Marked Masters (8 page)

Yeah, right. "Look, Tina, I was wondering if
you've run across Simon Babbage in the past couple of months. Maybe
spoken with him at an event?"

"Simon?" She scrunched her forehead. "I
thought you two had a thing for a while. Are you trying to hook up
again?"

"No. I mean, yes." I stopped and took a deep
breath. "What I mean is, yes, Simon and I had a bit of a fling."
Okay, an eight-month fling. "But I'm not trying to get back
together with him. I would like to find him, however."

"I thought he worked for Beacham."

"He's parted company with the
foundation."

"Oh." She scrunched her forehead again. I
had to wonder how long she'd be able to do that before Phyllis
started pumping Botox in to manage any future wrinkles. She smiled
and asked, "So, do I need to give you the snuffbox, then? Or does
it belong to Simon?"

"What?"

"He sent a snuffbox a couple of weeks ago
and asked me to hold it for him. Said it was related to Beacham,
and he had a buyer in Miami. He wanted the snuffbox in the city in
case the buyer wanted it before he could get over here to deliver
it in person."

This was so not what I expected. "What does
the snuffbox look like?"

"Seventeenth century, gold with inlay—"

"Stop." I held up a hand. Ohmigod, it had to
be the same snuffbox I was supposed to get in Italy when everything
began to go wrong, but how did Simon get it? We had thought he was
only connected to the sword. But now… "Yes, you need to give the
snuffbox to me. Is it at your place? Can we go now and pick it
up?"

She looked at her Rolex. Probably a
knockoff, but a good one. "I have a meeting in just a few minutes,
and I really can't be late. Also, I have plans tonight. But I can
bring the box tomorrow. Can you meet me here at ten o'clock? I have
to monitor the VIP desk."

Darn, darn, darn! This close and I'd have to
wait? Could this actually be the same snuffbox I was supposed to
have picked up in Italy the night this whole escapade started? The
night I found the first body. The night I met Jack for the first
time. The artifact he was supposedly chasing to stop an
international heist we were currently still pursuing. It had to be!
I felt dizzy. "Look, if we could just—"

A shout on the other side of the canvas
stopped me.

"What the hell are you doing there?
Eavesdropping?" A baritone voice bellowed, "Get back to work, or
you're fired!"

I jumped and headed for the nearest opening,
trying to see who had been listening to our conversation. But no
one was between the two tents when I got to the other side of the
canvas wall. Frustrated, I headed back to try to convince Tina to
skip her meeting. Again, no luck.

She was a figure disappearing in the
distance. "Tomorrow, Laurel," she called. "I'll meet you at ten
o'clock and have the package for you." She picked up her pace and
disappeared in the crowd of activity in the final phases of set
up.

To my right, well within hearing distance of
Tina and me, I saw Jack. He had his phone to his ear as he glared
at me.

I sank back into a chair near the tent
opening, stretched out my legs, and eyed Jack. With the phone now
glued to his ear, the uncompromising gaze directed toward me
promised retribution. For what, I had no idea, but I didn't
particularly care either. There was a lot to consider, and none of
it included putting him "in the know."

Several workers walked by with supplies. I
waved at Jack and waited for him to come to me. Whatever he was up
to at the moment, I had too many things on my mind to risk allowing
myself to get sidetracked. I rapidly ticked over what Tina said and
what it truly meant. One part of me wanted to skip the yacht Jack
booked us on and find my way
alone
to Tina's condo. I would
have suggested a catch-up sleepover, but she'd vanished too
quickly. There was so much I needed to learn, and getting the
information from Tina would take time and finesse. Not because she
was holding back, but because she had no idea what she actually
knew.

Surely Tina still lodged in the Brickell
Key. No way Mommy Dearest would let her leave such a prime locale
for catching a billionaire. I'd attended a forgettable party there,
but the view from Tina's apartment still came immediately to mind.
The septuagenarian age of the neighbors she and Mommy hunted as
possible candidates also came to the forefront.

Top urban neighborhoods in Miami were often
rated for their walkability. The area still known as Brickell used
to be known as Millionaires' Row in the early twentieth century and
was now called the Manhattan of the South. The neighborhood was a
go-to place for the up, the coming, and the arrived. Full of
financial, residential, and investment properties set right on the
Gulf.

Forget the daydream—here he comes.
I
rose from my chair. Jack shoved his phone in a pocket as he walked,
his face unreadable.

"Any luck?" I asked. I even raised my
eyebrows to punctuate my bright question. He shot back an even
darker look. Either his phone conversation hadn't gone according to
plan, or something else had happened while I was out of sight in
the tent. "You weren't happy when I left to talk to Tina, but you
were at least in a decent mood. Now you seem…on edge."

I could almost see the waves of excess
energy ripple off his body, and his face suddenly went from tense
to incredibly tired. I instinctively reached out and touched his
arm. He moved his free hand to cover mine.

"What is it, Jack?"

"Nothing. Everything." He shrugged, then
pulled me aside as two workers came up lugging a huge piece of
plywood. We walked on to the front of the gallery, so we were well
away from the overtime setup.

"Were you on the phone with the police? The
car rental place again?"

He shook his head. "It's time to regroup,
and I think the best place to do that is on the yacht. Neither of
us has had enough sleep, we've almost been hijacked, and our car's
been stolen. We can't talk here, but we do need to talk, and I
think a luxury ship on the open water is where we need to begin our
conversation."

Personally, I didn't like the reference to
open water, but he had a good point. If he had gotten any
information from Melanie, it wouldn't pay to tell me in so public a
setting. And the ride to the yacht, and whatever other activities
before our debriefing, would give me the chance to figure out what
I wanted to tell Jack about Tina and the snuffbox. I'd play fair if
he would, but past experience told me that wasn't going to happen
unless I had treasure to trade. Jack didn't outright lie. Well,
yes, he did, actually, but I was getting pretty good at spotting
when he tried. I didn't want to think about why that was probably
important, but I knew I needed to do so sometime soon. At this
moment, I shelved my concerns in the box marked Later.

"Should I call a cab? Or do you have a
better idea?"

"A brilliant idea that involves a hired car
sent by the yacht. I called, and the captain said he would dispatch
the vehicle right away." Jack looked down the street and took a
step closer to the curb. "In fact, I believe it is here now."

Seconds later, a Lincoln Town Car slid
silently to a stop right in front of us. Jack had the back door
open before the driver could do his duty, and moments later we were
cruising again down the Miami streets, this time cocooned in
caramel smooth leather comfort and sipping the sparkling dry
prosecco I'd dreamed about hours before. It was tempting to believe
things were looking up, but every time I had thought that lately,
something unexpected fell from the sky instead.

As we settled into the seats, I looked out
the tinted windows and saw again the tent Tina and I had escaped
to, and it reminded me about the eavesdropper. "Jack, when you were
on the phone and I was with Tina, did you notice a couple of guys
come out from the backside of the tent? One shouting at the
other?"

"You're joking?"

I shook my head.

"Laurel, there were people yelling at each
other the entire time we were there. The place is a madhouse."

"This would have probably been a foreman
yelling at a worker."

"No…I…" He closed his eyes and shook his
head. "Why? What would have been different?"

I could have told him then, but I knew the
harbor wasn't far, and I wasn't sure how much, if anything, I
presently wanted to tell Jack. So I hedged. "While we were in the
tent. It sounded like some kind of altercation on the other side of
the canvas. Just wanted to make sure no one was hurt."

"Not your problem."

"Yeah, I guess I have more than enough to
worry about already."

The rhythm of the Town Car made me drowsy,
and that coupled with the wine was enough to push me over the edge
to sleep soon into our journey. I woke when Jack gently shook my
shoulder. "We're here."

Jack offered a hand to help me out of the
car. It was near enough to full dark that the harbor was lit up
like Disneyland. The docks were full, every slip taken. Though
winter was approaching, the balmy Miami temps meant these hardy
crafts wouldn't have to wear winter covers through the season and
would be operational for all the upcoming Christmas and New Year's
blowouts. But in early fall, the scene only boasted a couple of
booze cruises starting up from their slips.

I'd always loved sailing and had spent many
a sun-drenched day crewing for my father as soon as I was old
enough to tie a decent knot. A connection Simon and I had shared.
That alone should have warned me about the man. Should warning
bells be sounding for Jack now, too? I knew it was wrong, but I
couldn't help generalizing about men and sailing. Well, any
experiences that reminded me of my father.

No. A yacht is different. You can't vanish
alone on something that big.

A brisk, damp wind whipped across the cold
water and slapped my hair against my face. I brushed the strands
from my eyes and looked around. Beyond the two boisterous boating
crews, the marina remained relatively quiet. The lap of the water
against the posts and planks even relaxed my jangled nerves a
little. The car pulled away. Jack and I made the boards thump as we
strode down the main deck. Strings of bulbs were laced above the
gangways we walked, and even more lights shone on all the boats
that bobbed in place with the evening tide. I smelled fish and sea
creatures in the brisk air. A couple of spectacular yachts sat at
the end of the far dock, but Jack kept us headed toward the end of
the main dock. There were some larger boats off in the deeper
water, and I asked Jack which one was ours.

"Out there."

Out there was a fairytale sight of the kind
of sinful extravagance that I truly loved. The kind that reminded
me of life before my grandfather passed away. A sleek vessel, all
black and brass and sensuous curves to reflect the light from the
harbor area. It appeared to be four-tier, but before I could
assimilate any more information, Jack halted at a cigarette boat
moored along the edge of the planks.

"This will take us the last leg of our
journey," he said and offered a hand to help me step in, something
I was grateful for, given the gently bobbing gangway.

Even before he started the engine, the
muscle of the forty-plus-foot missile spoke to me. I recognized the
Mercedes-Benz emblem and knew the boat operated in the neighborhood
of thirteen-hundred to fifteen-hundred horsepower. A lot of speed
for a simple shuttle ride. I wanted to grab the controls myself and
push the phantom thing to its limits. "Jack, could I—"

"No, I'm doing all the driving this
time."

I guess he still hadn't forgiven me for the
motorcycle ride through London during our previous adventure
together. No matter. It only took what seemed like seconds for us
to reach the yacht. As its strong steel masts grew closer, I was
able to focus between the two Jet Skis hanging at the stern to read
the lettering that gave the boat's name and home berth:

Folly Roost

Great Britain

"Interesting name," I murmured as Jack held
my waist to help me mount the ladder.

"Interesting owners," he replied.

I took a moment to shoulder my purse a bit
higher so I could look down at him to ask, "Employers or
friends?"

"Countrymen who were happy to extend an
invitation to someone working on Her Majesty's behalf."

Oh, aren't we the noble-sounding one, Mr.
Jack Hawkes
. I wanted to say it out loud but knew to hold my
tongue.

I'd been to Florida many times, but this was
only the third time since college that I'd been out on the Gulf. My
father used to go deep-sea fishing, and I tagged along if
Granddad's yacht was involved. But with the loss of the family
boat, I'd lost my desire for Florida water sports and usually flew
in and out of the state on quick pickups and one-day events.

It was a long climb, and when my foot
finally hit the deck, I knew why. I'd been on my share of yachts,
both personal and pleasure, but this was by far the biggest and
looked to be the most modern. Clever brass lanterns hung from
various posts on the main deck, obviously electrified but giving
that
getting away from it all
air as the yacht still offered
to take everything along too.

From the nearest of several upper decks, a
small dingy hung ready, yet lashed securely, above my head. I took
note. One never knew when one would need to make a quick and
untimely escape. As Jack joined me on deck, I heard a radio crackle
and turned to see a man in a white uniform striding our way.

"Morgan, good to see you," Jack said,
striding closer with his hand outstretched. "And we are so grateful
for your sending the car."

"My pleasure."