Burn (Page 77)

Her heart leapt, as he gave her another name, another piece of the puzzle. Of course, Syd likely knew the name Adam, so it wasn’t exactly earth-shattering information. For all she knew it wasn’t even the man’s real name. Still, the anecdote was priceless to her. "Female guards, I hope."

"God, so do I."

She could definitely see Syd dragging out her gowns and cocktail dresses and choosing the best ones for someone else. Whenever they shopped together, Syd was always thrilled to find something that was just right for Jenner. Knowing that she was doing the same sort of thing now, even if the subjects of her attentions were kidnappers holding her an unwilling hostage, made Jenner feel so much better that happy tears stung her eyes. Syd was still Syd. She turned her head so Cael wouldn’t see her emotional response. "Thank you," she said when she was certain she could speak without a telling waver in her voice.

"You’re welcome."

Damn it, she wasn’t supposed to like him, but when he took her arm again, she was glad of the touch.

WHEN HE RETURNED to the ship, in the privacy of his suite, Larkin sat at the dining table in the parlor, the plate he had requested sitting in front of him. The fine china was almost entirely covered with thick slices of fresh baked bread. The smell was heavenly, awakening a remnant of a pleasant memory from his childhood. A silver spoon sat in the short, squat jar of pineapple and apricot preserves he’d purchased in the farmer’s market.

For years, he’d been careful of his diet. Yes, he drank, and he’d tried recreational drugs a few times, but he prided himself on keeping fit. He worked out at an exclusive gym, and ate a rigorously low-carb diet. No bread. No preserves. No desserts. All for nothing.

He’d been indulging himself lately – hell, why not? – but nothing tasted as good as he thought it should. Some days he didn’t want to eat at all. When the jar of preserves in the farmer’s market had caught his eye all of a sudden he knew that was exactly what he wanted. There were plenty of jams and jellies to be had aboard the Silver Mist, but they were ordinary. The thought of them didn’t appeal to him in any way, but the pineapple-apricot preserves were different. They were exotic, freshly made, a gourmet treat.

He was about to dip into the jar with the knife when a chilling thought occurred to him, freezing him in place. What if the preserves were poisoned? He felt as if people were watching him, all the time. Soon it wouldn’t matter, but right now, having his plans go on without a hitch mattered to him more than anything else. He wanted to go out on his own terms, not someone else’s. He didn’t want to die writhing in pain, his insides torn apart by poison. No, when he went he’d be so close to a bomb he wouldn’t even have time for a last thought, much less experience pain.

The old woman in the market might’ve seen him coming, and put this appealing jar of preserves right where it would catch his eye. Or else she’d swapped it for a special jar as she’d bagged his purchase, using sleight of hand. Who knew what these people were capable of? She hadn’t looked Hawaiian, she’d looked more Oriental. What if she’d been a plant by that fucking Kwan?

Or maybe she was a serial killer, indiscriminately taking out tourists with her island charm and innocent-looking wares. Maybe all the pretty goodies on her table included some sort of exotic island poison?

He jumped out of his chair and stalked to the door, opening it on the guard he had posted there upon his return from Hilo. From here on out, he wanted one of his most trusted men with him at all times. He wasn’t taking any chances.

"Tucker," he said, "get in here." Dean was also in the corridor, and the presence of his head of security annoyed him. Had the two men been talking about him? Did they plan something worse than poison for him? "You, too, Mills."

When the security guards entered the room, with Dean closing the door behind them, Larkin pasted a smile on his face. "You have to try this," he said in a friendly tone, Tucker the object of his attention. Dean stood back and watched with narrowed eyes, as he often did. "It’s so delicious, I had to share with someone." He picked up a piece of soft, warm bread, and slathered on a thick helping of the preserves before handing it to the unsuspecting man.

"Thanks, Mr. Larkin, but I’m not hungry," Tucker said, suspicious at the unexpected overture and handling the slice of bread as if it were a hand grenade.

"But it’s so good." He moved the offering closer. A slick layer of sweat sheened his grayish skin. "Try it."

"No, really, I’m – "

"Try it!" Larkin screamed, thrusting the bread at the startled man.

Tucker glanced back at his boss, and Dean responded with a subtle nod of his head. At that, Tucker accepted the bread and immediately took a large bite. He chewed, swallowed, commented on how good it tasted, and then took another bite – knowing that was what his employer required, but looking as if he really did enjoy the tastes. He finished every bit of the bread, while Larkin watched him closely, waiting for some sign that the preserves had been poisoned.

Tucker, unaware that he was supposed to have been poisoned, seemed fine. He wasn’t at all bothered by what he’d eaten. Larkin talked for several minutes, about everything, about nothing, waiting for Tucker to fall to the floor and start slobbering, or writhe in pain. Nothing happened. Larkin asked questions about passengers and events, asked if Tucker had noticed anyone out of the ordinary watching him, but he barely paid attention to the man’s answers.

When he was certain Tucker was unaffected, Larkin abruptly ordered, "Get out," and sat at the table once more. "You stay," he said to Dean, and his own personal bulldog obeyed, as he always did.

After Tucker closed the door, Larkin slathered preserves on another piece of bread and took a big bite, no longer worried about poisoning. He waited for a burst of fruity flavor on his tongue, but instead he tasted nothing but sugar. The preserves were too sweet, and the bread had an unpleasant yeasty taste. He took another bite, but it was as annoyingly disagreeable as the first.