Marked Masters (9 page)

Jack made introductions, and then Captain
Morgan waved toward the middle of the boat. "Margarite has dinner
waiting for you in the saloon. She's making sure you have clothing
and supplies in your room, so everything is as you need it to be."
His radio squawked again, and he took his leave with a wave.

Might as well enjoy the experience
.
Jack set his hand to the small of my back and directed me toward
dinner, which I was grateful to the captain for arranging. The car
was terrific, but food was my siren call right then. Having nothing
but the light food truck lunch several hours past the noon hour, I
was ready for a good dinner. My
escort
led me up some stairs
and into a grand saloon.

Spectacular, spacious, and
simple. I'd been on a few yachts in my time, but the Folly Roost
cleared the field. My eye was drawn to a portrait on the wall
opposite the pulpit, or pointy, side of the vessel. My feet moved
toward that interior wall as if of their own accord. I simply
followed their lead, my gaze held by a painting I recognized in its
gilded frame as the
Woman Dressing Her
Hair.

"Lovely." I wasn't sure
I'd even spoken the word aloud. I was too focused on the long, full
locks, the refined hands holding the brush, and the subject's ivory
complexion. Then I noticed something near the spotlight and moved
in for a closer look.

"Yes, it's a fake," Jack
said from behind my right shoulder. When I turned to look at him,
he added, "A good fake, I'll grant you. Nevertheless, a fake. The
original was stolen decades ago, and this copy is but a reminder of
the kind of masterpieces that are out there and kept from the
public." He stepped forward and brushed the bottom edge of the
painting with a gentle fingertip.

"While it might not be the
original artist's work," I said, still searching the brushstrokes
as if to will it to be real, "it truly is a lovely item within what
is likely a gifted artist's body of art. Even if the painting is a
forgery."

Jack offered me a twisted
smile and turned back toward the center of the saloon. "Shall we
dine?"

"Thought you'd never
ask."

A buffet had been set up on the aft side of
the saloon near an exquisite mahogany dining set. While most of the
yachts I'd sailed on used the narrow pulpit corner of the boat as a
build out for an elongated booth seat, much like one huge sumptuous
window seat, and used that seating with a couple of extra chairs
for all dining, the designers of this space had built the room to
include the luxurious champagne-colored crescent-shaped seating as
well as a full eight-setting table, and chairs covered in the same
fabric. A uniformed waiter stood in attendance, and another waiter
approached Jack with a wine bottle. At Jack's nod, the second
waiter popped the cork and set the bottle down on a nearby table.
The wine was left to breathe, and the waiter moved across the room
to acquire two glasses.

The smell of food made my stomach rumble,
and I realized the fish tacos had been a million years ago. Jack
laughed. "I'm glad you're hungry, Laurel. Chef prepares food you'll
be talking about for weeks."

"So you're often a guest here?"

His smile vanished, and he gave me a look
both steady and a little disconcerting. "I make it a practice to
afford myself of all luxury at every opportunity."

Those words were some silent message, I
knew, and I would be thinking them over again soon.

The first waiter offered plates and helped
serve from the buffet. I started with a celery heart wrapped in
prosciutto and topped with a tart cheese sauce, the aroma of which
sent my taste buds salivating.

"I hope this will please your palate," the
waiter said. "If not, you only have to ask for what you want."

"I'm finding everything I need, thank you,"
I murmured, too focused on the food to speak any louder. Jack
appeared even more famished than I and loaded his plate almost to
the overflow point.

"Is there anything else?" the first waiter
asked me.

Just at the point of shaking my head, I
realized there was something he could do for me. "Could you turn
down the lights in the room for a few minutes? I'd love to see the
starlight over the bay."

"Good idea." Jack took my plate and handed
both to the waiter. "Please set these at the table, midrange, and
lower the lamps." Then his hand was again at the small of my back
and guiding me toward the long sofa and the intersecting windows
with their panoramic view.

Even in the dark, I could see thick clouds
to the south. "The stars are lovely right here, but we may still
see some of the tropical storm remnants by the end of the
weekend."

"It's not supposed to get past Cuba," Jack
murmured. "But this still is hurricane season. It's quite
optimistic of the Browning to stage an outdoor event this time of
year."

Several catty remarks nearly escaped my
lips. Melanie was never the sharpest knife in the drawer, but her
tongue certainly was, and since she was Jack's friend of sorts, I
didn't want anything negative I said to get back to her. I did have
to wonder about his taste in sources given her innuendo about their
past, but the way Jack responded said he might not have the same
memories, or at least feelings, about the incident. It was
something we probably needed to discuss later. If we were going to
use his contacts, I wanted to know they could all be trusted.

A number of smaller vessels crisscrossed the
boating channels, lights bobbing on the crafts at bow and stern,
and several more at midpoints on the larger crafts. All too soon
the beauty of the night was overcome by the hunger pangs we
experienced from just smelling the food waiting for us. Candlelit
tapers sat in crystal holders on the table, and the flames wavered
like fingers calling us over, their reflection in the wine almost
enough to entrance me in the moment.

I scooted onto the cushioned chair by my
plate and crossed my legs to the side. The waiter had set Jack
across from me, each of us in the middle of the long sides of the
table. I was surprised, wondering why Jack didn't take the head
position instead.

Sad to say, we attacked our food with
classlessness derived from pure hunger and fatigue. We didn't even
try to talk over our dinner despite the perfect proximity we had
for conversation. And we made little more than monosyllabic noises
of assent when the waiters replenished our glasses or offered to
bring over dessert.

Finally sated in a way I don't think sex had
ever accomplished, I let my gaze rove over the darkened room. I was
about to ask about a Picasso on the wall behind the buffet when the
door breezed open and a Sophia Loren lookalike entered the lounge.
Jack rose from the chair as she entered. She wore heels and a
clingy black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places.
Her smile stretched from Venice to Rome.

She offered that smile to me, along with a
"
Buonasera
!" But she hugged Jack and kissed and patted both
of his cheeks. He made introductions for us, and as I moved out
from behind the table, Margarite surreptitiously looked me over
then gave Jack a tiny nod. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Laurel
Beacham. If you need anything while you are aboard, you need only
ask. Anyone can help you or will locate someone who can do so.
Please, you are our guest."

"Thank you." I shook the hand she extended
and noticed the firm grip. The woman was likely late-fifties or
maybe even sixties, but she wore her age well and obviously kept in
shape. I took her to be a female majordomo on the yacht, and she
had probably run things for the family for decades. Jack's next
words confirmed my thoughts.

"Margarite is the best friend any traveler
can have, Laurel." The woman almost preened under his compliment.
"I don't think even the captain is truly in charge when Margarite
is around."

She slapped his shoulder playfully. "Oh,
Jack Hawkes, you will get me into trouble. Shame on you."

"It's very nice meeting you, Margarite." I
couldn't contain a yawn any longer and hid it behind my hand. "Oh,
I'm so sorry. I don't want to inconvenience you, but if you could
show me to my room, I would appreciate it."

"But of course. Everything is ready."

"Laurel." Jack's voice carried that warning
tone. "We need to talk, you and I."

I yawned again, this time cupping both hands
so more of my face was hidden. The second yawn was a fake, but I
truly was sleepy, and I squinted my eyes to give it everything I
had. "Oh, Jack. I'm exhausted. We'll talk tomorrow when both of us
are much fresher."

"Your friend is correct." Margarite took my
side. "I can see the fatigue on your face as well, Jack. Let
Renaldo get you a cognac while I take Laurel to the sleeping deck.
You will have plenty of time to talk tomorrow."

"But the event—"

"Is at ten," I said. "You and I are both
still functioning on London time, so we'll likely be up with the
sun. We'll have plenty of time to discuss our options."

His eyes drooped a little when I mentioned
time zones. Margarite waved for me to follow, and Jack offered no
further objection.

"You have an en suite." Margarite crossed
the lovely aqua-and-cream room to open the door I would be using
shortly for the shower I desperately needed. The queen-sized bed
drew me like a magnet. I couldn't remember when I'd been so tired.
While putting off my talk with Jack until morning was my standard
plan to determine exactly what I wanted to reveal, tonight it had
been a necessity. I didn't want to think about how easily my brain
would spill things I wanted to keep to myself. Then Margarite threw
me a curve.

"I knew your mother, you know."

It was fortunate for me that the bed was
right there, or I would have probably landed on the floor when my
knees gave way. "No, I didn't. Jack never said anything."

She moved to the small desk and straightened
the wild riot of fragrant colors that rose from the crystal vase.
"I was a few years older than she, but we had much fun." Her hands
stopped fussing with the flowers, and she turned to give me a
devilish grin. "We could get into much trouble. One time we spent
the whole day on the beach in Nice. Your grandfather had a fit when
he learned we'd both been topless. Luckily for me he liked me, or
he could have gotten me fired! He shook his finger at me and said,
'MJ, don't you ever do that again.'"

I remembered my grandfather talking about a
beautiful Italian girl he called MJ. The room spun for a moment.
"Did you work for my family?"

"No." She shook her head. "I worked for one
of your grandfather's business associates. But when I was treated
badly by the man, your grandfather helped me get into business
school. Once I graduated, he helped me to get a job. Now I live
aboard this yacht and take care of all of its business."

"Who owns the Folly Roost?"

Margarite acted like she didn't hear my
question and crossed to the closet. Behind the louvered doors was a
veritable boutique specializing in clothing sized around my figure.
"I had things sent from a few local stores. Jack gave me an
estimate about size. He is pretty good in such things. All that
observation training, you know."

"No, I really don't. How long have you known
Jack? Did you work for his family?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Not really.
But he was around often and was a most precocious boy when I first
met him."

"And he hasn't changed one whit."

My remark made her laugh all the harder. She
said, "Oh, you do know him well. I had such a feeling."

"A feeling about what?" This conversation
was leading me in circles, and I didn't think lack of sleep was
completely at fault. "Margarite, please tell me what you mean."

Her smile softened a touch, and she walked
over and took my hands. "Trust him. Trust yourself. I know what I
say is true. You each have what the other needs."

"What are you talking about?"

She patted my hand. "Sleep. Your eyes are
barely open. Here." She walked to the dresser and removed a
full-length silk charmeuse gown in soft ivory. A matching robe lay
draped over the upholstered bench at the end of the bed. She put
both pieces in my hands. "Go, stand under a warm shower, change
into these, and sleep. You need to be well rested."

With this cryptic advice, she sashayed to
the door, flashing one last grin before she disappeared into the
night.

Three a.m., and after a
few hours of shut eye, I'd awakened even though my cabin and bed
were incomparable. Normally I would have reveled in a long slumber,
but I had things to do and needed to use every opportunity. I moved
almost in a dreamlike state, not really feeling awake or asleep,
and scooped up the robe I'd replaced on the footboard bench. From
the Fendi, I pocketed my tiny, powerful flashlight, and then I
slipped quietly from the deliciously cool air of the cabin and into
the sultry atmosphere. Yes, there were storms brewing out on the
horizon. I could feel them. But I hoped they stayed away until we
accomplished whatever we needed to ultimately do in Miami. I
remembered the snuffbox then and smiled to know it would soon be in
my hands, so I might discover any secrets it yet held.

The narrow deck was empty.
I leaned over the smooth railing to stare at the moon lazily
reflected on the slowly undulating black water. My movements were
deliberately measured, like the sea below.

I wanted another look at
the
Woman Dressing Her Hair
in the main saloon, but I didn't want anyone
observing to be aware of my interest. Nonchalantly, I strolled the
deck before moving toward my destination. Like any guest who
couldn't sleep, I would pour myself a drink to help coax my mind to
relax. No one needed to know about my special interest. Especially
Jack.