Cooks Overboard (7 page)

He saw the small white house again. He was standing beside Yosh, and it was too quiet. He should have said something. The quiet bothered him. Something was wrong. He opened his mouth, trying to speak, to warn them. But no sound came out. He tried to yell, but he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried to tell them to get back, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry out
.

He opened his eyes but still couldn’t shake the vision of the house in the distance, and directly in front of him, the shoulders of men in dark blue, easing closer, closer to the house, just as they’d planned
.

Then the blast
.

And red…red oozing against the dark blue
.

He felt again the hands that pushed him back, out of the way, out of the line of fire
.

Paavo sat up. His heart was pounding from the dream, from the memory of the shoot-out, of Ed Gillespie being hit. He looked down at his
arms, his hands. But the blood that had sprayed all over him when Ed was shot was gone now.

He stood and ran his hands over his eyes, through his hair.

Today the city would be holding a funeral for Sergeant Ed Gillespie. A police officer’s funeral. Grand, poignant, and unbearably sad.

He walked out into the sitting area and sat down on the sofa as the scene replayed yet again, as vividly as the day it happened.

Hours passed. As the sun rose, Paavo felt the ship’s engines begin to vibrate. He went to the window and watched as they slowly left Long Beach harbor.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before the creaking of the bed told him Angie had awakened. Quickly he sat down and opened a book.

“Good morning,” she said sleepily, stumbling into the sitting area.

“Good morning to you, too.” He held out his hand. She walked over and placed hers in his and he pulled her down beside him on the sofa. Her hand tightened and she smiled, then yawned.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, lightly touching her face, her cheek.

“Quite well. What about you? Have you been up long?”

“Since five or so,” he said, putting his arm around her back and drawing her head to his shoulder. She felt warm and cuddly. “I fell asleep early.”

“So I noticed. Still, that’s much too early to get up,” she declared, running her hand over his chest, his stomach. His nose pressed against her hair, and he breathed in her warm, musky scent. He could feel his body come alive, his nerves tingling, taut.

“Maybe you need to go back to bed and start the day all over again,” she added.

“You may be right,” he whispered. Just then, his gaze caught his watch—eight-thirty. Ed’s funeral would start at nine.

He suddenly felt cold and all but dead inside. His gaze met Angie’s for a moment, then he turned his head away and shut his eyes.
Damn!

He stood. “I think I’ll go try to find out how Sven Ingerson is doing. I’ll be back soon.” He forced a smile. “It’s day three of our vacation, after all. Time to get up and enjoy it.”

Angie sat on the sofa after Paavo walked out the door.

She wasn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, everything he said and did was in keeping with a man on vacation, a man who didn’t want other people’s troubles, issues, and strange behavior to interfere with his life.

In other words, he wasn’t acting like a cop. Terrific. Wasn’t that exactly what she wanted? She’d always thought that was what she wanted. But now that she had it, she couldn’t say for sure that the new Paavo pleased her—especially when there was something strange happening on this ship. Not anything very serious, she supposed, but something, nonetheless.

More than once her belongings had been handled, moved around a bit. Or so it had seemed. It couldn’t be her imagination, could it?

Everything should be fine once they reached Acapulco and the beautiful villa she’d arranged for them to use while there.

One of her father’s friends owned an ocean-side estate just a little south of Acapulco, and rarely used it. So she’d told her father all about her “Dining Out in Acapulco” magazine assignment, and then asked if he thought the villa might be available for a few days.

“Stay a week, Angelina,” Sal had said. “A month. Longer if you want. There are lots of restaurants in Acapulco, you know.”

Angie knew his motive. He wanted her far away from Paavo. Sal didn’t like the idea of his youngest daughter falling in love with a cop and hoped she would get over it quickly. He seemed to think a doctor or a lawyer—even a politician—would be a better choice for a husband. He’d find a way to free up the villa if he had to buy it himself.

So she hadn’t told him Paavo would be joining her.

Sal got her the villa.

But thoughts of Acapulco weren’t helping her here and now. Suddenly a solution came to mind. Even if Paavo wouldn’t listen to her. Captain Olafson would.

She quickly dressed and ran up to the pilot house to talk to him.

First Mate Johansen was standing on the bridge, staring out at sea. He turned at her approach.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I was looking for Captain Olafson.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “The captain is indisposed. May I help you?” He showed Angie into his office and left the door open.

She sat in the chair he indicated, and studied him as she tried to come up with a way to begin. “I came to alert you to something strange. A bug may have been placed in my room. A listening device, not an insect.”

“A
bug?
” Angie had the distinct feeling Johansen thought she was crazy. She was getting that reaction far too often to suit her. “May I see it?” he asked.

“Your steward, Julio, took it away.”

“I’ll ask him if he can retrieve it, then we can both determine exactly what it was.” Johansen stood. “I’m sorry if our accommodations are not what you expected, Miss Amalfi. We’ll do what we can to make the rest of your journey more pleasant.”

Angie also stood. “By the way, how is Mr. Ingerson doing?

“Sven Ingerson?” Johansen’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I didn’t think a case of food poisoning would interest the passengers. We think that’s all that’s wrong with him. He was taken to the hospital. The paramedics took all the particulars about his home address and the company representatives that they should contact. Unfortunately, it isn’t unheard of for seamen to get sick or hurt and have to go to hospitals on
shore. We have no sick bay on board, only first aid. It’s not as if the ship can wait for them to get better. We just sail on and do the best we can. I hope this doesn’t seem too unfeeling to you.”

“Well, I suppose I understand your reasons.” There was nothing more to be said. “Thank you for your time.”

“Have a pleasant voyage. Miss Amalfi,” Johansen said, almost as an afterthought.

“I’d like to speak to one of your patients, Sven Ingerson, please,” the Hydra said into the telephone.

“Ingerson…Ingerson,” the hospital receptionist repeated softly. “Oh, here he is. I’m sorry. He’s in intensive care and unable to take calls.”

“It’s very important. A matter of life and death. I must speak with him immediately.”

“Let me put you through to the nurse in charge.”

She drummed her fingers, waiting for the transfer to be made. The phone rang.

“ICU. Nurse Patel.”

“This is Dagmar Ingerson—Sven Ingerson’s sister. I’d like to speak with him, please.”

“I’m sorry, but he isn’t able to speak at the moment. Have you talked to his doctor?”

“Not yet. I really just need one moment with Sven. It’s an emergency. I won’t disturb him again after this, I promise.”

“I’m sorry. You must speak with the doctor.”

“Please, Nurse,” she tried to make her voice tearful. “Ten seconds. I’m really desperate.”

“I’d help you if I could, but your brother…he’s very serious. Critical, I’m afraid. He wouldn’t be physically able to speak with you even if it were permitted.”

That night, Angie approached the bed wearing the beautiful negligee she’d bought especially for this romantic vacation. Some romance! Paavo had been distant all day, smiling and pleasant—and completely out of character. He’d even teamed up as Ruby Cockburn’s partner in a game of bridge.

The sea had grown rougher throughout the evening, so bad that the captain ordered cold sandwiches for dinner. He didn’t want any cooking going on in the galley, or any chance of hot food being spilled on anyone’s lap. Now, the ship’s rolling made her lurch awkwardly from side to side. She wanted to swing her hips, not her whole body.

Paavo was sitting up in bed waiting for her, a blanket covering him from the waist down. The area below his left shoulder held only a faint shadow of the scar from the gunshot that had
nearly killed him soon after they first met. She proudly remembered how she had stopped the gunman from firing a second shot as Paavo lay wounded…and she’d been in love with him ever since.

Standing by the doorway, she slowly removed her dressing gown, revealing a negligee of silk and lace, antique gold in color, that fell unfettered from her shoulders to the floor. By the time the gown dropped, Paavo’s large blue eyes burned with desire. In that area, at least, he was still the man she knew and loved. She walked toward him, step by step, trying not to stumble, and reminding herself of how beautifully the material glimmered as she moved. He seemed to hold his breath.

When she reached him, he took her hands in his. “You’re beautiful, Angie. I could spend hours doing nothing but look at you.”

“Sorry,” she whispered, then bent forward and kissed him. “Not good enough.”

Angie was dreaming she was on a roller-coaster ride. On the roller coaster with her was Sven Ingerson, Dudley Livingstone, Julio Rodriguez, and the mysterious cook who’d tried to jump off the ship when she first arrived. She should have followed his example.

She woke up to find the dream was scarcely an exaggeration. The storm was making a terrible racket; rain and waves pounded the ship and the wind howled. Crushed between the high
padded edge of the bed and Paavo, she had to practically fight her way to a sitting position. The fact that he didn’t wake up indicated just how tired he still was. She couldn’t help but wonder if this constant fatigue didn’t have something to do with his decision to quit his job—not that he was physically ill, because he seemed otherwise healthy, but simply because it was weighing on his mind.

God, but she felt sick. She clutched the side of the bed, hanging over the edge. She had no idea such a huge ship could bounce around this way. She imagined it looking like a toy boat in a bathtub with a little kid smacking the water.

She groaned, her stomach feeling queasier with each roll of the boat way, way up, then way, way down.

Maybe some water would help. She reached for her negligee at the foot of the bed, slipped it on, then, holding onto the furniture, lurched her way into the bathroom.

She took a sip of water, then turned to go back to bed. Just then a stronger roll of the ship sent her reeling across the bathroom floor. As she stumbled past the medicine cabinet, she caught sight of her deathly pale face in the mirror.

She clutched her rapidly worsening stomach. She needed to go back to bed and lie down immediately. On the other hand, she didn’t think it would be a good idea to get too far away from the bathroom.

She worked her way back toward the bedroom and looked at Paavo. He was now stretched across the bed catty-corner, still sleeping soundly.

Then she remembered the wall bed. At least there she could lie down and be near the bathroom—which, her stomach told her, was becoming increasingly necessary with every roll of the ship.

Bracing herself, she lunged toward the wall bed, flipped up the two metal clamps that held the lengthwise bed against the wall, and tugged on it, lowering the bed all the way down. Then she hurled herself on top of it, clutching the thin mattress so she wouldn’t fall off. Just lying down on her stomach that way helped her feel a lot better. She spread her arms so that her hands gripped the edges of the narrow mattress.

As the ship tossed about, the bow of the ship dipped. Her feet went up, her head down. She hadn’t been this far upside down since she tried taking a yoga class and had to stand on her head. Then the ship crested and her head rose high in the air, pointing toward heaven, her feet toward the other place. She felt like a little kid playing airplane. She’d heard that tropical storms were furious but short, and prayed it was true. This one had gone on long enough already.

She tried to relax. She shut her eyes and willed herself back to sleep. Unfortunately, her
thoughts were of past cruises she’d been on—ships with stabilizers, with tremendous varieties of gourmet food, with dancing, big swimming pools, even hot tubs. Her breathing deepened. Miniature golf, boutiques, a sauna. She let go of the mattress, turning on her side to go to sleep. A deluxe stateroom with a deep bath…

As she began to doze, one side of the ship rolled upward in a long, slow climb, higher and higher, and suddenly she felt herself slide right off the mattress and against the wall. And still the boat climbed. She couldn’t even think of being seasick now, certain the ship would flip over and they’d be upside down in the water. She really didn’t want to be here any longer.

The far side of the ship began to lower itself and she began to breathe again, although still tucked against the wall. But then, once more, it began to rise.

The edge of the bed rose higher and higher.

Suddenly, the bed itself, free now of her weight spread full on it to hold it down, suddenly bounded upward, right off the floor, and swung up into the wall, squashing her against it like a fly.

The Hydra dialed the familiar number. “It’s me.”

“You!”

She smiled at the sound of fear in the man’s voice. It was exactly what she wanted to hear. That meant she could take care of this matter quickly, then go to the galley and do another
quick search of a few things. “Listen, the
Valhalla
is supposed to dock in Cabo San Lucas tomorrow. I don’t want it to.”

“What’s up?”

“There are some people on board who I don’t want getting off the ship. They’ve got something of mine, and no one is leaving this crate until it’s in my hands. You’ve got to help.”

“Hey, I can’t perform miracles.”

“I don’t want a miracle, just a bribe. I don’t care who you get to—the harbormaster, the head of the dockworkers, some politician, but whoever it is, they need to tell the captain that there’s a strike going on and no one is available to load or unload his containers. Tell him that the people he sees working are scabs, and the union is ready to start gunplay if any more scabs are hired. The one doing the hiring might be the first to get shot. I know this captain. Believe me, he won’t think twice about docking if he thinks there’s any danger possible.”

“A strike?”

“I don’t care who you get to give him the news, but it had better be good.”

“How much is it worth?”

“Ten thousand, max.”

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.”

“Seventeen.”

“Done.”

Angie pushed hard on the mattress, and as the ship rolled in the other direction, the mattress lowered with a whump.

She sat up on it. Her hair was standing on end—probably from the fury she felt. She would have been even more angry about this whole miserable trip except that she was too busy brushing dust off herself and running her hands over her face and arms and through her hair.

That had been one of the most horrible experiences of her life. Holding onto walls and furniture, she got off the wall bed—she had never thought they were called that because you could get walled up inside one—and went to tell Paavo all about it.

To her complete amazement, he was still asleep.

She put on her robe and slippers to go to the galley and find something to settle her stomach. She felt parched, seasick, and generally miserable. Being shoved into a wall by a mattress will do that to you.