Sara K. Parker - Undercurrent

“It would probably be a while before someone could bring it to us, anyway,” Kat said. “Would you like me to make you some?”

“No, no. Tea brewed in a coffee pot always tastes like coffee. But how sweet to offer. You just sit down for a bit. You’ve been through a trauma, Kathryn.”

“Thanks, and you can just call me Kat.” She perched on the edge of a brown leather chair, bare feet peeking out from under her gown. Sam caught a glimpse of sparkly silver toenails before she rearranged the hem of her gown to cover her feet. She clasped her hands together in her lap, absently twisting a plain gold band on her right ring finger.

“I wonder how something like this could happen,” his grandmother said. She ran a hand along her straight white hair, smoothing it down. She’d given up coloring it long ago and now just bleached it white every now and again. It was better than gray, she said, and more believable than blond.

“Trouble does seem to follow you, Grandma,” Sam said wryly. It’d been a running joke long before he’d joined the family as a troubled foster kid looking for roots. He closed the door with a quiet snap, his gaze settling on Kat.

“Which is why you came to babysit me, right? Imagine that.” Alice huffed, her hair nearly vibrating with the force of her indignation. “A seventy-two-year-old being treated like a toddler. It’s ridiculous, don’t you think, Kat?”

“Well, I...” She met Sam’s eyes.

He could tell she wasn’t quite sure how to respond to his grandmother.

“Should I remind you that you’re the one who insisted I come with you?” he pointed out.

His grandmother huffed again. “That was only because I knew you had more time available than the rest of them.” She looked at Kat. “Until this cruise, he hadn’t taken a day off in two years!”

He caught the speculation in Kat’s gaze. Grandma had a way of turning the conversation back to him, but he had another agenda, and before Kat could comment, he got to it.

“You and Max don’t seem friendly. How do you know each other?”

“We dated for a while.” She rubbed at a smudge of soot that stained the blue fabric of her dress. He could have told her it would never come out. The fancy dress was tomorrow’s trash, which was too bad. But at least Kat was okay.

“And you both just happen to be on the same cruise together, or did you come together and then separate?”

“He’s a journalist. He’s writing a travel piece for his magazine.”

Convenient. The smarmy ex-boyfriend had followed her on board. Why? To get even with her for something? Rig the chandelier to fall when Kat was performing? Even Sam knew his imagination was stretching there. Any number of things could have caused the explosion, and Max didn’t strike him as someone who could successfully plan and implement such an elaborate scheme. The guy probably came on board to try to win Kathryn back. Even so, Sam never operated on assumptions.

“What’s his last name? And what magazine does he work for?” At least he could look into the guy, corroborate the reasons for his trip.

“Pratt. Maxwell Pratt. He works for Miami Motions .” Kat pushed a strand of damp hair away from her shoulder. Whatever makeup she’d been wearing had faded, leaving only traces of mascara smeared under her eyes. The sprinklers had drenched her hair and soaked her gown. She shivered, and Sam snagged a blanket from the end of the bed, tucking it around her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she murmured, pulling it closed around her wet dress.

“Looks like your ex-boyfriend is still pining for you,” Grandma said, eyes glinting with interest. It would be better if Sam could interview Kat alone, but there was nowhere else to go, and he didn’t plan to wait.

“He’s been hoping we’ll get back together. But it’s over,” Kat said. He saw the finality in her expression and didn’t doubt her words.

“How long did you two date?” Sam asked.

“A little more than a year.” She didn’t want to talk about Max. He knew it, from her rigid posture, her brief answers. But Sam needed information, and he would get it.

“When did you break up?”

She looked at him then, brow furrowed. “I don’t want to be rude, but I’d rather not discuss Max.”

“I get that, and I don’t mean to pry. I’m just trying to piece together the facts.”

Kat’s gaze narrowed and she pulled the blanket tighter around her slender frame. “And my relationship with Max matters because...?”

She clearly wasn’t following his line of thought, and why would she? Any number of things could have caused the explosion. But Sam’s instinct told him whatever the cause, it wasn’t accidental.

“It may not matter at all,” he said. “But sometimes the smallest details help.”

“In this case, I don’t see how,” Kat insisted. She looked young and vulnerable, and Sam wondered why she was even here. Why would a world-class pianist take a gig on a cruise ship? It certainly couldn’t be for the money. Exposure? She didn’t seem as if she was desperate for it.

“Don’t mind him, Kathryn,” Grandma chimed in sweetly from her reclined position on the bed. “This is just who Sam is. That’s the problem with his being a Secret Service agent. He always thinks he’s on duty.” His grandmother looked as if she were watching a movie play out. He was tempted to offer to get her a bag of popcorn and a soda for all her interest in their conversation.

* * *

“Secret Service?” Kat met Sam’s eyes.

He shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal. Maybe to him it wasn’t, but it would be more valuable information to supply to Morgan later. Kat smiled as she imagined telling her friend all the details of the day. Knowing Morgan, she’d be disappointed she missed out on all the action. Kat, on the other hand, just wanted to rewind to those moments on the balcony before her performance. When she’d felt tranquil and safe. She didn’t enjoy chaos or drama.

“So you live in DC, then?” she asked, latching on to the chance to change the subject.

“No. I’m at the Miami field office,” he said, but moved right on with his objective. “You don’t have any enemies, do you?” Sam asked.

The question caught her off guard, and she looked at him seriously, trying to read his expression.

“That’s an odd question.”

“Not when you were nearly crushed by a chandelier,” Sam said.

Connecting the chandelier’s fall to foul play was a leap, in Kat’s opinion. She opened her mouth to say as much, but Sam suddenly pulled the other chair over and sat across from her. She almost laughed. His grandmother was right. It was as if he was in his own interrogation room with her. Samuel West did have the appearance of a Secret Service agent. Not that she’d ever met one. But he fit the image she’d stored in her imagination. Tall, muscled, dark hair, sharp eyes.

Only, he wore blue jeans and a black polo instead of a suit and tie. And they were in the middle of the ocean on a cruise, not back on land in a federal building.

“Enemies?” he prodded.

“None that I know of,” Kat said.

“So, you weren’t running from something when you took this job?”

“No!” The word came out a little too forcefully, and Kat knew it. She had been running from something, she supposed. From loss. Her father, the house, her relationship with Max. All of it, gone.

“Then why did you take it?”

She wanted to tell him it was none of his business, that she’d had enough of the interrogation, and she wanted to call down for her key. But Sam had saved her life, and she owed him more than an ungrateful response.

“It was time for a change. I wanted to try something new. My best friend has been working on cruises for years. She suggested it.” There. Simple, but true.