Robert Browne: Down Among the Dead Men

As he handed it to her, she thanked him, then took a long sip and returned her attention to the stage, where the woman was proving that she wasn’t a one-hit wonder.

But Beth didn’t really feel like drinking anymore. The pre-Rafael low-grade depression she had been battling as she stood at the ship’s rail was starting to return. Whatever adolescent fantasy she had been harboring had become instantly laughable. With someone like this woman to keep him company, why would Rafael be even remotely interested in her? Not that she’d ever really believed he was anyway.

The wisest thing she could do right now was thank him for the drink, then wish him a good night and go to bed.

She was about to do just that when the second song came to an end, followed by another burst of applause.

Apparently believing in the motto “leave them wanting more,” the woman thanked the audience, then stepped off the stage as the piano player launched into another solo.

A moment later, she was at Rafael’s side, kissing his cheek, murmuring something in Spanish. Then she turned, assessing Beth. A mildly aggressive look, but not hostile.

“Who is your friend?” she asked Rafael.

He gestured, said, “Beth, I’d like you to meet Marta Santiago. My sister.”

Sister?

Beth almost laughed.

Of course. As they stood side by side it was obvious now that they came from the same gene pool. And a fairly exclusive one at that.

Marta continued to assess Beth. “I remember you from dinner.”

“Oh?”

“We were dining at a table near yours.” She turned to her brother. “You remember, don’t you, Rafael?”

Rafael said nothing, avoiding Beth’s gaze.

Oh, crap, Beth thought, they saw Jen’s spontaneous unveiling. And apparently Rafael had been too polite to bring it up.

Marta said, “Is something wrong?”

Beth smiled weakly. “My sister has a few issues. I sometimes think of her as my evil twin.”

“Ah, si, ” Rafael said with a sly smile. “I can see the resemblance.”

“But only from the neck up, right?”

They both looked at Beth, surprised, then burst into laughter.

Beth joined in, the ice broken.

After a moment, Rafael lifted his Tequila Tonic in a toast.

“To sisters,” he said. “A blessing and a curse.”

Marta shot him a quick look, then they laughed again as Beth clinked his glass with hers and took another long sip. Not that she needed it. She was already starting to feel a little woozy.

She said to Marta, “So you work for the cruise line?”

Marta shook her head, gesturing toward the piano player. “Actually, I met Miguel in the food court this afternoon and he was kind enough to let me have some fun.”

What a surprise, Beth thought. Most guys would let this woman do anything she wanted. Join me onstage? Sure, why not.

“You have a remarkable voice.”

“Thank you. I don’t often have an opportunity to show it off.”

“Oh? You’re not a professional?”

“Singing is more of an avocation for me. A form of release.”

“With a voice like that, I’m surprised you don’t have a record deal.”

Marta shrugged. “Such things don’t interest me.” She glanced at her watch. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but Rafael, we need to talk.”

Rafael’s eyebrows rose. “What is it?”

She looked at Beth. “Do you mind if I steal him for a moment?”

“No, not at all.”

“It was nice meeting you.” Marta took Rafael by the hand, and he shrugged at Beth, saying, “Una momento,” as his sister led him across the floor to a spot near the wrought-iron staircase. They huddled together, speaking into each other’s ears, Marta doing most of the talking.

Beth tried not to watch them, tried instead to concentrate on Miguel, the piano player, but she couldn’t help herself. Rafael and Marta’s conversation seemed to be growing heated-a fiery look in Marta’s eyes-and Beth had a feeling they were arguing about her.

Which made no sense at all.

As if to confirm it, however, Rafael glanced in her direction-forcing Beth to momentarily avert her gaze.

Then Marta touched his cheek, looking apologetic, and Beth got the sense that something more was going on here than a simple spat between siblings. Something in their body language that went beyond the bond of brother and sister.

With a quick look around, Marta pulled Rafael into the shadows beneath the staircase. Beth could barely see them now, but what she could see made her stomach turn.

Marta leaned into him, kissed him.

Full on the mouth.

And this was no sisterly kiss. And least not where Beth came from.

Worse yet, Rafael seemed to be kissing Marta back, neither of them even remotely close to coming up for air.

Oh. My. God.

Turning away from the spectacle, Beth took a nice big gulp of her drink, then set it on the counter. Waited for her stomach to settle.

This was obviously her cue to exit. She had no interest in hanging around with Mexico’s answer to the Appalachia twins. And from all appearances, they seemed to be getting on just fine without her.

Ugh.

Scooping up her purse, she crossed to a doorway on the opposite side of the bar and fled.

When she got back to their stateroom, Jen was gone. A note on her bunk said:

GOT MY SECOND WIND. WENT DANCING.

Beth sighed. Only Jen could be throwing up one minute and raring to go the next. She never ceased to amaze.

Pulling off her dress, Beth crawled onto her bunk, grabbed the remote from her nightstand, and flicked on the TV. Not that there was anything playing that could top what she’d witnessed tonight.

She was no stranger to incest. In her work at the prosecutor’s office, she’d seen more cases of father/daughter couplings than she’d wanted to, but those were always crimes of abuse. Some twisted fuck taking advantage of his parental authority, perverting a child’s love.

What Beth had seen between Rafael and Marta, however, was obviously consensual. But that didn’t make it any more palatable. Some might argue that her objection to it was both morally and intellectually empty-Rafael and Marta were adults, after all-but that didn’t keep it from creeping her out. The ick factor was almost too much to bear. And the image of two his-and-her beauty queens macking on each other was not likely to go away anytime soon.

Beth shivered, trying to concentrate on the TV, which was showing a remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still with Keanu Reeves. She managed to stare at it for a full thirty minutes but would be hard-pressed to tell anyone what she’d seen.

This was turning out to be one hell of a vacation.

But if Jen could recover so quickly, why couldn’t she? The original plan was to go dancing together, and late was better than never.

Flicking off the tube, she got up, pulled on some jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of shoes, then grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

Two staircases and an elevator ride later, she was back on Deck Eleven, standing outside of the Vibe, the pounding beat vibrating beneath her shoes as the bodies inside moved to the rhythm-a sea of bobbing heads and waving arms and drunken, smiling faces.

Jen was bound to be in there somewhere.

Pushing past a couple locked in an embrace, Beth squeezed into the room and searched the crowded dance floor.

It was dark, except for swirling, multicolored lights and a spotlight on the DJ, who looked a little lame wearing his ship’s uniform. At least he played good music.

But there was no sign of Jen.

Anywhere.

Shit.

Thinking she may have made a mistake, Beth was about to turn and head back out the door when she heard a familiar peal of laughter rise above the din. Spinning around, she saw a cluster of bodies move from the shadows onto the dance floor, Jen at the very center, head thrown back, hair wild and flowing.