Burn (Page 71)

"There’s our host," she said, unnecessarily. She turned to Linda and Nyna. "Have you found out anything about him? What does he do? Other than host charity cruises, that is."

Cael got to his feet and reached for Jenner’s hand, under the guise of assisting her from her chair. He squeezed her fingers in warning.

"What doesn’t he do?" Linda answered. "Politics, finance, all sorts of business. I’ve been asking questions, and evidently he’s one of those behind-the-scenes people in Washington, the ones who can make the president jump."

Well, wasn’t that interesting, Jenner mused.

"I forgot to bring my pills with me," Cael said, all but hauling her away from the table. "We have to go back to the stateroom."

"We’ll see you in the morning," Jenner called over her shoulder. "Five forty-five!"

When they were well away from the restaurant, Cael grabbed her arm, turned, and backed her against the railing. There was no one close by, no one listening in, which was why he’d chosen this spot to stop. The stiff breeze blew Jenner’s hair away from her face, and she lifted her head to catch more of the sensation.

He caged her with his arms, gripping the railing as he leaned down until his blue eyes were on a level with hers. She met his gaze with a look of total innocence.

"You’re a demon, you know that?" he said with feeling. "When your feet hit the floor every morning, I’ll bet the devil shudders and says ‘Oh shit, she’s awake!’"

She smiled. She didn’t doubt that Cael would do whatever needed to be done to meet his objectives, but she no longer believed that he’d hurt her or Syd out of spite, or for revenge. He was still in control, but for a little while, a few precious minutes, she’d taken that control away from him. She’d led the way. Maybe she’d pay for it later, but she’d gotten what she wanted: She had him flustered.

She also knew more about Frank Larkin than she had. Politics and finance, huh? That left the field of possibilities for spying wide open, so she wasn’t exactly in the loop yet, but she was catching up.

"Let’s go get those pills, honey," she said as she patted Cael’s chest and pushed him slightly away from her.

"There aren’t enough pills in the world – " he began, but then he stopped and closed his eyes as he shook his head.

She’d done it. She’d shut him up. This was turning out to be a good day, all things considered.

Chapter Twenty-two

LARKIN OPENED THE DOOR TO HIS SUITE, HOPING FOR A respite, some peace and quiet, but instead of blessed silence he was assaulted by an unbearable noise.

Isaac, his private steward, was hard at work and hadn’t heard the door open. How could he hear anything with the roar of the damned vacuum cleaner drowning out everything else? Larkin slammed the door; Isaac heard that.

He lifted his head and turned off the vacuum. "Mr. Larkin. I didn’t expect you back so soon."

"Obviously," Larkin said as he stepped into the room.

Isaac was about Larkin’s age, but he looked a good ten years older. He was too thin, his hair white instead of a distinguished gray, and he had deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He wore years of hard menial labor on his face; his shoulders were stooped, his hands gnarled with arthritis. And yet Larkin was the one in pain, the one who was dying. Where was the fairness in that?

But if he had to die, he’d make sure he wasn’t alone. Like everyone else on this fucking ship, Isaac was about to die, too; he just didn’t know it yet. The satisfaction of that thought made Larkin feel a little better. Even his headache seemed to ease.

"Get me some aspirin and a glass of water," he said, crossing the room to the sofa and gingerly sitting down. Every movement, every sound hurt, but he couldn’t let his pain show beyond this room. "I have a headache," he said softly as Isaac disappeared into the bedroom to fetch aspirin from Larkin’s Dopp kit in the closet. Through the open door, Larkin noted the made bed and realized that Isaac’s chores were almost done. Thank God.

Isaac did as he’d been instructed, as always, quickly delivering two aspirin and a bottle of water.

"Would you like a glass and some ice for the water, Mr. Larkin?"

"No, this will do." Two aspirin wouldn’t make a dent in his pain, but he didn’t want to rouse even Isaac’s suspicions about his physical condition – though it was unlikely Isaac would be alarmed, even if Larkin had demanded the entire bottle. Isaac was not particularly intelligent.

After he’d swallowed the aspirin, Larkin snapped, "Come back later to finish your chores." He didn’t need to offer a reason or make an excuse; Isaac simply followed orders, as always. He silently left, taking the damned vacuum cleaner with him.

When he was alone, Larkin went to his Dopp kit and grabbed a small handful of aspirin. He popped them all, washed down with long swallows from the water bottle. At this point, what did it matter if he ended up with an ulcer? Enough aspirin sometimes made the pain fade, and he needed that now. He needed just a few damn minutes with no pain.

Cancer had ruined him.

The sound of a knock on his door shot through him like a knife in his temple. If Isaac had come back, if he’d returned knowing that Larkin had wanted to be alone … he wouldn’t live to see the bombs go off.

But it was Dean Mills at the door. Larkin let Dean into the suite, and gently closed the door behind him. A slam would’ve relieved some of his temper, but the sound … he couldn’t take the noise.

Dean said, "Sir, a couple of the men have some questions about the getaway after the – "

"We’re not going to discuss this," Larkin said sharply. "I have everything organized."

"But – "

"Do you think I’d leave anything to chance?" he snapped.