous cracking noise and began to wobble. She dug her fingertips into the edge of the frame, unable to see what she was doing because she was blocking the lantern’s beam with her body. Did the glass move sideways a fraction of an inch?

Fire then ice washed up and down her chest and spine as she fought to keep her balance. Her hands and arms shook. Everything shook. Another cracking noise echoed through the darkness. The table was falling apart beneath her.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she begged the window as she pulled with all her might. It was stuck. She had the presence of mind to realize that if she jerked too hard and the window suddenly opened all the way, the force of her momentum might send her flying off the table. She studied the darkness over her shoulder. No sign of Svetlana or worse, Ilya. So far, so good, except for the table.

Then she had an idea.

She climbed off the chair, down onto the table, and then onto the chair on the floor. Once she touched back down onto the cement, she pushed the chair underneath the tabletop. The back scraped the underside of the table and served as additional rickety support. Then, hesitating only to make sure that the cell door wouldn’t swing shut, Heather dashed into the cell, grabbed her blanket, water bottle, and chair, and hurried back to her own leaning tower of rusted furniture and used the chair as her stepping stool. She put down the blanket and water bottle, intending to break the window if she couldn’t get it open. She had forgotten to adjust the angle of the lantern; she still couldn’t judge if she was making any progress.

Then a wisp of cool air passed over the knuckles of her left hand. She smelled diesel oil and sewer stink. The window was opening. She was doing it.

How am I going to raise myself up?

Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Another quarter of an inch, then an inch. Another inch. Her progress was torturous. Getting closer. Closer still.

“Oh, please,” she whispered aloud.

The window slid open with a tremendous racket. She almost fell off the table but she grabbed the sill and clung to it. She didn’t know if there was a screen. In the dim light, she could manage to see that at least there were no bars.

She couldn’t do a pull-up from a stationary stance. She wasn’t strong enough. She needed to push off with as much force as she could muster. But if she came back down she would probably break the table. There’d be even more noise.

I can’t do it. They’ll come. I should figure out something else.

But she couldn’t think of anything else. What could she do with the blanket?

Tie the water bottle around one end and throw it through the opening?

Again, she faced the problem of mustering enough force.

And then she heard footsteps.

“No,” she groaned under her breath. She looked at the cell, images of herself repositioning the furniture in their original locations and locking herself inside warring with a close-up of Cat’s face as someone shot her. Heather had made a promise. She was going to do this.

One, two, three, she bent her knees and leaped upward. She threw her body forward—
There’s no screen! Nothing’s in my way!
—and grabbed the outside of the window. Her legs dangled; then she found her footing and started climbing up the wall.

The footsteps were louder. To Heather’s ears, they rang like cannon shots.

She held on tight and tried to swing her leg upwards. The space was so small; what was she doing? She should go back, pretend nothing had happened—

“No way,” she muttered.

She swung her leg up again. Her knee smacked into the glass panel on the right side of the window frame. The glass shattered. Suddenly the window was twice as large as before. Ignoring searing pain as the shards cut into her palm and the side of her knee, she put everything she had into getting out, getting free.

Shouting erupted behind her. Running. Heavy footfalls toward the window. Her right leg was almost out. Light blazed around her.

“Stop, stop now!” Svetlana bellowed.

Heather gritted her teeth. The muscles in her left arm spasmed as she pulled up as hard as she could.

A loud pop sounded. Then her butt felt as though someone had slapped it super-hard. She went limp and fell.

I’ve been shot.

With a cry, she collapsed onto the chair, and as she began to pass out, the table broke apart and she landed hard—way too hard—on the floor.

Everything hurt.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Yeah, I seen your dog,” the woman at JT’s front door said. She was wearing a tattered turquoise housecoat and a pair of yellow slippers, smoking a cigarette and fanning herself with one of the dozens of
MISSING DOG – REWARD
posters he and Tess had blanketed the neighborhood with.

“Dead,” she said. “In that alley back there.”

Some people are heartless
, JT thought. Tess had warned him to expect at least half a dozen false alarms because of the reward money. They might even get a few fake Princess Mochis offered to them.

“Do you have any evidence?” he asked.

For a moment his heart stopped when she held up a leash that resembled Mochi’s. That was what she had probably found in the alley, not the dog.

“Nice try,” he said, and shut the door in her face.

The phone rang, and he picked it up. It was Tess.

“You are not going to believe this,” she said in a huff. “That kid with the drug charges? Chief Ward’s friends? He’s
walking.
Not even probation.”

“Well, that’s what your boss wanted, right? You did everything by the book, Tess. You stood your ground. It’s not your fault.” He smiled faintly as he heard her huff again. “We should celebrate, in fact.”

“Any Mochi action?” she asked him.

“No real leads.” He decided not to tell her about Mrs. Housecoat.

“We find Mochi,
then
we celebrate.”

“We’ll find her.”

“Hey, speaking of no action, I tried to call Heather a couple times, to see if she could help put up some posters, and she hasn’t returned my calls,” Tess said.

“She’s probably kicking back and watching movies. She’s got a new boyfriend, right? Ravi something? When the Cat’s away…”

“Maybe when she was sixteen. Anyway, I gotta go.”

“We’ll find her,” JT repeated. “No sweat.”

He hung up and nervously devoured half a pound of gummi worms.

* * *

The rain was just the beginning, so Captain Kilman warned. Bethany told Vincent and Catherine that Captain Kilman was more worried about the impending storm than he was letting on.

“But mostly because the passengers will get bored and fussy. Like babies. I think a storm will be cool. So tonight, what are we gonna play? Because I am gonna kick your butt, Vincent.”

It was their third night out and Catherine and Vincent had made a pact to tell Bethany that they needed a night off. But as Vincent took in the teenager’s bouncy eagerness, he caught Cat blowing the air out of her cheeks. His wife’s shoulders were rounded. Yeah, he didn’t want to break it to Bethany either. But this was their honeymoon.

“You need to write up your internship report entry for today, right?” Catherine said. “And feed Sprinkles.”

“Yeah, but then…” Bethany trailed off. Her lips parted as she looked from Catherine to Vincent and back again. And in the span of five seconds, the hard, surly expression she had been wearing when they’d first met was back.

“I see,” she said tightly.

Catherine pretended hard not to see. “After you get all that done, then you’ll kick his butt.”

“Never,” Vincent put in. “You won’t be able to touch me.”

And from the way things were going, he’d never be able to touch Catherine. Now they were both going overboard—so to speak—to placate Bethany and break their pledge to spend the evening alone.

“You don’t want me to come over tonight,” Bethany said.

“Of course we do,” Cat said. “But… well, we’ve been wondering if your dad misses you.”

She narrowed her eyes at Catherine. “You don’t need to
lie
.”

Catherine reddened. For a cop, she was making a pretty big mess of this.

“Actually, we were thinking of asking him if we four could have dinner together sometime,” Vincent said. “Like maybe tonight.” Catherine nodded.

Bethany’s eyes widened. “Are you
insane
?”

“We thought it might be interesting,” she said. “Your dad’s been to Hawaii before and we could use some pointers on what there is to do. We could invite him over tonight for a little while and then he could go back to your suite. You and Vincent could play and I-I’ll read another book.” Her smile was a bit on the strained side. “Or we could continue binge-watching
The Walking Dead
. Or both.”

Bethany studied her. “You’re sure,” she said.

“Yes,” Catherine promised. “So go do your report and feed Sprinkles, and we’re going to look over the different tours for when we dock in Hilo so we can ask your dad about them.”

“Don’t you want to see Sprinkles with me?”

“I’d love to, but I’ve got to do some stuff and we need to figure this stuff out. So when you go home, ask your dad if he can come over, or we can phone him.”

“He’ll want to bring our stupid chef over here,” she said.

Cat wrinkled her nose. “Let’s let him. I mean, I love pizza and nachos as much as the next person, but I’m not going to be able to fit into my bathing suit if I don’t eat something lighter.”

“Yeah, same here,” Vincent said, creating a united front.

Bethany didn’t look thrilled. Vincent understood. But darn it, if he was going to spend the third night of this cruise babysitting, he was going to eat well.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “I’ll let you know what he says.”

“Great.” Catherine walked her to the door. “See you in a couple hours.” As soon as she opened it, it started to rain. She held out her hand. “Oh, it’s nice and warm. Run home quick so you don’t get wet.”

Bethany took off, and Catherine shut the door. Then without a moment’s hesitation she kicked off her shoes and snaked her tank top over her head. She slithered out of her floral wrap-around skirt, and then her lacy bra and panties— two of the sexy purchases she had made with Tess and Heather. By then Vincent was naked too.

She pointed to their private lanai with its sinfully lush profusion of delicate ferns and brilliant flowers, the view of the open ocean. The rain was coming down harder. “It’s so warm,” she said. “It’s like bath water.” She looked at him coyly and added, “I’ve never done it in the rain.”

Without another word, he scooped her up and carried her across the living room to the lanai door. He slid it open and stepped out in the gently falling water. It was very warm, and it slicked Catherine’s hair away from her exquisite face as she gazed up at him hungrily. He spread his legs wide for balance and bent his head for a kiss. Her soft lips covered his; then her tongue darted into his mouth. Oh, how he loved her. Wanted her.

This will be our year…

He set her down on her feet and she molded herself against him. Skin on skin; there was nothing between them now. Their love had been destined, and in the rain, on the immense, rolling sea, they reveled in it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Miguel’s primary operative met the secondary in the designated spot below decks on the
Sea Majesty
. They had never teamed up before, probably never would again, and neither knew the other’s real name. It was part of an intricate system of cut outs that created dead ends for law enforcement and criminal organizations looking for retaliation, and left Miguel untraceable by either.

“The
jefe
is really pissed off at the delay,” Two said. “I’ve only seen him this mad once before. Job got fouled up bad— target was wounded not killed, cops crawling everywhere. Blowback was considerable. The hitter who fouled it up never surfaced again.”

“We have to do something, and we have to do it
now
,” Number One said irritably.

Though they had individually made visual contact with their target and accessed the stateroom, neither had been able to get their hands or eyeballs on the jacket or what was supposed to be tucked away in the left-hand pocket. The original plan had been to pull a two-person bump-and-dip, and cleanly pick her pocket of its contents. No muss, no fuss. But so far the cop hadn’t worn the thing in public. As luck would have it she didn’t go out much on deck in the evenings, which was when she would be most likely to put it on.

“If he wants the merchandise by the time we land in Hilo,” One added, “that only gives us two more nights to make it happen. I’ve heard that story about the hitter who messed up. If we run out of time and come up empty, we’re never going to surface either. I say let’s just kill them both now and grab the damned thing.”

Two laughed out loud.

One scowled.

Two stopped laughing abruptly. “You can’t be serious.”