Shell Game (5 page)

“I suspect you’re dehydrated, but it would be a good idea to come to sick bay for a quick checkup.”

“No.” Nana patted her heart and, circling her gaze over the people still hovering, offered a meager smile. “I’m sure I’d be all right if I could just have some water and a few minutes to rest.”

The ship’s physician and Dr. Speedo both bobbed their heads. Though the thin press of the ship doctor’s lips told Sharla that he was wondering what the odds were of having Nana back in his care.

If he only knew
.

Meanwhile a handful of bystanders waved down a waiter to order a bottled water.

The man—whose chair Nana had carefully chosen to collapse nearby—retrieved his paperback and other belongings as well as those of his companion, then gestured for Nana to take his place.

All these years and Nana could still pick the mark. Now Sharla and Nana both had prime seats for the upcoming outdoor activities. But as soon as they were back in their cabin, Sharla was going to kill her grandmother.

* * *

Luke took in the grimacing faces. They acted as if he’d set the fire instead of putting it out.

“Alpha, alpha, alpha. Midship pool, deck eleven. Alpha, alpha, alpha.” The words boomed through the PA system. All eyes shifted focus from him to the speakers embedded in the ceiling.

When the emergency call ceased, the captain sucked in a deep breath. “What’s your name?”

“Lieutenant Luke Chapman.” He resisted the urge to stand at attention and left off the parts about being a former SEAL team leader and now working as a State Department employee. A well-known euphemism for
CIA agent
.

“Navy.” The way the man huffed the word on a tired breath,
navy
sounded like a four-letter word of a different kind. Though certified up the wazoo to run these massive vessels, most cruise ship captains came from commercial maritime backgrounds, not military. And this one didn’t seem any too pleased with Luke’s naval background. “I’ll deal with you later.”

By now the fire brigade had arrived. Men scurried, opened fire closets, tussled equipment about. And more than a few engineers scrambled to assure the fire was completely out and the problem under control.

The captain and a couple of the other sour faces took off toward the exit from the now roped-off eating area. Two men in uniform remained behind.

The one shouting orders—in what Luke thought to be a French accent of some sort—was clearly the man who knew what was going on.

A quick glance at the country on the name tag confirmed French-Canadian. With everyone distracted, Luke thought this as good a chance as any to slip away and let the Keystone Kops do their thing.

“Lieutenant.” Frenchy turned toward Luke.

“Yes.” He hadn’t expected the respect of rank. He almost smiled.

“Not that there will be a next time, but, just in case, please resist any more urges to play hero. Our staff is very well trained.”

Clearly Luke’s definition of
well trained
and the ship’s second officer’s were not the same, but Luke agreed with the man anyway.

“And…” Frenchy looked to the burned ceiling grate and back. “Thank you.”

This time Luke let himself grin, just a bit. He still had little faith in the emergency training of the kitchen staff, but he had a feeling that not much got past the man in charge now. Though a small consolation on a one-hundred-thousand-ton ship, at least Luke wouldn’t feel the need to sleep with one eye open.

Since lunch had been so rudely interrupted, and most of the crowd were funneling their way downstairs to the main dining rooms, he chose the lesser-traveled path to the soda shop across from the upper pool deck. Careful to avoid the captain en route, Luke slipped inside and instantly felt transported back in time. He wouldn’t have been surprised in the least to see Richie from the retro TV show
Happy Days
come out to greet him. Even Bill Haley’s “Rock Around the Clock” played in the background. A stark contrast to the calypso music on deck or the Latin rhythms at the atrium bar.

Taking in his options, he ordered a chili dog with the works. Across from the cashier, a row of glass windows looked down on the poolside activities. Luke opted for sliding onto a stool and chowing down while observing the masses from on high.

Blaring instructions through a speaker system that made a megaphone sound like high definition, the cruise director called the guests to order.

At least for the guy’s sake, Luke hoped the sound system was to blame for the quality of his voice and that the announcer’s name wasn’t really Insk from Minsk.

The people at the outer edges of the deck slowly rose from their seats and circled in closer to center stage.

Pulling out his copy of the day’s activities, Luke scrolled down to the current time to find out what he was watching. “World’s Sexiest Man Contest.” Roaring laughter burst through from deep in his gut.

“Just wait, mate. It gets worse.” A familiar voice came from behind. The trainer from the fitness center took a seat beside him.

“How is that?”

“Ya have to see.”

Insk lined up four women in deck chairs along the back wall by the end of the pool. Then he called for the contestants.

Luke wasn’t sure how the group had been gathered, but each man strutted like an arrogant peacock. Short and firm and about seventy with a thick head of white hair, the first guy strolled past the women. “Silver Fox,” Luke muttered, assigning the old codger a call sign.

Apparently the band or DJ had a sense of humor because “I’m Too Sexy” played loudly while the old geezer flexed and posed for each of the women.

Next was a younger guy who had spent way too many hours at the
bierhaus
. That or he was due to give birth any week now. Comfortable in a swimsuit that barely covered what Mother Nature had given him, he gyrated and bucked, pausing briefly in front of each lady to the tune of “Macho Man.”

Luke thought “Having My Baby” might have been more appropriate. “I see what you mean.”

“Keep an eye on the old broad. They’re the ones ya have to look out for.”

“Thanks.” Luke stuck out his hand. “Brooklyn.”

The Aussie raised a brow and shook his hand. “Kyle.”

Luke focused on the four judges. The “old broad” Kyle had referred to was none other than the lady constantly in search of her missing grandchild and very likely the head honcho of his trivia team. “What exactly am I looking for?”

No sooner had the words fallen from his lips than a young buck, with tattoos covering more skin than not, ground and spun his way to the beat of “It’s Raining Men.” When he got to Granny, who was practically out of her seat with enthusiasm, he paused and bucked and…

Luke leaned in for a better view. “Did she just—”

“Pinch his arse? Righto. Last cruise some old bag grabbed the guy’s balls and had no mind to let go. Don’t let their age fool ya. These sheilas have no fun filters.”

“Fun filters?”

“I’ve had many a bruised backside. But ya learn not to turn your back on ’em, and when ya do—move bloody fast.” Kyle gathered his empty drink and dirty napkin onto the paper plate. “Got to bolt. Stay safe.”

Curious, Luke kept his gaze on the old lady but shot Kyle a thumbs-up. This woman was something else. She’d hold up both hands and, curling her forefingers, would call to the better-built candidates. And if Luke wasn’t completely mistaken, he got the impression that the old bird had slipped a folded piece of paper into one gyrator’s waistband. Granny was definitely a firecracker.

Chapter Five

“My God, Nana.” Sharla tossed her e-reader onto the extra chair in the Leeward Lounge and waived a bartender over to their table. “I’ll have a piña colada, please.”

“And I’ll have—”

“She’ll have a cola.”

Nana crossed her arms and glared at her granddaughter, but Sharla didn’t care. The last thing her grandmother needed now was liquid courage. Sharla, on the other hand, would probably have to drink a barrel of rum before she’d shake off the embarrassment. “Really, Nana. First you do a swan dive just to get a deck chair. Then you ignored the contest judges’
no touching
rules and pinched Tattoo Man’s rear. But what were you thinking slipping a ten-dollar bill in the last contestant’s Speedo?” Maybe Sharla should have ordered a scotch.

“Don’t forget my room number.”

Sharla sucked in a breath and hoped her eyes didn’t pop out of their sockets. “You slipped him our cabin number?”

Nana shrugged. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

The waiter returned with their drinks, and Sharla took a long slurp from the straw. If she was lucky, she’d suffer permanent brain freeze.

“Ready to play, ladies?” An older gentleman in plaid shorts, a flowered shirt, white socks and brown sandals sank into the nearest chair.

Standard Florida-retiree uniform.

Despite Nana’s earlier brazen antics, her cheeks flushed a pale pink, and her expression turned coy and bashful.

Sharla blinked and gave the visitor a second look.

“Sweetie, this is Herbie.” Nana gestured toward the man. “You remember I mentioned him.”

Sharla forced a smile. Odds were he was a very nice man, but she still hadn’t recovered from the poolside escapades and moving on to a new beau for her grandmother wasn’t going to work until Sharla had had a stronger drink.

“Your grandmother speaks of you with much love,” he said.

A heartfelt smile overtook Sharla’s previous plastic grin. “The feeling is mutual.” And it was. She couldn’t imagine her world without her crazy grandmother. Well, maybe a slightly calmer world wasn’t too hard to picture.

The empty chairs in the lounge slowly began to fill up. As the seats disappeared, newcomers joined forces with folks who had an extra chair or two. Four ladies—wearing red hats and purple bathing suit cover-ups on the other side of the grand piano—kept Sharla’s attention. She’d heard of the Red Hat Society but had never actually been anywhere among its members. Judging by the number of women running about donning red hats, they must be having a conference of some kind on board.

Two of the ladies, laughing at nothing in particular, were likely close to Nana’s age. Another looked to be somewhere in the required age group to wear the signature millinery, but the last one didn’t look old enough to be a member, yet the floppy wide-brimmed red hat she wore said she was at least fifty. Tall, slim, with shapely legs and ample cleavage.

Sharla should look so good now, never mind in another twenty years.

“Excuse me.”

A strong male voice dragged Sharla’s attention away from the table of laughing ladies.

“You made it!” Nana sprang from her seat and nearly hopped over Herbie to sidle up next to the man.

The voice may have caught Sharla’s attention, but seeing the Adonis from the gym stole her breath. Flat on his back, she’d had a general idea of his good-looking assets, but, on his feet, he was heart-stoppingly handsome. He looked to be close to six foot, with broad shoulders, a stone wall of a chest and a Hollywood-trim waist. But the toned muscles on this man screamed Greek god, not movie star make-believe.

“Herbie”—Nana linked an arm with the older man now standing at her side—“this is the young man I mentioned.”

“Herbie Klein.” The older man stuck out his hand.

“Luke Chapman. I’ll also answer to Brooklyn.”

Herbie bit back a smile. “I understand you’re going to be our trivia secret weapon.”

The corner of Luke’s lips curved up in a grin that lit up his face.

Holy cow
. Where was this man’s wife? And what was she doing letting him out loose on his own? Nana had been sticking ten-dollar bills down the wrong swim trunks.

“I don’t know about that, sir.”

“Herbie. Please.”

“Herbie,” Luke repeated.

“And this”—Nana elbowed Sharla in the rib cage—“is my granddaughter, Sharla.”

Fine lines deepened in the corners of his eyes, making the blue centers sparkle.

If anyone had told her that one of her grandmother’s strays would make her weak in the knees with just a smile, she would have laughed in their face. Peeling her tongue from the roof of her very dry mouth, Sharla stuck out her hand. “Hello.”

“Is everyone ready?” A pert young brunette with her dark hair in a ponytail smiled at the crowd. “I’m Becky on your cruise director’s staff.” She rattled off instructions for how to play the game as representatives from each team stepped forward to get paper and pencil to participate.

Delighted to have been saved from opening mouth and inserting foot, Sharla settled back in her seat.

As Becky asked the first question, a couple hurried into the lounge and stood dead center. The redhead circled the room with her gaze, while her husband’s search stopped at the bar. The guy was either bored, indifferent or not terribly sharp.

Sharla was betting on door number two.

Unlike the thirsty husband, both men at Sharla’s table kept their eyes glued to the endowed redhead now moving toward them.

“Could we join your team?”