Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3) (8 page)

No police. They’re everywhere.
René’s words sent her reeling. Again.

But of all people why did her dad have to send
Thomas
?

Everyone applauded and the lights came up. The show was over and she hadn’t seen any of the antics that wowed the audience. On stage the dozen or so brightly clad acrobats lined up taking their bows.

She stood when her seat companions rose to leave. And Thomas. Her nerves sparked and leaped like the tumblers.

His smile showed perfect white teeth.
The better to bite you with, my dear.
“After you, ladies.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Mimi?” Stacy’s grin was bigger than the ship’s buffet.

Without missing a beat, he said, “I’m Thomas Devlin.”

Thomas
. The name sounded right delivered by his deep voice. And
Tommy
didn’t suit the boss of a security company. One who spoke with authority and wore woodsy cologne. She could kick him for smelling sinfully delicious.

Cleo squeezed the introduction to Stacy and Deidre from between clenched teeth.

The two women declared how thrilled they were to meet him. He asked them what port they’d liked so far and seemed to focus on their answers with sincerity. With Deidre prodding her from behind, she had no choice but to walk up the stairs beside Tommy—
Thomas
. Deidre and Stacy fell in behind them.

He took her arm and draped her pashmina over it. “You left this in the restaurant.”

“Thank you. How did you find me?”

“A lucky guess.”

Oh, right. He’d probably bribed another one of the staff. She seethed, unable to blast him with her two all-ears pals on their heels. How could she shake him?

When they reached the exit, Stacy spoke up. “We’re headed up to the nightclub for karaoke. Won’t you join us?”

Cleo closed her eyes.
No, no, please say no
.

He laughed, that sexy rumble she’d never forgotten and felt deep inside her, dammit. “Thank you, but I need my sleep. I have an early morning tai chi class.”

With a wave, he strode away.

She managed to keep her mouth from dropping open as she watched him go. The man did have a fine rear view. His tailored trousers cupped his firm buns. Muscular legs propelled him. He moved with an athlete’s natural and steady grace.

She should be relieved he was going. What was he up to?

THOMAS STOOD TO
the side, away from the stateroom door’s peephole. He mouthed,
“Now.”

The white-jacketed waiter grinned and tapped on the door. “
Madame?
I bring you clean towels.”

A rustling noise beyond the door. Then, “Just a sec.”

Thomas held his breath. If she noticed the tray with its covered plate—obviously not clean towels—would she open the door? She could call Security, but no, too risky after what he’d explained.

After an interminable moment, the door opened. Cleo, still dressed in the slinky green wrap dress, gaped at the waiter. One hand flew to her throat, shadows of emotion darkening her expression. Fear? When her wide gaze lit on Thomas, her brows drew together and her mouth thinned.

Before she had time to object, he elbowed his way inside and held the door open. “You left without dinner.”

She held up a hand. “You can’t come in.”

“I’m already in... Mimi.” Her hair was loose on her shoulders the way he liked it. Her citrus scent tempted him to soften his approach. But no, he had to make her understand her life was at stake. “No karaoke?”

“Maybe I have an early tai chi class too,” she huffed.

“I’ll be there if you will.” He turned to the waiter, who stared, rapt, at their exchange.

The man’s cheeks flushed the brick-red of the carpet before he ducked his head. He slipped past Cleo and deposited the tray on the cocktail table. “
Buon appetito, signorina,”
he said as he slunk out.

“Thank you, Armando.” Thomas closed the door firmly.

“How much did you bribe him?”

“Bribe is an ugly word. He accepted a tip for his services. Worth every penny.” He set the goblets on the vanity counter beside the closet and poured wine into both. “I had a glass of this at dinner. Very nice.”

“I don’t want any.”

“You shouldn’t have opened the door so readily. The stewards already prepared the room.” He gestured toward the bed and its towel frog with coffee creamer eyes.

“I suppose it could’ve been an assassin.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, worse. It’s you.”

“Give me a chance to explain some things, and you’ll change your mind.”

He put a glass in her hand and closed her fingers around it.

Sipping his wine, Thomas watched her expressive face, emotions clear in her sexy eyes. Resentment. Indecision. Her shoulders lowered a fraction. And resignation.

He might win this round. He skirted the queen bed and sat on the loveseat. Uncovering the plate with a flourish, he inhaled elaborately. “Eat before it gets cold.”

“Not hungry.” Her nostrils flared as the aromas from the beef dish lured her a few steps closer.

“Right. I just heard your belly growl. Eat. Have some wine.”

She sidled over and sat on the other end of the loveseat. Spread her napkin on her lap, gripped her fork and knife, and glared at him. He could hardly blame her if she attacked. But instead she stabbed the beef.

She held herself rigid as if ready to bolt, color high on her cheekbones. It wasn’t
fear
keeping that thick wall of tension between them. He gave her a few minutes to enjoy her meal. Pick at her food was more like it.

“Something we need to get out of the way, Cleo. I apologize for the shoddy way I treated you ten years ago. I deserved that punch in the gut. And more.”

She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and pushed away her plate. Drew a shuddering breath. Shit, he’d made her cry.

But she hiked up her chin and met his gaze with dry eyes. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I was stupid. I had too much to drink that night.”

“We all did, but that doesn’t excuse my behavior.” An apology? Last thing he expected. Did she regret the whole thing? The reason for her anger and the major attitude?

“Tommy, it was
your
room at
your
dad’s house. I sneaked in and climbed into your bed. I thought— Hell, I don’t know what I thought, but I was out of line.”

“We were both in the wrong. But I should’ve apologized long before now.”

Hurt flickered in her gaze and vanished. Her lips curved in a small smile that zinged around inside his chest. “Just forget it ever happened.”

Forget it? How could he when the vision of her totally naked, pale body as she hurried to dress—rose-tipped breasts, curvy rear end, toned legs—was lasered permanently into his cortex. He had a lot to drink that night but not nearly enough to wipe out that memory.

He swallowed, tried to puzzle her out while she returned to her plate. She’d abandoned the beef in favor of stirring around the potatoes. They weren’t back to being friends, but it was a step.

Friends? Like hell. Every word in that husky voice licked fire across his skin. Every sip of wine glistening on those lush lips made him want to stretch her out beneath him and bury himself in her.

Although he liked his freedom and didn’t pursue serious relationships, he never lacked for female companionship and sex. So why was he so hot for
her
? Hell, he knew why, and the reason began and ended with Cleo. He let his gaze roam over her, still slender but her curves had more... hell, just more. No longer a girl. All grown up, still ten years younger than him, but no longer taboo.

She’d made a life for herself in Europe and had remarkable artistic talent. She’d acted quickly to escape paid killers. More depth in her than he’d realized. Intriguing.

But now this impetuous run would send her into the killers’ hands. Protecting her had his priority. With an inward groan, he reined in his libido.

He downed the rest of his wine and divided the last of the bottle between them. “Okay, we won’t mention it again. We have more pressing matters. Like your safety.”

She shook her head, delectable lips pursed. “Even if the bad guys know where I am, like you said, and I really doubt that. They can’t get to me on the cruise. Security checks cruise cards and bags. When the trip ends, the cruise staff will drive me directly to the airport. I’ll fly to Canada on Mimi’s ticket. I’ll be safe there.”

She wasn’t grasping the practical reality. Or she still objected to
him
. “Not possible. Mimi has been identified. The Venice cops are looking for you. At best, as a material witness. At worst, a murder suspect. You’ll never get past customs or airport security.”

She recoiled as if he’d hit her with the wine bottle. Until now she’d believed that her ruse fooled everyone. “Okay, that much makes sense. But why are
you
doing this? Why you?”

Hell, they’d been through it. Why was she being so stubborn? Couldn’t she see reason? Air conditioning kept the room cool, but he felt sweat pop on his forehead. “The admiral knows I run a security company, and he knows I… care about you. Two reasons he sent me.”

Her expression hardened. “That’s my objection.
He
sent you. I’m twenty-eight years old. I won’t let Dad run my life.”

Whoa. Where did that come from? Echoes of his sister’s complaints. For the first time he had an inkling of the reason Cleo’d stayed in Europe so long. Hoot Chandler was as much a hard-ass as his old man. She’d been running from him longer than from Centaur’s thugs.

“No problem. All I'm commissioned to do is protect you until this is all over.”

She sipped her wine and seemed to weigh his words. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “By ‘this,’ you mean Cleopatra’s necklace. I want nothing to do with that necklace or a possible copy. René and Mimi are dead. Finding it won’t bring them back.”

He stared, his wine glass in mid-air.

A quiver seized Cleo’s stomach. Why was he watching her like that— so intent and grim? She clutched her locket. “What?”

He set down his glass and jabbed fingers through his dark hair. “Mimi isn’t dead.”

She couldn’t have heard him right. She brought her hands up to shield herself. “Whatever you’re trying to do, just... don’t.”

He grasped her flailing hands. In spite of herself, the sensation of his touch rippled through her. “I wouldn’t be so cruel. Mimi
is
alive. In critical condition, in a medically induced coma.”

“It was my fault. Her getting shot, I mean.” Tears muddled her vision. “Those men must’ve tracked my mobile. The GPS signal.”

“More than one? You saw them?”

“Yes, two men.” She sniffed, mopped her eyes with the napkin he thrust at her. “They ran off with my suitcase. Mimi was holding it for me while I went around the corner to the ATM.”

“Who else knows what happened that night?”

“No one. I haven’t told a soul. I try not to think about it.” She took her lower lip between her teeth to prevent trembling. “But I... I keep seeing Mimi bleeding on the paving stones.”

“I need to know what happened that night. Telling me about it might help.”

She steeled herself with deep breaths and latched onto his steadying gaze. She told him everything, beginning with René’s lateness and ending with her run for the Rialto Bridge. “I wanted to wait for help to arrive but when I heard footsteps, I was afraid it was those awful men. I ran.”

“Probably the ambulance crew. The police found no one in the streets.”

“Oh, God, I shouldn’t have left her. But I thought she was dead. She had no pulse. No sign of breathing.”

“Babe, you just watched Moreau die. You were panicked, shaken. And loss of blood lowers blood pressure. Makes it harder to find a pulse.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “You saved Mimi’s life by calling for help.”

She couldn’t speak for the tightness in her throat. He pulled her into his arms, and she wept against his hard chest, tears wetting the rich fabric of his shirt. Dammit, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. But he smelled so good and his arms felt solid and secure around her.

When she calmed, she forced herself to scoot away, hating the loss of his touch as his arms fell away. He squeezed her fingers before picking up his wine.

She wiped her eyes. Other women looked gorgeous when they cried. But not her. Red nose and puffy eyes every time. She must look like the baby he thought she was. The baby she’d acted like when he sat down at her table.

He regarded her with that penetrating gaze that heated every inch of her, inside and out. “Did you see the men’s faces?”

“Just their backs. They were twenty, thirty meters away, in the dark shadows. The man carrying my bag was thin. The other looked shorter and chunky.”

His straight dark brows crimped together over a turbulent gaze. His lips pursed as if holding back bad news.

“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

“The next day an intruder tried to get into Mimi’s hospital room.”

She couldn’t stop a horrified squeak. “No! God, they’re still trying to kill her.
Me.
”

“The attempt failed. My operative was in the room. Lucas Del Rio confronted the man, but he got away. The man Del Rio described could’ve been the thin one. The head of Centaur doesn’t care who he hurts—or kills—to get the necklace.”

If only she’d phoned that night to break their date, her cousin would be fine. If only—Nothing. To her shame. She blew her nose. She would
not
cry again. “And Mimi? Will she be safe in the hospital? Is your man still there?”

“For now. Her mother’s arriving from Toronto today or tomorrow. The police will release the information that the victim is not you but Canadian citizen Mimi Ingram.”

“Thank God.” Her pulse jacked up a notch. “But that means—”

“Exactly. Like I said, Centaur has the hard drive. They
will
find you and soon. The Centaur head—name of Marco Zervas—thinks you have the necklace or know where Moreau stashed it and the copy. The authorities don’t yet know why, but this mess also involves terrorists.” He leaned forward, his expression avid. “Do you know the location of the necklaces?”

“I have no clue.” She did have René’s last words but no idea what they meant. “And I don’t care. I never want to see that necklace again. Or the copy. Whatever. Let the police or Interpol deal with it and the bad guys, this Centaur.”

The corners of his mouth turned down. Damn, why did he care about finding the necklace? She was too tired to ask. And her head hurt.

“Cleo, come with me on Tuesday. You can’t be certain you’ll be safe on the ship or the shore excursions. You can’t fly on Mimi’s ticket or passport. I can protect you.”

She pressed her fingers to her aching temples. “I need time to think.”

He stood. “I’ll go. For now. But whenever you leave this stateroom, I’m your shadow.”

“I’m safe on the ship. How many times do I have to say it?” She leaped up from the loveseat and followed him to the door.

“As many as it takes to make it true.” He stared at her, determination in the set of his chin. “Do you remember what happened to Fluffy?”

“My turtle?” When they were kids, Thomas had found the small creature and given it to her. “Greg ran over Fluffy with the mower. What does that have to do with anything?”