Vortex (Cutter Cay) Read online

  “Maybe the four ships weren’t together. Maybe one sneaky little ship carried all the treasure on board for just the eventuality that they’d be attacked? Maybe she made it and went the other way.”

  He tilted his head to stare at the opinionated stowaway. “No. They would’ve stuck together, that’s why the gunboats were with the galleon. They wouldn’t have left her alone. Not in the storm, and not at the mercy of pirates. They were the muscle on the trip to and from Spain.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed. Why wouldn’t she? She’d woven a romanticized story about what had happened hundreds of years before. “That’s too bad. But what if?”

  She was a dog with a bone, which made him even more suspicious. “Tell you what.” Logan rose, and Dog rolled onto his back with a yawn that showed a lot of large white teeth. “I’ll work with my team and see if the lines inside match any actual latitudes and longitudes, and if these bumps correspond to the outcroppings along the coast. I have some work to do topside first.”

  Tempted to lock the now intriguing bowl away, he decided against it. Wanting to see what she’d do next, Logan placed it back on his desk next to the photograph of himself arm in arm with his brothers. The photograph, the last taken by their mother, showed three kids in swim trunks grinning from ear to ear.

  Annie stood too. Dog lumbered up beside her, pushing his massive head under her hand so she could scratch behind his ears the way he liked. Logan had to grab her arm so the dog didn’t push her over as he leaned against her hip in ecstasy.

  Her naturally olive skin was as silky smooth as satin, and cool to the touch. “I’ll remember to brace myself next time,” she said with a smile, shifting out of his hold to stroke a delicate hand between Dog’s eyes. Logan smelled soap on her, and a female scent that teased his senses. The muscles in her arms were well defined, as if she used them for more than dumbbells at the gym.

  He was glad she’d moved, because he was tempted to stroke her skin and linger in his sun-warmed office. “Dog will pin you to the ground and insist on ear rubs all day long if you indulge him.” He indicated the door, and she and his dog preceded him into the companionway.

  “As long as he doesn’t suddenly decide I look like a meal, we’ll get on fine.” She looked at Logan under the sweep of her bangs. “He’s never, um, tasted anyone, has he?”

  “He seems to have a taste for you.”

  Her smile widened. She had pretty teeth, almost straight except for a charmingly crooked eyetooth. “That didn’t exactly answer the question.”

  Neither have you, honey. And until she did, Logan had no intentions of letting his guard down. No matter how attractive his mermaid was.

  Three

  They’d provided her with socks, but no shoes. Daniela chose to go barefoot, and the highly polished floors felt cool and smooth beneath her feet. Cutter, who wore deck shoes and no socks, spared her feet a glance and kept walking. He was wearing black boardshorts with his T-shirt, and he had hairy, strongly muscled, tanned legs. For some odd reason, looking at his legs made her feel fluttery inside.

  She shoved her hair back from her face. She felt naked without at least the little bit of makeup she habitually wore. Mascara and blush would help. She’d seen in the mirror how pale she looked, and while the bump on her forehead had gone down considerably, leaving a thin red scab surrounded by purple, it still throbbed in time with her heartbeats. She reminded herself she wasn’t here to impress. It was merely her own vanity that wanted a little color on her skin.

  The Sea Wolf was a magnificent ship, spacious and well appointed, with plenty of sparkling glass windows giving uninterrupted views of the water. The interior looked more like someone’s home than a ship. He had some excellent artwork: oils, watercolors, Japanese woodcuts, and several bronzes—he favored headless female nudes. That must say something about him, she wasn’t sure what.

  If she wasn’t here under freaking duress, she might enjoy taking a leisurely tour of his works. If she wasn’t here under duress.

  Being pissed off at her cousins was counterproductive. She was here now and might as well make the best of it. Not that she had much choice. Daniela vowed she’d keep well out of Logan’s way and be as inconspicuous as possible. God only knew that was a skill she’d honed in the past few months.

  Usually she enjoyed other people’s living spaces. What they chose to share their environments with told her who they were, or in some cases, who they wanted the world to think they were. In the last few years, she’d dealt more with the latter. She knew the type well; they came into her upscale Dupont Circle gallery, Blue Opal, every day. The art gallery and small retail store were located on the first two floors of a row house, her apartment on the third. Her building was situated in a well-established, tree-lined neighborhood, surrounded by brownstones, high-rises, galleries, bars, clubs, and trendy boutiques.

  She wondered if she’d ever see any of those things again, as she walked through the sleek modern interior of Cutter’s ship.

  He didn’t have a lot of “stuff” cluttering up the beautiful teak paneling or white painted walls. From the look of things, he liked life without complication—simple, easy, clean. Was this who he really was, or a façade created by an expensive designer trying to please her client?

  To be honest, right now Daniela didn’t give hoot about the décor of Logan Cutter’s fancy boat. She could be back on the smelly fishing boat with the Idiots for all she cared. Being here was merely a means to an end. A means to two ends.

  One was a minor blip on her radar, or had been a minor blip, until the Idiots had taken matters into their own inept hands. Her cousins were unpredictable, and far more dangerous than Daniela had suspected.

  They were a different kind of villain than she was used to. Muscle, no brains. Still, she’d been a fool to let down her guard just because they were family. She sure as hell hadn’t seen them as killers, but as soon as she’d refused to participate in their plan, they’d taken the choice out of her hands by hitting her over the head and dumping her overboard to get eaten by sharks or climb on board the Sea Wolf and do what they wanted her to do.

  Trust no one was her mantra for a damn good reason.

  Two weeks and four days.

  She’d follow through on their scheme, because doing so suited her purposes, but she’d do it her way.

  Stay hidden. Stay alive.

  Those were her goals.

  If she could manage that for the next two weeks and four days, she’d be home free.

  Dog padded happily at their heels while Logan kept up the small talk as they walked through various large rooms and down several flights of stairs. A few black-and-white, artistically framed photographs—mostly of divers—graced the walls in one long corridor.

  There were bookshelves everywhere, filled with a wide variety of neatly lined-up reading material, and hermetically sealed boxes holding interesting artifacts, she presumed from some of his dives. Daniela had never seen so much highly polished teak and brass in once place.

  He told her there was a gym and a movie theater on one of the decks, but didn’t show her. She suspected that, unlike Wes, Cutter didn’t need the gym to pump up his muscles. He looked like a natural athlete and had the long lean lines of a swimmer. She kept her eyes off his legs.

  They passed several men wearing white shorts and T-shirts. Daniela presumed they were crewmen, but they seemed relaxed as they greeted her and Cutter. Must mean that Logan was a decent man to work for. That boded well for the next few weeks.

  “You okay?” he asked, slowing his steps as they wound their way through groupings of deep, comfortable-looking, white canvas slipcovered chairs in what looked like a library cum business office cum family room, all done starkly and dramatically in black and white. Wide windows gave an almost three-sixty panoramic view of cobalt blue water and a cloudless azure sky. Several open doors allowed a light breeze to play through the fronds of tall palms in glossy black pots strategically placed about the room.
/>   “Yes, sorry. Just admiring your artwork. That’s a Stephanie Kayne, isn’t it?” She indicated a large unframed oil painting hung away from direct sunlight and positioned between two ceiling-to-floor bookcases. Three curls of smoky black on a white background. One had to stand twenty feet away to see that the curls were the curves of a woman’s naked back. It was one of the artist’s most iconic works.

  “It is. You have a good eye. I have several of her pieces. You enjoy art?”

  Daniela shrugged. “Some of it.” All of it. It was one of the biggest disappointments in her life that she had no artistic talent or even technical ability herself. She’d spent most of her adult life nurturing and promoting the talent of others in her DC gallery, and on a slightly lesser level, in the retail space where she showcased Peruvian artists and artisans.

  The room needed color, but perhaps Cutter thought the never-ending blues outside were enough. If this were her space, Daniela would hang an MM Beck over by the long sofa for a splash of crazy color, and place a Fredricks Sher bronze for warmth on that little glass table over there … And …

  It wasn’t her space, she reminded herself with a pang that physically hurt her chest. The artwork that fueled her passion, and filled her life with color and purpose, might not be waiting for her when—if—she ever made it home again.

  Don’t, she told herself as tears stung her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling and blinked them back. One thing at a time. One foot in front of the other.

  Two weeks and four interminable days.

  She could do it.

  “Have you always worked on ships, Annie?” Logan indicated they stop at a lavish buffet set up near the door leading to the deck. Carafes held fresh-brewed coffee and various labeled fruit juices, and trays bore artistically displayed cut fruit. Chafing dishes held fluffy pale yellow scrambled eggs, thick slices of savory ham, crisp brown bacon, and several other dishes, while ice containers held chilled pink shrimp, bright white-and-yellow deviled eggs sprinkled with a rust of paprika, and pale green and pastel orange platters of sliced melons and fat red strawberries. Pretty fancy. A regular upscale restaurant brunch buffet. He fed his crew well. Daniela wasn’t hungry, but she knew she should eat something.

  Beyond the windows a group of men sat under a black-and-white striped awning, their voices a pleasant bass blur accompanied by the susurrus and slap of waves against the hull. This deck was close to the waterline, and she was surprised at how noisy the calm water was.

  A chill danced across her skin when she looked at all that water. It was a miracle she’d been seen. She rubbed the goose bumps on her arm, and turned her attention to the spread.

  Grateful for the distraction, she poured fragrant, steaming hot coffee into a large, thick mug and added sweetener and a splash of cream. “For the last five years or so. It’s a great way to see the world, or rather, I’d always thought it would be a great way to see the world. I didn’t take into account that while my various bosses played, I’d be working. No weekends off.”

  My God, she almost believed herself. Suppressing a smile, she helped herself to a plate of fresh fruit and a napkin, then added a container of Greek yogurt for some protein.

  Logan waited while she made her selections, a mug of black coffee in hand. No sugar. No cream. Plain. Simple. Uncomplicated.

  “And what did you do to keep body and soul together before that?” It was a casual question weighted with a challenge.

  “Oh, odds and ends.” The look he gave her was unsettlingly direct, and nerves danced in her stomach. She reminded herself firmly that the man couldn’t read her mind. “Mostly temp jobs,” she told him vaguely, falling into step, taking a tentative sip of hot coffee as they walked, to hide her expression.

  “But you have a home base?”

  “I got bitten by the travel bug early. I’m kind of a nomad. I bunk on friends’ sofas between jobs, then take off on my next crazy adventure. I love it.” When this was over, maybe she’d become a fiction writer. The reality was that she’d always been pretty much a homebody. Her idea of a good time had been an evening with a good book, or an exciting movie, with her cat Piewacket on her lap—Oh, damn. Don’t go there. Had been. Had.

  Her idea of bliss, Daniela thought, feeling the acid of rising fury grind in her stomach, was to wake up early, and take her first cup of coffee down into the gallery before any of her staff arrived. To feel the coolness of the cement floor beneath her bare feet, and hear the hum of the forced air as she walked through the current exhibit, Pie winding around her ankles.

  Not that she’d had a lot of nights at home in her apartment above the gallery in the past few months.

  Then it had all gone to hell in a handbasket and crashed down around her.

  Would she ever feel that sense of pride and accomplishment again? Or had Victor taken that from her, too?

  Two weeks four days.

  What had been done to her, how she’d been used, pissed her off no matter how often she told herself to stay in the now. She was safe. Now. All she had to endure, for now, was the passing of time. She wondered in what state she’d find her life when the dust cleared.

  Logan touched her arm. The same zing she’d felt in his office earlier shot from her elbow into her fingers. “Maybe you should sit down a minute, you look a little flushed.”

  Here. Now. Don’t project.

  Daniela forced her shoulders to relax, and loosened her stranglehold on her mug and small plate. “Just the hot coffee, I promise I’m feeling great.” She felt an unexpected lump in her throat, and tried not to let on how his consideration affected her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed simple human kindness in the last few months.

  They walked out onto the deck. It was already in the mid-eighties, the sunlight brilliant as it bounced off the calm water and reflected off the white surfaces of the spit-and-polished ship. The fresh air smelled deliciously clean and salty, and she breathed in deeply, then let it out slowly.

  The Sea Wolf was a terrific place to hide. She might as well enjoy the moments while she was here.

  The animated conversation at the table stopped dead as they approached.

  Two men sat on the dive platform below, removing their gear, and the others sprawled on the comfortable chairs surrounding an oval glass-topped table. As soon as they approached, the men all got to their feet. Like Cutter, most wore little more than shorts or swim trunks, and they were all deeply tanned and fit-looking. A glance at their legs and chests didn’t make her breath catch as it did when she glanced at Cutter.

  “Dive team. Annie Ross,” he introduced her to the men as he pulled out a chair for her, and everyone rearranged themselves to accommodate them. “You remember Wes?”

  Daniela smiled at Wes. “I do. Thanks for taking such good care of me last night.”

  Wes grinned back. He had the thick neck and bulging muscles of a weightlifter, and a sweet, boyish smile set off by a dimple. “It’s not every day we pull a mermaid from the sea. Have the memories come back?” He gave her an inquiring look.

  “In living color.” She smiled, then nibbled a slice of pineapple. The heat of the day was mitigated by a slightly cooler breeze that lifted her hair off her shoulders. The pineapple was sweet and juicy and tasted like tangy sunshine on her tongue. Just as she took another bite she glanced up. Cutter’s gaze was fixed on her mouth.

  “Officially, I pulled the mermaid from the sea,” a bald giant of a man in his forties told her cheerfully. She had to divert her own glance when the guy held out a hand as big as a Christmas ham. “Steven Galt, ma’am.” His touch was gentle as he pumped her hand.

  “Oh, God! Don’t smile at the man,” a tall, good-looking blond guy warned from across the table. He looked as though he should be carrying a surfboard under one arm and a bikini-clad blonde under the other. “He’s engaged to marry the exquisitely beautiful, kind, sexy—but not too sexy—Kym Fullen back in Murrysville, Pennsylvania, in a couple of months, and he’ll show you pictures of her from birt
h to the day they met in seventh grade and beyond. Ad nauseam. Fair warning.”

  He raised a soda can, a cheer, as he teased his friend, then gave her a bright white smile. A charmer, Daniela thought, not affected one way or another. He knew he was ridiculously handsome, and very sexy with all that beachy blond hair and those broad, tanned shoulders. He did absolutely nothing for her. His type were a dime a dozen where she came from.

  “Jedidiah Jones, the glue that holds this miscreant bunch together while Cutter works too hard moving his money around and being the boss of us.” Jones shot Logan a friendly sneer.

  Logan just sipped his coffee and smiled, his eyes reflecting the color of the water behind him. In the sunlight, the faint scratches on his strong brown throat, and the faint purple skin beneath his left eye were more obvious than they had been when she’d first seen them. Her heartbeat thudded uncomfortably. The event itself was nothing more than a frightening blur, snapshots of watery terror. She didn’t really remember anything between being tossed overboard and being brought on board the Sea Wolf.

  What she did remember was the heat of his touch on her cold body, and the unexpected sense of safety she had felt, hearing his steady breathing as he lay in the bunk just a few feet away from her all night.

  Daniela drank her coffee, enjoying the camaraderie of the men. Earl Horner appeared to be the oldest. Early fifties perhaps, not quite as jovial as the others, he was pretty quiet as Logan and the others talked over each other. The men introduced themselves, adding bits of information like colorful confetti into the conversation.

  Izak Vanek was from Czechoslovakia via Boston, and insisted on showing her a creased picture of his three little girls back home. She was more interested in how recently he’d been home.

  “I’ve never been there,” Daniela lied through her teeth. The moment he’d said Boston, her heartbeat had sped up and her hands had gotten clammy. God, six degrees of separation? “I hear it’s very pretty. Do you manage to get home often?”