LITMIR.BIZ

      FOUR

      The next morning, Sam phoned the FBI’s Seattle office from the balcony of the room he shared with his brother and nephew. He couldn’t make out what was going on in the twins’ room next door any better from out here than he had with his ear to the wall inside as Jake and Tommy watched morning cartoons. And he doubted Jake had bought his neck-stretches excuse for hovering near the wall, no matter how lumpy the sofa bed looked.

      “I put a rush on those bottles you sent in with the ship’s pilot. Came back clean,” the agent assured. “Couldn’t find out who ordered the basket. Buyer paid cash. Not that it matters now, I guess.”

      Great, so they were back to square one. The PI had claimed he’d never heard of Jennifer Robbins. Not that Sam expected him to admit if he had. Not to some guy over the phone anyway.

      “I spoke with the ship’s captain,” the agent went on. “Since their test confirmed Rohypnol in Miss Robbins’s system, he’ll get you the names of everyone who ordered soft drinks. But man, you might as well look for a needle in a haystack. We’re talking hundreds of names.”

      Sam clenched the balcony rail, tamping down his frustration that Jen hadn’t been able to pick out the waiter in the employee-photo lineup security showed her last night. “She told me that someone kept calling her the night before she boarded but didn’t say anything. See if you can get a trace.”

      “You still think her spiked drink is connected to that note speared to her car last week?” the agent asked.

      You’ll pay. The note’s threat had careened through his mind all night. Sam rammed the heel of his hand into the rail. “Yeah. Until we prove otherwise, I assume everything’s connected.”

      The agent let out a low whistle. “If whoever drugged her planned to kidnap her and demand a ransom, he wouldn’t have been able to stash her for long on a ship.”

      “Making a threat of ‘pay now or you’ll never see her again’ all the more believable,” Sam muttered, sideswiped by images of a bloated body washing ashore. How had this assignment veered so far off course? “Let me know if you find out anything else. Thanks.”

      He pocketed his phone and lifted his gaze to the horizon, where water met sky without a landmark in sight—kind of how this case felt at the moment.

      Hearing a neighboring balcony door opening, he leaned over the rail to glance at the twins’ balcony. One of the women stood with her back to the open door.

      His own balcony door slid open and Sam jerked away from the rail as Jake poked out his head. “We’re meeting Mom and Dad in the game room. Okay?”

      “Uh, yeah.” Sam’s gaze strayed to the partition between the adjoining balconies. “I—”

      Jake flicked his hand in the same direction. “Just knock on their door, why don’t you? And invite them to join us.”

      “It’s not what you think. I was just wondering how—”

      Jake chuckled and retreated into the room. “Yeah, yeah, save your breath. We’ll see you there.”

      Sam took his time securing their balcony door. This case was getting too messed up. He shouldn’t be letting his family think his concern for Jennifer Robbins was personal. Not when the attacks were likely connected to the gallery’s illegal activities.

      Or she could be innocent.

      Sam yanked open the door to the hall. They weren’t innocent. He’d heard Cass on the wiretap confirm the appointment her uncle had arranged with the gallery owner in Skagway. He shut out the voice that reasoned that that didn’t mean the women were guilty. He was not going to let a beautiful woman derail another case. He’d stick to Jennifer Robbins like a barnacle to a ship’s hull, be a friend but strictly to do the job. Period.

      As he lifted his hand to tap on their door, it opened.

      “Oh,” Cass exclaimed. “Good morning.”

      “Hey, I thought I’d check in on our patient.”

      “Thank you.” Cass grabbed his arm and tugged him inside. “I’m going stir-crazy in this tiny room.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Jennifer stood at the balcony door watching the water and lowered her voice. “I couldn’t even get her to go out for breakfast. But when I ordered room service, she was too afraid to eat it. Said someone could’ve poisoned it. I have to get out.” She wore black tights and a tank top and had her hair pulled into a high ponytail.

      “You going for a jog around the deck?”

      “Zumba class.” She held up the ship’s activity schedule. “It starts in five minutes. Could you please talk Jen into getting out of the room and enjoying the cruise?”

      “Sure, you go on. I’ll keep her company.”

      As Cass disappeared out the door, Jen turned from the balcony, startling at the sight of him. “How did you get in here?”

      His heart kicked at the wobble in her voice. “Your sister let me in. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Even in a bright floral top she looked alarmingly pale. “My family’s in the game room, and I wondered if you’d like to join us.”

      “Oh.” Her breath left her in a whoosh. But whatever relief she’d felt at learning his intentions were honorable—at least honorable as far as she knew—was short-lived. “I...I better not.” She stood by the open balcony door, cradling her middle.

      He moved toward her but then thought better of it. “Does your stomach hurt? Would you like me to take you to see the doctor?”

      She dropped her hands to her sides and shook her head, and then as if she didn’t know what to do, she scraped her thumbnail on the edge of the chair next to her. “I feel fine. Just...a little headache.”

      “Are you sure? Cass said you didn’t eat.”

      Jen’s gaze dropped to her thumb scraping back and forth. “Cass talks too much.”

      “You missed supper, too. You must be hungry,” he said gently. “Eating might help with the headache.”

      She scooped an apple from the fruit bowl the steward had left on the desk. She rolled it between her fingers, scrutinizing the surface, then seemingly satisfied, she took

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