Controlling Interest (29 page)

“I got a key lime pie in the cooler over there. Help yourself.” The chef continued to stir his potatoes. “Not gonna ask what you all were doing in the pantry. Um-mm. Nope. Not any of my business.”

Natalie's eyes widened as Matt grinned. “Shut up, Matthew!” She stuck her head inside the stainless steel cooler and emerged with a meringue-topped pie. “Cook, this looks wonderful. Thanks for sharing. The pantry thing was just a misunderstanding.”

The chef whacked his spoon against the side of the pot. “Friend of Oksana's is a friend of mine. Y'all new employees?”

“Not exactly. It's a long story. You got any plates and utensils, or do we scoop it out with our fingers?”

Oksana jumped to her feet. “I get plates. Sit.” She took the pie from Natalie, set it on a counter, and proceeded to serve them each a big slice of the fluffy dessert.

Leaning against a counter, Matt scooped a forkful into his mouth and closed his eyes in ecstasy. “Tootie would kill for this recipe.”

“And I'd gladly sit in a closet for another day if I had one of these waiting on me.” Natalie sighed. “Pie for lunch. I'm in Disneyland.” She licked a puff of meringue off her upper lip.

Distracted, Matt jabbed his fork into his chin. “Ow! I mean, yeah. So, does anybody know how long this egg crate takes to get to the Big Easy? Days? Months?”

The cook turned off the burner and dumped the potatoes into a strainer in the sink. Fragrant steam misted the galley. “Today's Tuesday. We cruise tonight, all day tomorrow, and roll into New Orleans Thursday morning.”

“Oh, brother.” Natalie's face was priceless. “Matt, where are we going to sleep?”

He shrugged. “Stowaway quarters in the pantry, I guess.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Natalie made a face.

“Yasmine is gone,” Oksana said reluctantly. “You can stay with me.” She smiled faintly at Matt. “
You
stay in the pantry.”

The cook looked over his shoulder. “There's an extra cot in my room.”

“Thanks, man.” Matt nodded. “We'll work for our passage. Don't have anything else to do.” This was working out pretty well after all. Natalie could pump Oksana for information, and he could work on the cook, who had apparently been Yasmine's direct supervisor.

Sometimes the zig-zag path was the best way to get where you were going.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

D
on't worry, honey, I'll get my cruise on the next trip. Won't I, Curtis?” Jewel scowled at the five red dice scattered on the table. “Farkle. Your turn.”

Yasmine scooped up the dice. Curtis had been in the driver's seat of the monster motor home for the last three hours, while Jewel taught Yasmine to play a rather brainless game called “Alabama Farkle.” The only difference, Jewel informed her, between Mississippi and Alabama Farkle was the color of the dice.

Not that Yasmine would know. She'd never played a dice game in her life. There was something faintly risqué about it, though she couldn't for the life of her figure out why. There was certainly no money involved.

She held the wooden cubes in her palm and regarded her hostess. “Why are you so kind to me?”

Jewel's brown eyes nearly disappeared as she smiled. “If my granddaughter was out on the road, I'd want somebody to take her in. This world is full of fruits, nuts, and flakes, don't you know. I couldn't enjoy a cruise knowing you were hitchhiking your way south.”

Yasmine glanced over her shoulder at Curtis. “But the war memorial park . . . I wouldn't mind if you'd stayed — ”

“I don't want to hear another word about it.” Jewel patted her hand. “Curtis has been through that park half a dozen times. Besides, Barbara — that's our eldest — was all in an uproar because we were gonna miss Jessica's graduation party. She's graduating from Alabama tomorrow.”

Yasmine blinked against sudden tears. It sounded like the Hardys had a lovely, close family. She missed her own — Abbi, Ammi, Liba . . . Pictures flickered across her mind like the postcards taped to the walls of the Hardys' motor home. She thought of Jewel's fit of laughter when she'd had to explain to Yasmine that an “arvee” was actually a recreational vehicle, shortened to RV.
RV
. The things Yasmine didn't know. Her melancholy faded as she smiled at the older woman and rolled the dice.

God had been good to her, rescuing her time after time. No matter what Muslims in the Middle East thought, most Americans were kind and generous. At least the ones she had encountered.

“You said your home is near Pensacola.” Another misspelling she'd been carrying around in her head. Though he had spoken of it, Zach had never written the name of his base on paper. “When will we get there?”

“To Satsuma? We'll stay tonight and tomorrow night in Tuscaloosa at the RV park, then go home on Thursday. We'll figure out a way to get you to the naval base. It's just another hour and a half across the state line.”

Yasmine nodded. In two, maybe three days, she would see Zach. After the adventures of the last few days, she could hardly believe it.

“Do you have a picture of your young man?” Jewel studied Yasmine's throw. “You've got two thousand points there. I'd stop and go with that.”

Yasmine shook her head as she handed over the dice. “He would never let me take his picture. He said it was dangerous.”

Jewel looked up from recording Yasmine's score. “Dangerous? Is he in some kind of special service?”

“I do not know.” Yasmine's stomach dropped as another thought occurred to her. “Maybe he didn't even tell me his real name.”

Curtis turned off the radio, which had been blaring George Strait. “What's your boy's name?”

“Zach. Zach Carothers.”

Jewel nodded. “That's a nice name. Sounds solid and dependable.”

“Yes, that is a good description.” Yasmine smiled. “He is a good man. I will keep praying. God has listened to me. I know he will help me find Zach.” And Zach would find a way to protect her family from Jarrar Haq and his arms brokering deals.

Oksana was a tough nut to crack. Twenty-four hours on the same boat, in the same room, working the same job, and the girl had yet to share one crumb of information about Yasmine. The boat would dock in New Orleans in the morning, and neither Natalie nor Matt had the first idea where to look for their quarry.

Natalie stuck her head out of the bathroom door, looked both ways, and darted down the short passageway to the room she was sharing with Oksana. Supposedly only women were quartered on this side of the boat, but you never knew when that slug Hewitt might appear. Natalie wouldn't go so far as to call him a stalker, but the guy definitely had an eye for pretty girls. She could totally understand why Oksana was jumpy.

Inside the tiny cabin, she removed the towel from her wet hair and hung it on the open slatted door of the closet. She'd had to put on the same jeans and shirt she'd been wearing since Sunday — three days ago, she could hardly believe it — but at least Oksana had been willing to loan her a pair of clean underwear so she could wash the pair she'd had on. Lack of luggage was a serious handicap.

Didn't seem to bother Matt. He'd borrowed a pair of shorts and a T-shirt from somebody and seemed to be happy as a clam. In fact, Matt did whatever Hewitt told him with a cheerful attitude that made Natalie want to clock him.

Absently finger-combing her hair, she settled on the hard bed. The cook had kept her running most of the day. Now she had nearly an hour to relax before going back to the kitchen for a late supper with the rest of the staff.

Thank goodness she'd brought Yasmine's backpack onto the boat. She took it from behind the pillow and pulled out the Bible. What a blessing to have it.

She'd been reading for about fifteen minutes, engrossed in First Corinthians, when Oksana's slight figure slipped through the door.

The Russian girl flung herself onto the bed, flat on her back. “Ooh. That bobo. I shove him overboard and feed him to the fish!”

Natalie closed the Bible on her finger. “Wow. That was vehement.”

Oksana looked at her. “I do not know this word, but I am very, very angry. I get away from bad husband, but now I am in badder pickle.”

Natalie smiled. Oksana had picked up quite a bit of American slang. “I think you should look for another job. You're not in a position to sue the little slimeball, unfortunately. What do you mean ‘bad husband'?” Oksana looked barely sixteen years old. They must marry young in Russia.

Oksana looked away. “I do not know any other job.”

“Oksana.
What
bad husband? Are you some kind of a slave?” She'd heard that women in communist countries often sold themselves to get out of desperate poverty.

Oksana sat up. “Slave? No. But I come to U.S. to get married, like Yasmine, and I find out my husband not so nice as his emails. He has children he doesn't tell me about, and he will not pay to bring my son here.”

“You have a son?” Natalie blinked. “But you look so young! How old is he?”

“Misha is six. I am twenty-two.” Oksana blushed. “He is born without father. I am bad woman.” She raised her chin. “But Yasmine says I am new in Christ, so is okay for me being mother without husband.”

“She's absolutely right.” Natalie slid her legs over the side of the bed and leaned toward Oksana. “I certainly wouldn't condemn you. You should've seen
me
before the Lord got ahold of me.”

“You say you are Christian.” Oksana glanced at the Bible in Natalie's hand. “Maybe I like to believe you. Maybe I need another friend.”

Natalie felt tears sting her eyes. “I need a friend too.”
Thank you, Lord.
Hewitt, nasty as he was, had frightened Oksana into being open with Natalie. “And you definitely ought to stay away from that creep Hewitt. Don't worry, Matt's watching out for you.”

“Matt is your boyfriend? He is nice man.” Oksana fluttered her fingers. “And hot.”

“I'm sure he'd be happy to hear you think so, but he's not my boyfriend.” She thought of the kiss in the closet and her humiliating unrequited confession. “He's my business partner. But we're friends. Sort of.”

“But he looks at you as if . . .” Oksana wrinkled her nose. “I truly do not understand American men.”

“That makes two of us.” Natalie laughed. “I have an idea. When we get to New Orleans, why don't you leave this dead-end job and come work with me and Matt. I'm sure we need a — a secretary or something.”

Oksana's eyes widened. “Truly? Truly, truly? You are not pulling my foot?”

“Well . . . I have to check with Matt first. But we're a lot more likely to be able to afford a secretary if we find Yasmine and collect on her daddy's money. Come on, you're not selling her out,” she hastened to add when Oksana's brow clouded. “I told you, we won't send her back where she doesn't want to go. Just tell me where she went when she left the boat.”

Oksana withdrew, leaning back against the wall of the cabin. “I think about it. I pray about it.”

“Okay, Oksana. You pray.” Natalie sighed. At least that was a step in the right direction.

“What do you mean, we have a new secretary?” Matt, leaning on the forward rail as the
Delta Queen
chugged into the New Orleans harbor, turned to stare down at Natalie. “The girl can't even speak English!”

“It's a little mangled, but — ”

“And I refuse to hire somebody who calls me ‘bobo.' ”

Natalie looked guilty. “I guess that's my fault. I'll tell her not to do it anymore.”

Matt jammed his sunglasses on. The sun was blinding this morning, and his eyes hurt. He'd been awake half the night listening to Cook snore like a cement mixer. Would he ever be glad to get off this canoe. Running into Natalie every time he turned around had been torture.

He looked down at her again. Her fine, sunny hair blew in the wind like a fairy cap, and her freckles had multiplied over the last day and a half. He found himself wanting to kiss her worried mouth.