Chapter 4
T
he next night Ruby arrived at the Nautical Mile with a little under thirty minutes to spare. Part of her normal routine involved scouting out the site of termination, to locate every entrance and exit and identify any potential hazards. The habit came courtesy of her former mentor, and the practice had saved her bacon on more than one occasion.
The bar was decorated in a garish island theme—bright lights and even brighter colors. Tables and chairs were painted an eye-numbing array of neon, and the bar was set up in true tiki fashion, complete with grass skirt, bamboo, and glasses carved out of coconuts. A tropical mural covered one wall, while the bartender and waitresses wore khaki shorts and gaudy, Hawaiian-print shirts. The only thing missing was Jimmy Buffett singing “Margaritaville.”
Scratch that. The Muzak version was playing over the speakers.
After walking the perimeter, Ruby snagged a table along the inside wall. The location gave her a clear view of the bar as well as both exits, the bathrooms, and the stage area, where a band was busy setting up their instruments.
Not wanting to stand out from the crowd, she’d dressed to blend with the casual atmosphere: plain tan capri pants, white V neck T-shirt, and well-worn sandals. The choker she’d chosen matched the color of her skin, and her long auburn hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail.
Tonight she was feeling tense, irritable, and impatient. Which was also part of her normal routine. The minutes leading up to a termination never failed to leave her agitated and unsettled. While she didn’t know the specifics, she knew somebody’s Caribbean adventure was about to come to an abrupt, unfortunate end, leaving his or her family devastated.
It didn’t take long for a waitress to approach the table. “Welcome to the Nautical Mile. I’m Monique. What can I get you to drink tonight?” the woman asked, all cheerful smiles and good nature. Young and pretty, she had flawless ebony skin and a healthy vitality that matched her appearance.
“I don’t know. What do you recommend, Monique?”
“Jeff at the bar makes a rocking blackberry mojito.”
Ruby smiled in spite of her foul mood, appreciating the girl’s enthusiasm. “Sounds good. Blackberry mojito it is.”
Monique headed toward the bar, leaving Ruby to take in the action.
So, who was going to be the unlucky stiff of the evening? The assignment listed only a time and location, leaving Ruby to ponder who and how. After so many years on the job, she’d encountered just about every situation imaginable, so she doubted it would be anything she couldn’t handle.
Chin propped on the heel of her hand, her eyes slowly scanned the room, soaking up the eclectic mix of humanity. Couples were getting cozy in the outer booths and tables, while singles clustered around the bar like lions staking out a watering hole on the Serengeti. Some primped, some flirted, while others strove to perfect the fine art of indifference. All hoped to cap off the evening with a little action.
“Hey, beautiful.”
Ruby blinked, turning her attention to the guy standing to her left. He looked young—very early twenties—cute but not handsome, with a mop of sandy blond hair and a tall, wiry build. Faded black cargo shorts hung low on his hips, while a pale blue tank top complimented his tanned skin. Classic surfer boy. He smiled as he brushed the bangs away from his eyes, flashing a straight set of pearly whites.
“Something I can do for you, honey?” She returned the smile, her voice a casual drawl. She had time to kill, after all. Why not spend it in the company of some available eye candy?
Because he wasn’t Jack?
Well, there was that little sticking point, but since Jack wasn’t anywhere to be found, she didn’t feel too guilty about moving on to alternative forms of distraction.
“Mind if I join you?” Surfer Boy motioned to the empty chair on the opposite side of the small circular table. His voice carried a note of insecurity, just enough for her to find it endearing.
Ruby shrugged. “Why not? Knock yourself out.”
“I’m Kevin, by the way,” he said as he plopped down onto the chair. He stretched his long legs out, one of them dangling in the aisle.
“Ruby.” The waitress returned with her drink, and Ruby took a moment to sign the tab. Then she sampled her drink and decided, yes, Jeff indeed made a rocking blackberry mojito.
Kevin took a long pull from his bottle of Corona and glanced over his shoulder to a group of four guys hanging out near the end of the bar. His buddies, no doubt. One of them grinned and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up, while another made a crude pumping gesture with his fist.
How charming.
“Friends of yours?” One-point deduction for obnoxious companions.
At least he had the sense to look embarrassed. “Uh, yeah. Don’t mind them. They’re idiots.” He shot his friends a dirty look, then took another slug from his beer and set the bottle on the table. “So, uh, is this your first cruise?”
“Yes.” Ruby sipped her own drink as the silence stretched out between them. She glanced down to check her watch. Eighteen minutes until show time. And it was going to be a long eighteen if this was the best conversation Surfer Boy had to offer.
The pulse of fresh mortality made its presence known, unnoticeable to everyone in the room except Ruby. She froze in her chair, trying to pinpoint the source, but she found it too faint to track. Not yet, but soon. As the time of death drew closer, the call would grow from a pulse to a hum, drawing Ruby to the moment of transience like a fly to honey.
Kevin opened his mouth to say something, but then his gaze darted up and to the left, his eyes widening with what appeared to be fear.
“Hit the road, junior.” The words rumbled out of Jack like the warning growl from a Rottweiler. He towered over Kevin, broad and imposing, his expression bordering the dark side of unpleasant. Taut muscles strained against cotton, and damned if she couldn’t take her eyes off him. “You’re in my spot.”
Kevin didn’t need to be told twice. Wood scraped against tile as he bolted from the chair, retreating to his buddies at the end of the bar.
“I didn’t think he’d ever leave,” Jack said as he claimed Kevin’s vacated seat. He waved down a passing waitress and ordered a Chivas on the rocks.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might be enjoying Kevin’s company?” Ruby’s eyes narrowed, her mood wavering between annoyed at Jack for acting like a caveman and relieved he’d run Kevin off.
“Were you?” When she didn’t answer right away, a smug smile stretched across his face. “Nah, I didn’t think so. You’d chew that boy up and spit him out before he even realized what happened.” He scanned the room, his expression cool and assessing, before pinning her with an inquisitive look. “This place is definitely not you. What gives?”
The waitress returned with Jack’s drink, granting Ruby a temporary reprieve. He took a cursory sip before giving Monique a nod of approval and signing the tab.
Meanwhile, the pulse of mortality grew stronger, more insistent. It was originating from the far end of the room, between the bathrooms and the bar, but lacked enough definition to isolate to a particular source.
“So how’d you spend the day?” she asked once the waitress cleared out, hoping to change the subject.
“Oh, the usual. Hit the gym in the morning. Read a little by the pool this afternoon.” He took another sip, swirled the ice in his glass. “You didn’t pick up when I called.” Those penetrating brown eyes locked with hers. “I was going to knock on your door, but you had the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging from the knob.”
“I wasn’t feeling well after last night.” Which was the truth. She’d slept late and woken around noon with a splitting migraine, the result of screwing around with the date rapist’s head the night before. So she’d downed a couple pills and spent most of the afternoon in bed with the lights out.
And she had to admit, she also felt a little awkward around Jack, which added to her reluctance to leave the confines of her cabin. It wasn’t like her to share the sordid details of her past, and talking about her sister had pushed Ruby beyond the boundaries of her carefully constructed comfort zone.
Jack reached across the table, took her hand in his. “I’m sorry to hear that.” The concern in his voice melted some of her discomfort. His thumb brushed over the pulse racing in her wrist, sending an unexpected zing of heat up her arm. “Feeling any better?”
She thought about pulling her hand away, but his grip felt firm and assuring, and it was kind of nice to have someone offer comfort. She hitched a shoulder and said, “A little.”
“Good.” He smiled, took another drag from his drink. “Then you can explain why you’re hanging out in this tacky tiki lounge.”
It was a good thing he was so damn attractive. Otherwise, she’d have given him the boot for asking too many questions. Still, it was aggravating, so she fixed him with a level glare. “Maybe I’m here to listen to the band.”
Jack shook his head. “Nah. It’s a Bob Marley cover band. Not your style.”
True, but she refused to cede the point. “Did it ever occur to you that I might want a change of pace after last night?”
He cocked his head a little, as if considering the notion. But then he shook his head again, his mouth tugging up on one side. “No. Nice try, but I’m not buying. This place is way too touristy for you. Want to give it another shot?”
Under normal circumstances she would have been irritated, but for some reason she found entertainment in the challenge. And since he wasn’t buying any of her bullshit tonight, she decided to adopt a different tack. “Would you believe I’m really a yuppie, looking for the ultimate island experience?” When he quirked a brow, she doubled down with her best game face. “You see, when I’m not cruising the Caribbean, I’m an internal auditor for a life insurance company. I live in the suburbs with my husband and two point four kids, and drive a Volvo station wagon to work every morning.”
Jack stared at her for a few beats, his expression void of emotion. Then he let out a snort, which quickly turned into a full-blown laugh. He raised his glass in salute. “Nice job. I bet you could sell ice to an Eskimo if you set your mind to it.”
“Damn straight.” She clinked her glass against his and took a long drink from her mojito.
A woman could get used to this, Ruby thought as she studied Jack over the rim of her glass. Tonight he looked confident and relaxed in faded black denim and a burgundy T-shirt that stretched tight against his chest and biceps. Two days of sun had bronzed his skin, giving him a radiance that mirrored his vitality.
It had been a while since she’d taken the time to actually enjoy a man’s company. Usually, she went for the quick and easy, a temporary distraction to smooth the rough edges off a bad day. But there was something different about Jack, a tantalizing combination of mind and body. He piqued her interest and reminded her of things that weren’t part of the big picture.
You know, the little things in life, like a meaningful relationship with a man of true worth. Those could get sticky, especially if they lasted long enough for the guy to notice you hadn’t aged a day in over a decade. The plastic surgery excuse lasted only so long.
Besides, she wasn’t cut out for long-term commitments. She’d never been one to settle down—had always been known as the wild child of her family. She shied away from deep emotional attachments, and playing domestic cramped her style.
A sharp spike of mortality broke her train of thought. Something just triggered the chain of events leading to the inevitable. Ruby closed her eyes, concentrating on the inexorable pulse until she zeroed in on the source.
Ladies bathroom.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go powder my nose,” she said as she rose from her chair and made a beeline toward the back of the bar.
The commotion drew her to the scene as much as the quickening pull of imminent death. Pushing open the door to the ladies room, she was greeted by a cold blast of mortality.
“Angie!” A slender, teenaged blonde crouched by her friend’s side. Face pale and visibly shaking, she had a look of sheer terror, obviously not knowing what to do or how to help. She gripped her friend’s shoulders and gave the girl a hard shake. “Answer me, Angie, what’s wrong?”
The girl sprawled out on the tile near the sink was in no condition to respond. The only thing she could do was let out a strangled groan as her frail body racked with spasms.
Ruby knelt down, studying the girl’s symptoms. Pupils dilated. Sweating profusely. Mild convulsions. If she were a betting woman, she’d put her money on drug overdose. God knows she’d seen it enough times over the years. Already, the sharp scent of death hung heavy in the air, waiting patiently to collect its prize.
“Go to the bar,” Ruby ordered the blonde, her voice crisp and commanding. The girl was destined to die, no point in making her friend watch. “Tell the bartender we need a doctor in here. Now!”
Eager for guidance, the blonde took off like a shot, the bathroom door swinging shut behind her.
Angie’s eyes cracked open, glazed but fearful.
“Easy now,” Ruby said as she brushed loose strands of hair away from Angie’s face. The girl’s skin felt cool and clammy to the touch, her panting fast and shallow. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize she didn’t have much longer. “I’ve got you.”
“I-I-I don’t want to die,” Angie said between gasps, her voice barely audible. “I just wanted . . . just wanted . . . some fun . . .” Her words trailed off in a muted gurgle as the convulsions grew stronger, her body shaking uncontrollably.
“I know, sweetie.” Ruby shifted so she could lay Angie’s head on her lap. She stroked the girl’s long black hair, the only comfort she was capable of giving. “I know.”
At what point had she stopped trying to make sense of it all? Honestly, she couldn’t remember. So much death, most of it meaningless. Lives wasted. Families destroyed. Potential untapped. It could drive a reaper mad, if she weren’t careful.