Sandra Orchard - Perilous Waters

“My head hurts,” Jen moaned, trying to remember what she’d wanted to do before they left port. She massaged her fingers over her forehead, straining to coax out the memory, but she couldn’t make sense of anything. Faces swam through her mind—Sam’s, his sweet nephew’s, a waiter’s?

“Can you remember anything?”

Jen slit open an eye. “Where am I?” Why did her mouth taste so acidic?

“Sick bay. You passed out in the elevator when we were heading up for dinner. Sam carried you here.”

Sam? This was the second time something bad had happened when he was nearby.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” another female voice said.

Jen tilted her head to see who belonged to the voice—a woman in green scrubs. “Are you a doctor?”

“Nurse.” She plugged a stethoscope into her ears and pressed the other end to Jen’s chest. “We believe you were drugged.”

Her heart lurched. “Drugged? How?”

The nurse placed two fingers at the pulse point on Jen’s wrist and turned her attention to her watch. “That’s what your friend’s been trying to figure out.”

“Sam,” Cass filled in.

After another ten seconds or so, the nurse dropped Jen’s wrist and recorded something on her chart. “You had a drink not long before you blacked out. Do you remember?”

Jen clutched her head tighter. “I knew I shouldn’t have accepted it. I had this feeling. But the waiter said it was complimentary, and everyone seemed to have one.”

The nurse rubbed Jen’s shoulder consolingly. “Well, we’ve given you charcoal to absorb whatever might have been in the drink, and notified the ship’s security. One of the officers will be here soon to talk to you.”

“Does she need to stay here?” Cass asked.

“I’d like to continue to monitor her vitals through the night. If nothing changes, she can go back to her room in the morning.” The nurse patted Jen’s arm. “But I’m afraid you’ll likely have a lingering headache for a few days.” She paused at the door. “Your fellow’s out here pacing the hall, anxious to see you. Shall I let him back in?”

Unable to comprehend what the nurse meant, Jen flashed Cass a questioning look.

“She means Sam.” Cass grinned. “He’s really worried about you.”

Something warm and soft filled Jen’s chest at her sister’s words. “Let me freshen up first.” She sat up and the pain in her head exploded. As Cass helped her to her feet, Jen swayed, taking Cass sideways across the room in a zigzag toward the washroom.

“I’m so sorry,” her sister whispered.

Jen stiffened, trying to make sense of the apology through her pain-filled fog.

“Here I talked you into coming on this cruise,” Cass went on, “saying you’d be safer, and look what happened.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Jen assured, except...who was to blame? Her limbs began to tremble. “Why would someone do this to me?”

“Some men are just sick.” Cass waited for her to do her business then helped her back into bed and cracked open the room door. “You need to be on your guard.”

Shivering, Jen closed her hand over the cut she’d gotten after that creep stabbed the note to her car. The police hadn’t been able to prove it was Lester. Some stalker might’ve followed her onto the ship. “Do you think this is connected to the note in my car?”

“Do you?” Sam asked from the doorway.

The concerned timbre of his voice rumbled through her chest. Gripping the edge of the sheets, she pressed her arms against her rampaging heart. “I don’t know. I don’t know why anyone would do this to me.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Sam hovered over her bed, deep grooves slashing his forehead. At the tender look in his eyes, her stomach cartwheeled. “Why...why do you care so much?”

He straightened abruptly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Strangely, his sudden retreat endeared him to her more. Most guys would be quick to take advantage of her vulnerability.

“Sam talked to security about your previous attack so they’d check the passenger manifest,” Cass said. “That Lester guy isn’t on the ship. I think you just got targeted by some creep for no other reason than he’s a creep.”

Jen couldn’t pull her gaze from Sam’s. “Is that what you think?”

His brow creased with sympathy. “It happens. Can you remember anything that might help us figure out who did this?

“The waiter had an Eastern European accent.”

Cass sprang to her feet. “Like the waiter in the elevator?”

Jen squeezed her eyes shut, trying to dig up the memory. She shook her head. “I don’t remember being in an elevator.”

“It’s okay,” Sam soothed. “But in case this wasn’t a random act, or the guy fears you’ll identify him, it’d be better if you don’t go anywhere alone.”

“Are you volunteering to be her bodyguard?”

“Cass!” Jen gasped at her sister’s brazenness.

Sam chuckled. “I’d be happy to escort you any time.” The light dancing in his eyes reeled Jen in and spun her in dizzying pirouettes, leaving her breathless. She pressed her palm to her head. That drug had to be seriously affecting her brain. She did not let herself get swept up by guys she scarcely knew. Not anymore.

That was Cassie’s department.

FOUR

The next morning, Sam phoned the FBI’s Seattle office from the balcony of the room he shared with his brother and nephew. He couldn’t make out what was going on in the twins’ room next door any better from out here than he had with his ear to the wall inside as Jake and Tommy watched morning cartoons. And he doubted Jake had bought his neck-stretches excuse for hovering near the wall, no matter how lumpy the sofa bed looked.

“I put a rush on those bottles you sent in with the ship’s pilot. Came back clean,” the agent assured. “Couldn’t find out who ordered the basket. Buyer paid cash. Not that it matters now, I guess.”

Great, so they were back to square one. The PI had claimed he’d never heard of Jennifer Robbins. Not that Sam expected him to admit if he had. Not to some guy over the phone anyway.

“I spoke with the ship’s captain,” the agent went on. “Since their test confirmed Rohypnol in Miss Robbins’s system, he’ll get you the names of everyone who ordered soft drinks. But man, you might as well look for a needle in a haystack. We’re talking hundreds of names.”

Sam clenched the balcony rail, tamping down his frustration that Jen hadn’t been able to pick out the waiter in the employee-photo lineup security showed her last night. “She told me that someone kept calling her the night before she boarded but didn’t say anything. See if you can get a trace.”

“You still think her spiked drink is connected to that note speared to her car last week?” the agent asked.

You’ll pay. The note’s threat had careened through his mind all night. Sam rammed the heel of his hand into the rail. “Yeah. Until we prove otherwise, I assume everything’s connected.”

The agent let out a low whistle. “If whoever drugged her planned to kidnap her and demand a ransom, he wouldn’t have been able to stash her for long on a ship.”

“Making a threat of ‘pay now or you’ll never see her again’ all the more believable,” Sam muttered, sideswiped by images of a bloated body washing ashore. How had this assignment veered so far off course? “Let me know if you find out anything else. Thanks.”

He pocketed his phone and lifted his gaze to the horizon, where water met sky without a landmark in sight—kind of how this case felt at the moment.

Hearing a neighboring balcony door opening, he leaned over the rail to glance at the twins’ balcony. One of the women stood with her back to the open door.