Burn: A Novel (14 page)

While Sydney stood there, maddeningly impotent, Kim went around the room and collected the pens and notepads that the
hotel provided. She disconnected the phone, leaving the phone itself sitting there so the maids wouldn’t notice it was missing, but taking the cord with her. She went into the bathroom and checked there. While she was out of sight Sydney stood there, looking longingly at the door, but chained by her fear for Jenner.

Kim came out of the bathroom and nodded approvingly when she saw Sydney still standing in the same place. “Good choice,” she said, knowing of course that running had been considered. “Especially since Dori is standing in the foyer and you wouldn’t have made it outside.”

Just then there was a sound in the foyer as someone knocked briskly at the double doors. Sydney’s heart leapt, but then she heard the sound of the door opening and Dori said, “Good Lord! There’s enough luggage there for three people!”

Sydney’s face burned.

“Do the math,” Adam said, amusement in his deep tones. “This was a two-week trip. Most women need more than two tracksuits and three changes of underwear for that length of time.”

“I wash out my underwear every night,” Dori said, her tone as annoyed as Adam’s was amused.

“Just saying. You aren’t exactly in a position to judge whether this is a lot of luggage or not.”

Their banter spoke of a long relationship but not, to Sydney’s ear, of anything romantic. Then Adam came into the bedroom, easily carrying two of her heaviest bags. “We’ll need to go through everything, make certain she doesn’t have anything in here that could cause us any trouble.” He hoisted the bags onto the bed. “You take these two,” he said to Kim. “Dori and I will handle the others.” He flicked a quick, impersonal look at Sydney. “How’s she holding up?”

“She’s
holding up just fine,” Sydney snapped, infuriated that he talked over her as if she weren’t there. She was lying, of course, because she wasn’t holding up fine, but at least she wasn’t a limp puddle on the floor.

“Good deal,” he said, smiling at her.

She met the smile with a stony gaze. How dare the bastard smile at her?

His expression remained pleasant, because of course he didn’t care if she was upset or not, didn’t care what she liked or didn’t like.

Turning, he started into the foyer to help Kim with searching the rest of Sydney’s bags, but he stopped in the bedroom doorway and pulled a small gadget out of his pocket. Flipping out a screwdriver head, he whistled softly as he dismantled the lock on the bedroom door.

Even though logically she knew the flimsy lock wouldn’t have kept them out, she had been looking forward to at least the illusion of privacy. Now that was gone, as casually and easily as getting a drink of water.

Her knees wobbled again, so she sat down in the chair and dully watched as all her belongings were sorted through. Kim wasn’t careless with the fragile fabrics; she took each garment out separately, and neatly laid it aside, but she was extremely thorough in her search, even checking the lining of the suitcases. Good God, what did they think she was, a spy?

At last the chore was finished. Pausing at the door, Kim said, “We’ll bring your cell phone to you in a little while, so you can call Ms. Jenner. Until then, make yourself comfortable.”

Comfortable?
Comfortable
?

Sydney supposed that was possible, at least physically. The bedroom was nice enough. This wasn’t a luxury hotel, catering more to the business crowd, but it was decent. But how could she be comfortable when she was a prisoner, when Jenner was, too, somewhere—and they were both likely to die before this was over?

And she still didn’t know what the hell these people wanted.

J
ENNER CHECKED HER WATCH AS THE PLANE LANDED IN
San Diego. The flight was almost two hours late, and even though she wasn’t worried about missing the ship—it didn’t sail until four p.m.—the weather delay in Dallas had been both annoying and tiring. Despite her changed financial circumstances, she wasn’t exactly a seasoned traveler. She had never been to Europe, for instance. A lot of the Palm Beach crowd would fly to Switzerland every winter for the skiing, but she wasn’t interested in learning how to slide down a mountainside on two skinny planks, so she had no reason to go. One day she wanted to go to Australia, maybe, and there were a couple of other countries she’d like to see, but so far she simply hadn’t traveled all that much.

When she did fly it was first class, but she didn’t belong to any of the airlines’ clubs and didn’t really see a lot of difference between sitting in one place or sitting in another. Sitting wasn’t what she wanted to do; she was too restless, too antsy after the long flight. So she’d walked the Dallas-Fort Worth airport for two hours, trying to get in some exercise, but constantly dodging around more slowly moving people or, worse, getting trapped behind them was about as relaxing as driving in rush-hour traffic. Still, at least she’d been moving.

She had tried to call Syd from Dallas, to let her know about the storm delay, but the calls went straight to voice mail. Syd was scrupulous about turning her phone off when she was in a restaurant or any other social situation, because she was so hypersensitive about disturbing or annoying others, but she often forgot to turn the phone back on right away. Jenner wasn’t as polite; she would set her phone to vibrate instead of ring, but she never turned it off. What had once been a luxury was now an absolute necessity, like air, water, and Stuart Weitzman shoes.

By now, though, when Jenner hadn’t shown up on time, Syd would have remembered to turn on the phone and tried to contact her. As the plane taxied toward the terminal, Jenner thumbed the power button on her phone and waited for the system to connect. All over the first-class cabin, she could hear the various tones that signaled almost every other passenger was doing the same thing.

There was no message. Maybe downloading messages from her carrier took a few minutes, though the guy beside her was intently listening to his messages. Just before the plane reached the Jetway she checked again. Still no message.

Surely Syd should have called by now. Maybe her message had been dropped. Jenner thumbed in Syd’s cell number as the tone sounded that released passengers from their seats and everyone stepped into the aisle, gathering their carry-on bags. Jenner followed suit, slinging her bag over her shoulder and nodding a thank-you to the man who stepped back to allow her to join the queue that jostled and snaked its way forward. She still held the phone to her ear as she stepped off the plane, listening as the ringing stopped and the call went to voice mail. She left another message, then clicked off and slipped the phone back into her bag.

Even if Syd were late, too, which wouldn’t have surprised Jenner, she would have called. Jenner began to feel a little worried.

Still, things could have happened. Syd’s cell phone could have a dead battery, or have completely stopped working, and she
hadn’t discovered either of those possibilities until she was already on the ship. Her purse could have been stolen. Or she was on the ship, had been leaning on the rail of their balcony, and had dropped the phone overboard. Any number of things could have happened, which were all not only more likely but were also all better than the real worry she had, that Syd had been in an accident and couldn’t call.

Jenner had notified the limo company that her flight would be late, but its actual arrival time had pretty much been anyone’s guess, so she hoped no wires had gotten crossed there. The first thing she saw when she reached the baggage claim area, though, was a uniformed Hispanic man holding a sign that said “
RED-WINE
.” She signaled him and he hustled over to collect her luggage, which took its own sweet time arriving. The carousel didn’t start turning for a good fifteen minutes, and while one of her bags appeared almost immediately, the other didn’t show up until most of the other bags were gone.

Every additional delay ate at her nerves. She hated being late, even by as much as one minute. The discipline of getting to work on time, clocking in, getting docked money if she was late, and the possibility of getting fired if she was late more than a few times a year, had drilled punctuality into her brain and habits. The fact that none of these delays were her fault, or under her control, almost made it worse because that meant she was helpless. She had to go with the flow, and the flow today was sluggish.

“Is this all your luggage?” the driver asked, pulling out the telescoping handles of each suitcase and gripping each one.

“Yes, that’s all.” Syd had taken a mountain of luggage, but Jenner had repacked several times so she could fit everything into just two bags. They were big bags, though, and so heavy she couldn’t lift them. She just hoped she hadn’t forgotten anything vital, because it wasn’t as if she could run out and pick up whatever it was, though she imagined any decent cruise ship would be well stocked with whatever necessities might be forgotten by careless passengers. This particular cruise didn’t include as many port calls
as most cruises did, due to their destination and the nature of the cruise, so surely the shops onboard would carry a larger variety of items.

“How long will it take to get to the cruise ship terminal?” she asked the driver, once more checking her watch. Time was slipping away from her. “I don’t want the ship to sail without me.”

He grinned, a flash of white teeth in his dark face. “I’ll get you there in plenty of time, I promise.”

Thank goodness, traffic cooperated by being delay-free, helped by the fact that lunch hour had already come and gone and the evening rush hour hadn’t begun yet. Sooner than she’d expected, the limo was pulling into the impressive loading area. The
Silver Mist
loomed over the terminal, which was itself easily three or four stories high. Jenner caught her breath at her first sight of the ship. While she knew it wasn’t a huge ship, going more for luxury than quantity, the size of the thing still took her by surprise. She saw ships all the time, living where she did, but she’d never been this close to one before.

And the
Silver Mist was
beautiful. All of the cruise ships she’d seen were gleaming white, with different trim and sterns, but this one wasn’t exactly white. It wasn’t exactly gray, either, but somewhere in between. The paint gleamed and shimmered, almost like … a silver mist. Duh.

An enormous parking lot was across the street, but she imagined very few, if any, of the passengers on this cruise had driven themselves to the terminal. The only vehicles she saw were limos. Her driver pulled up to the luggage area where a swarm of men were unloading, tagging, and reloading a mountain of luggage. She had printed her luggage tags from the Internet site, and the tags listed the suite number, which was how the bags were delivered to the correct staterooms.

As soon as the porter saw her luggage tag and looked at her paperwork, he said, “There was a mix-up on the suite assignments on this deck. When you get aboard, there’ll be someone in a red jacket waiting in the elevator vestibule to tell you which stateroom
is yours. Your luggage will be set aside until we get the correct number.”

Her anxiety level ratcheted upward even more. She was tired, she was worried about Syd, and she didn’t want to deal with mix-ups. She didn’t want her luggage to be “set aside,” because what if the ship sailed without it? But this was one more thing she couldn’t control, so she mentally threw up her hands and gave up. “What am I supposed to do now?” she asked the porter. “I’ve never been on a cruise before.”

He smiled. “Then you’re in for an experience. You’ll love it.” He pointed toward the entrance to the terminal. “Go in there, and take the escalator up. The concierge will take care of you, get you checked in, and show you aboard the ship.”

Syd had told her that the passengers who booked the suites were checked in separately, and before the others, but on this particular cruise everyone was a VIP, so she had no idea how the order of check-in would be handled. On the other hand, most people were staying in the smaller mini-suites, so the ones who had booked the most expensive suites would still get the star treatment. Maybe.

She followed the porter’s directions, got private, individual service checking in, and was escorted to security, where her photo was taken and scanned into a facial recognition software program. She was given her key card and her ship’s card, which she’d need for identification, drinks, and anything else she bought while onboard, then she crossed from the terminal to the ship via a covered walkway. A red jacketed attendant was there, checking room assignments and sending people in the right directions. When he saw Jenner’s card, he called up and alerted someone to Jenner’s presence, then directed her to the correct elevator with the assurance that someone would meet her when she got off the elevator at the penthouse deck.

The hallways, corridors—whatever they were called on a ship—were full of activity as people strolled around, crew members delivered luggage, and acquaintances stopped to talk and thus
blocked the rather narrow passageway. Jenner saw a couple of people she recognized, but waved instead of stopping to chat. She wanted to get to the suite and find Syd. She reached the elevators and punched the “up” button for both of them, then got in the one that arrived first.

Another red jacket was waiting for her when the doors slid open. “Ms. Redwine?” the woman asked, smiling. “Please come with me, I’ll escort you to your suite. I’m so sorry for the confusion. The suite you had booked was lovely, but I think you’ll be very happy with the one you’ve been assigned. It’s next to the owner’s suite. Your steward, Bridget, is waiting for you.”

The attendant started briskly down the corridor and Jenner followed; she wanted to ask if Syd had arrived, but at the pace the woman was walking figured she’d find out herself in about five seconds anyway. They passed an impressive set of double doors that had to be to the owner’s suite, then stopped at the next door down as a compact but sturdily built young woman with coppery red hair and calm blue eyes approached. “This is Bridget,” the attendant said. “Bridget, this is Ms. Redwine. I’ll leave you to your duties.” Then she hurried back the way she’d come, talking into her radio phone as she raced to meet more arriving passengers and conduct them to their newly assigned quarters.