He silently cursed Larkin for being a paranoid son of a bitch and switching the suite assignments around at the last minute. Until then, the plan had been simple enough. From the suite Ryan and Faith had originally had, on the other side of Larkin, they could have set up all the surveillance necessary to gather information: his phone calls, his onboard meetings, his visitors. If Ryan and Faith had been in place, none of this elaborate charade would be necessary, the kidnapping wouldn't have been necessary. The surveillance equipment would already have been installed and tested, and they wouldn't be forced to settle, for now, on eyes and ears in the bedroom instead of the living area-and he wouldn't be forced to listen to the nonstop commentary on what he was doing.

"What are you, a thief? What are you doing? Is that a camera?" He could hear her shifting around in the chair, probably trying to get a better look at the equipment neatly arranged on the floor beside him, as well as what he was doing. "You're going to an awful lot of trouble for a run-of-the-mill perv."

Cael stopped drilling and checked his progress. Drilling through a wall on a ship wasn't exactly like drilling through a wall in a house. The requirements for stability and noise reduction were different, the wiring was different, the codes were different.

Larkin's suite was a big one, about thirteen hundred square feet, with the living room on the other side, adjacent to the suite Ryan and Faith had booked. In the middle was the dining room, and on this side was the bedroom. The equipment he was using was sensitive enough to pick up everything said in the bedroom, and part of what was said in the dining room. No way would it pick up the living room sounds. They'd have to get a bug on his phone, and if Larkin had a computer with him they'd also have to get access to it. They'd have had to do that in any case, but the layout of the rooms would have eliminated most of his problems-and the biggest problem that would have been eliminated was sitting handcuffed to the chair behind him.

If they got through this without her blowing the whole scheme wide open with her mouth, it would be nothing short of a miracle. He would have to ride herd on her every minute of the day to keep her under control; he wasn't sure any of his other people could do it.

She'd already gotten under Bridget's skin, and rattled Faith. Tiffany ... nothing rattled Tiffany, but with the scene they'd set up, absolutely no one would believe that Tiffany and Redwine could become buddies, so Tiffany spending any amount of time with her was impossible. Matt couldn't do it, because his cover as a ship employee wouldn't let him be in her suite, either. That left Ryan, and as good as he was, he was also a married man and he and Faith were known to be very happy, so what excuse could he have for being in Redwine's suite? Moreover, Larkin was so paranoid that if either Faith or Ryan, the original occupants of the suite adjoining his, suddenly began spending a lot of time in the suite on the other side of him, he would go nuts.

That left Cael. God help me, he thought wryly.

"Whatever your plan is, it isn't going to work. No one is going to believe that you and I are together. I know some of the passengers on this cruise, and you're so not my type, plus they won't believe I'd ever bring you back to my suite for the night right after you just broke up with your girlfriend."

If she kept kissing him the way she'd kissed him up on the sports deck, they would. He stifled that particular memory before it could fully form, because the last thing he wanted right now was to get turned on. He focused on his work, threading two very thin cables, one with a tiny microphone on the end, the other with an equally miniscule camera, through the hole he'd drilled and into Larkin's bedroom. According to the layout of the suite Bridget had given him, and the exact measurement he'd used to place the hole, the camera and mic were just beside the large plant that filled the empty space in that corner of the bedroom.

He could have used a single cable that incorporated both audio and video, but in his opinion they weren't as sensitive as the ones with dedicated functions. If he'd been threading the cables through a solid core, the task wouldn't be half as delicate, but instead he was moving them through empty space. The camera was already operational, inserted just an inch or so, and he used the video from it to guide the audio cable toward the small hole on the opposite side of the wall. Once the audio was in place, he taped the cable so it wouldn't move, then began working the video cable toward the same hole. The biggest problem was that, at the slightest touch, the audio might fall out of place.

That was exactly what happened. As soon as the video cable touched the audio, the audio cable fell sideways. Silently cursing, he began all over again. He was sweating by the time he got both cables securely in place, but just barely through the hole so they weren't noticeable. He checked the read-out on the monitor, held his breath as he made minute adjustments to the camera until he was satisfied with the angle, then heaved an inward sigh of relief when both cables remained in place. Carefully he duct-taped both to the floor and wall.

"What kind of name is Cael? You were named after a vegetable?"

Now that he was finished, he gave her a cool look. "It's spelled C-A-E-L, and yes, it's pronounced just like kale. You don't have any room to talk. What kind of name is Jenner?"

She shrugged. "According to my dad, my mother had a huge crush on Bruce Jenner. She couldn't name me Bruce, so she named me Jenner. Of course, that's according to dad, so take the story with a grain of salt."

How could she keep that mouth going? She was exhausted; her face didn't have any color except for the dark circles under her eyes. He suspected she still had some fight left in her, though, just as he also suspected he was about to catch the full brunt of that fight when she realized how they were going to spend the night.

First things first, though. Taking out his cell phone, he called Bridget. "Everything's up and running. Get some rest."

"Glad to," she replied. "How's the prisoner?"

"Mouthy."

She laughed. "Yeah, intimidated she isn't. Call if you need help."

Cheerful thought. He didn't want to battle with Redwine, he just wanted to catch some sleep himself. He rotated his shoulders, working out the kinks and feeling the soreness in his triceps where she'd bitten him. She'd really clamped down, too, like a skinny, blond pit bull. She was lucky he hadn't strangled her, because the urge had definitely been there.

He went into the bathroom and relieved himself, then splashed cold water on his face. He'd looked at the shower, wishing he could risk it, but he didn't dare turn his back on Redwine that long. Even though she was safely shackled to the chair and couldn't free herself from it, she might be stronger than she looked and be able to pick up the chair and carry it. He didn't think so, because ship furniture was heavier than regular furniture and she was skinny, but he wouldn't bet the bank on it.

She must have been too tired to even try it, because when he stepped out of the bathroom she was sitting exactly as she had been. If she hadn't been such a pain in the ass, he might have felt some sympathy for her.

Instead, he grimly braced himself for the next battle.

"All right, Mike Tyson, let's go to bed."

JENNER WAS SO EXHAUSTED that for a minute the words didn't register. Mike Tyson? Then she realized he was referring to her biting him, which gave her an insane desire to laugh, but hard on the heels of that came comprehension of the rest of his sentence and all desire to laugh completely vanished.

She sprang to her feet, at least as much as she could while handcuffed to the chair. "What do you mean, let's go to bed? I'm not sleeping with you! You can sleep on the damn couch out there. There's no separate door out of the bedroom, so there's no reason to-"

"Your only options are whether you put on the pajamas I saw in the closet or sleep naked," he cut in.

Sleeping naked was so far out of the question that it really wasn't a choice of options at all. He knew it, too, because he smirked as he came over and released her from the handcuffs. The clamp of metal was instantly replaced by the clamp of his hand as he urged her toward the closet. "Go ahead and change."

She stumbled to the closet and selected a pair of pajamas at random, then went into the bathroom while he stood guard outside. His high-handedness made her so angry she could barely think. There was absolutely no reason for this, other than showing her who was boss, as if she didn't already know.

Quickly she stripped down and washed off her makeup as fast as possible, because she wouldn't put it past him to jerk the door open at any time. After she put on the pajamas, though, she took the time to brush her teeth just as she always did. She should have brushed faster, because he opened the door without warning and caught her with a foamy mouth.

She almost choked on the toothpaste, because the open door revealed more of him than she'd ever wanted to see. He'd used the time to remove his shoes and pants, and was wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs that revealed just how hard and muscled he was, and a lot more besides. After her first startled look she turned away and spat the toothpaste into the basin. "Where was I going to go?" she snapped. "Down a drain pipe?"

"You're skinny enough," he returned.

She ignored the impulse to deny that, and instead said irritably, "Call Bridget to bring your pajamas."

He looked amused. "I don't own any."

"Then put your damn clothes back on!" It was bad enough he'd been without his shirt for hours. Now he was practically naked, and the inherent threat made her skin crawl as if she were covered with ants.

"I'm not sleeping in my clothes. If you have any virtue, it's safe with me, so stop acting like a Victorian virgin."

"I'd say I have more virtue than you, considering who's the kidnapper here," she fired back.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on, Cujo, stop delaying and wipe the slobber from your mouth. I'm bushed."

Jenner glanced in the mirror and saw the toothpaste still foamed on her lips. Unaccountably embarrassed, she quickly rinsed and spat, then wiped her mouth before charging back into the fray. "At least put your pants back on. That way I won't have to bleach my eyeballs if your little ding-dong accidentally falls out."

"You and your eyeballs will live, no matter what my ding-dong does." His tone was flat and unyielding; his eyes glittered briefly, but she couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh or smack her down.

He caught her arm and hauled her out of the bathroom. While she'd been in there changing clothes, he had not only removed his pants, he'd turned out all the lights in the suite except for the bedside lamps, and he'd also turned down the bed. Her entire body ached at the sight of those smooth white sheets. If only he weren't here, she'd have whimpered with joy at the thought of actually lying down.

"Get in," he directed, steering her toward the far side of the bed, away from the door leading into the living room. She was too tired to argue anymore. Her spirit was willing, but her body said if she didn't get some sleep soon she'd fall down. Silently she crawled between the sheets and pulled the blanket up over her. He turned out the lamp beside her, then went around to the other side of the bed and got in beside her.

Her eyes were already closing, despite her best effort to glare at him. They popped open when his hand closed over hers. Cold metal snapped in place around her right wrist, then he calmly fastened the other handcuff around his left wrist and stretched out his right arm to turn out his lamp.

Darkness engulfed them, and Jenner stared upward in shock. Damn him, he'd handcuffed her to him! Now what?

Chapter Fourteen.

SHE WAS TOO TIRED NOT TO SLEEP, BUT SHE DIDN'T sleep well. Being handcuffed to someone wasn't comfortable, especially when that someone outweighed her by about a hundred pounds, and every time he moved he pulled her with him. The same wasn't true when she moved, though, mainly because of that hundred pounds. She couldn't budge him.

In the restless doze that was the best she could manage, she drifted in and out of awareness. Sometimes she half-dreamed she was in the bar again, in those moments before she realized who he was, feeling the heat of his body when he leaned in so close to her, feeling tension coil and knot deep in her belly at her first startled look into those blue, blue eyes. She hadn't let a man get to her in a long time, but there'd been something in his deep, smooth voice and the look in those eyes that had tempted her.

Acknowledging that she'd been tempted pissed her off enough to wake her up. She lay there for a few minutes, blinking at the ceiling. He was lying only inches away and she could feel his body heat; she hated to admit it, but that heat felt good. Somehow the blanket and coverlet had gotten kicked away. Somehow? Like there was more than one candidate for kicking blankets off the bed? In her world, blankets were for wrapping up in, not kicking away. Even though she was wearing pajamas and was still covered by the sheet, she was cold. For one thing, the tank style of the top left her arms completely bare-and those bare arms were also completely uncovered.

Grumpily, barely awake, she tried to tug the sheet higher around her neck, but the fabric was securely tucked under his heavy arm and wasn't going anywhere. Annoyance brought her the rest of the way awake, and she turned her head to glare at him, for all the good that did, given how dark the room was.

She was lying on her back, her right arm raised up and back, with her hand tucked almost under his chin, because that was where his left hand was. And where his left hand went, her right hand also went, whether she wanted it to or not. Even more annoying, she could feel the warm puffs of his breath on her hand.

She took another moment to orient herself. The heavy curtains blocked out most of the ambient light, so the bedroom was very dark. Only the slight lessening of darkness ahead and to the right indicated where the open door to the living room was. His breathing was slow and deep; he was asleep, damn him. After everything he'd put her through, it wasn't right that he should be able to sleep while she couldn't, especially when it was his fault that she couldn't sleep. Though, come to think of it, she'd rather he be asleep than awake.

But-damn it, her shoulder hurt with her arm twisted up and back in that position. She shifted a little onto her right side, trying to ease the strain but at the same time not get any closer to him, but that pulled the sheet even farther down and she couldn't use her right hand to pull it up again. Awkwardly she fumbled with her left hand, but the angle was wrong and she needed an extra joint in her arm to get the sheet where she wanted it.

Dilemma: She could either freeze, or she could wake him up.

It was his fault she was freezing. It was his fault her shoulder was hurting. But if he was asleep, then she didn't have to be scared of him and fighting for all she was worth to keep him from realizing that.

She hated being frightened, but she was. She was terrified for both Sydney and herself, because she didn't know what was going to happen and maybe she'd be even more terrified if she did. Just because she did everything they wanted her to do-whatever that was-didn't mean that at the end of this she and Syd would walk away unharmed. Letting either of them go would be sheer stupidity and so far none of these people struck her as being stupid.

If she knew what was going on, what they wanted, maybe she could reason with them. They weren't after money-both she and Sydney were rich-and if money were the object then they didn't need her, they could simply have grabbed Syd and demanded a ransom. True, with her added in that would have doubled the money, but she didn't have any family they could bargain with for the ransom. She didn't know where Jerry was, hadn't heard from him at all in the seven years since he'd stolen twenty-five thousand from her, and even if he had been in a position to pay a ransom for her ... good luck with that was all she could say. She doubted her father would have paid even a hundred bucks to keep her alive.

So ... money didn't come into the equation, especially when she factored in what she'd seen tonight, after Cael had brought her back to the suite. He'd drilled a hole in the wall, threaded some wires through the hole, checked a monitor and some sort of recording device. And he'd ignored her the entire time he was working, no matter what she said. His concentration on the task at hand had been impressive, because she'd worked hard at getting his goat.

Were they spies? Whether a real spy spy or industrial-type spy, Cael was definitely doing some spying.

She felt her scalp prickle with alarm. The whole thing seemed too James Bondish, but they had to be. Nothing else made sense. There were too many of them, and they had too many apparent resources. The pertinent questions were: Who did they work for, on whom were they spying, what did they want, and, the most pertinent question of all, were they supposed to kill anyone who got in their way or threatened the success of their operation?

If she knew who was staying in the suite next door, at least one of those questions would be answered, but probably knowing who had hired these guys would tell her a lot about how far they would go. So far, everyone she'd met was either American or had received enough extensive training to pass for one. If they were government spies, that meant they weren't likely to kill either her or Syd ... she hoped. A lot of different factors came into play with industrial spies, though, such as how much money was on the table, because she doubted they'd get paid if they didn't deliver the goods. Put enough money in front of some people, and what moral boundaries they had seemed to melt away. Probably no one got into the business of being an industrial spy if his moral boundaries were very sturdy, anyway.

The situation began to solidify for her. Okay, they were spies. They were after something-probably information, considering how much trouble they'd gone to to get a wire into the next suite-and they needed her to ... provide cover. That was it! She was nothing but cover for them! They had probably had this suite booked, but when the assignment snafu occurred and the suites were switched around, they needed a reason to be in this suite without raising suspicion! But how could they have known far enough ahead of time to get this whole charade orchestrated?

That was easy to figure out because, obviously, they had people working as crew members, in various capacities. Bridget was one. Jenner had no idea how far ahead of time a steward found out who was in which suite, or when a steward was even allowed onboard; she could have found out, or it could have been someone else. Maybe one of the ship's officers was working with them. Throw enough money at a problem, and anything was possible.

In the long run, other than confirming that they had people watching her whom she hadn't met, how they'd discovered the suites had been reassigned didn't matter. She and Syd had been the unlucky ones to get this suite, and Cael had cooked up the scheme to grab Syd and hold her hostage as a means of forcing Jenner to act as if they were lovers, so he could have access.

She could be completely off base with all this supposition, but she didn't think so. Everything fit. They needed her, and now that her nerves had settled down some and she could think, she realized that she had a modicum of power. Not much; she couldn't make them let Syd go free, and as long as they held Syd she couldn't notify ship security or even kick Cael's ass out of her stateroom, but there was one very important thing she could do. She'd have to be careful, because until she had evidence to the contrary she had to assume that these were the bad guys, but the fact that Cael hadn't strangled her earlier gave her a tad more confidence than before.

Because she might lose that confidence if she waited, and because she hated feeling powerless and afraid, she shoved at his shoulder. "Hey!" she said, not quite shouting but definitely raising her voice.

He didn't bolt upright, which would have been very satisfying, but she succeeded in finding out that he woke up instantly alert because without hesitation or confusion he growled, "This had better be good."

"From my point of view, none of this is good," she shot back. "I'm cold, you've kicked the blanket off, you have the sheet locked down like a prison, you have my arm twisted so my shoulder is about to be dislocated, and you're breathing on me!"

"God forbid I should breathe" he muttered.

"Isn't that amazing? God and I agree." She yanked her right arm. "Handcuff me to the bed, or something. This is ridiculous."

"Take a look at the bed. There's nothing to handcuff you to, no posts, no handy little iron rings. This is as good as it gets. The only other option is if I toss you overboard."

Jenner plowed on, ignoring what he said because she wanted to finish before she lost her nerve. "And what's more, I talk to Syd every day or I don't cooperate with you at all. Got that?"

Silence. He hoisted himself to a sitting position and switched on the lamp. She blinked and instinctively shielded her face with her left hand until she became more accustomed to the light, which seemed unreasonably bright for such a small lamp. Then, because she didn't like it that he was sitting up and she wasn't, she struggled to an upright position herself. Too late, she remembered that she wasn't wearing a bra; when she'd changed into her pajamas she'd been too tired to think of keeping her bra on underneath the tank top. The ribbed knit was thin; she was so cold her nipples had to be almost poking through the material. Well, tough. She'd be damned if she'd squeal and jerk the covers up like some scared little girl.

He scrubbed his hand over his face, his beard scraping against his palm with a sandpaper sound. He looked tired, his eyes a little puffy from sleep, his dark hair mussed, but his voice was cold and flat. "You aren't in a position to give any ultimatums."

"I haven't been able to sleep, so I've been thinking instead," she replied just as flatly. "I've decided I'm in exactly that position. You need me to give you cover for being here, in this suite. I don't know why, I don't need to know why, I just know that you do. Fine. My cooperation depends on whether or not I talk to Syd every day, and what she tells me. If she's okay, I'll play along to the best of my ability. If she's hurt in any way, the deal's off. That's nonnegotiable."

"As long as I hold her, you'll play along, regardless."

"You know what? That threat will work only as long as I trust you not to hurt her, and I have to tell you, there's no trust on the table. The only way I'll know for sure she's still alive and unhurt is if I talk to her myself-every day." The risk she was taking was so huge she felt nauseated, but at the same time she knew she couldn't back down. This was the only way she could keep Sydney safe, the only weapon she had, so she'd be stupid not to use it.

He watched her, his eyes hooded. She held her breath. At least he was thinking about it, considering all the angles. He had nothing to lose-unless Syd was already dead. Oh, God, if he refused, what would that mean? That they'd killed Syd immediately after the initial phone call?

The thought was like a knife in her chest. What would she do without Syd? There wasn't a sweeter, nicer person in the world; she didn't deserve any of this happening to her, but to think that she might have been murdered-no! Jenner surged to her knees, her lips trembling and tears stinging her eyes. "You bastard," she said raggedly, barely able to breathe. "If you've hurt her-"

With a lightning quick move he caught her left arm before she could even think of swinging it. "Settle down," he said sharply, and to make sure she did, he exerted enough twisting pressure on her arm that she cried out and clumsily half-fell, half-sat on the mattress. The pressure immediately eased, but he retained his grip. "Do not, by God, bite me again, because you won't get away with it a second time. She's fine."

"Then let me talk to her," Jenner insisted, those damn tears overflowing her eyes and dripping down her cheeks. "Now. Let me talk to her now. Please." She didn't care that she was begging. She wouldn't beg for herself, but she'd beg for Syd. Because he was still holding her left arm she lifted her right hand to swipe at the tears, only his hand came with it, and swatted her on the forehead. "Ow!" Startled, she jerked back and glared at him through her tears.

Slowly, not taking his eyes off her, he shook his head in disbelief. "If I were Catholic, I'd be calling in an exorcist," he muttered. "We're handcuffed together! What the hell did you think would happen?"

"Unlike you, I don't have a lot of experience with handcuffs!" She sniffed and lifted her hand again to wipe her eyes, but much more slowly this time.

He exhaled an exasperated breath, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

She'd removed her wristwatch before she washed her face, so it was still lying beside the bathroom sink. Leaning to the side, she tried to see the digital clock on the table beside him. "Three twenty-six. Why?"

"Because it's that time in California, too."

"So? Do you think I care if your goons don't get their beauty sleep?"

"You should," he replied grimly, "since they're the ones taking care of your friend. You don't want them grumpy."

"You're their boss. Tell them to play nice."

Briefly he closed his eyes. He said, "Fuck," then opened his eyes again. "If I place the call," he said wearily, "will you lie down and shut up? I don't care if you sleep or not, just shut up."

"I'll lie down," she promised. "Whether or not I shut up depends on whether or not you let me have some cover, and whether or not you stop breathing on me. I feel like I'm in some horror movie."

He released her arm and, muttering words under his breath that sounded like "possessed" and "carnivorous" and a couple of other things she couldn't catch, he grabbed his cell phone off the bedside table and speed-dialed a number. The connection took longer than normal; they'd already been at sea for almost twelve hours so they were hundreds of miles from the coast. The call was probably bouncing off a satellite or two. Finally he said, "Wake up Ms. Hazlett. Redwine wants to talk to her. Yeah, I know what time it is. I'd like to get some sleep, too, but that won't happen until she talks to Ms. Hazlett. Just put her on, and save the bitching, unless you want to swap places with me." He paused, listening. "Didn't think so. I figured Bridget had already been in touch." Another pause. He pinched between his eyes. "Yes, she bites. Damn it, put Hazlett on the phone!"

Grimly he put the cell on speaker and handed it to Jenner. She grabbed it and eagerly said, "Syd?"

A male voice, the same male voice she'd talked to earlier, said, "Hold on a minute." She heard muffled sounds, something that sounded like a knock, then a mumble of frightened, confused words that were definitely in Sydney's voice. Syd didn't wake as easily as Cael had; Jenner hated hearing the fright, but the sleepy confusion was so like Syd that she had to smile.

"Jenn," Sydney said, sounding panicked. "Are you okay? Has something gone wrong? Have they hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine," Jenner said, and began to cry. She tried not to let the tears sound in her voice, because that would scare Syd even more and she didn't want to do that. "I was just so worried about you I had to make sure you're okay."

"I'm okay and you're okay. Okay." Syd suddenly gave a watery chuckle, as if she, too, were fighting back tears. "That sounded like some dorky self-affirmation course. But this is a good idea. We'll talk every day, won't we?"

"Yes, we will." She gave Cael a meaningful glare, and figured that somewhere in California, Syd was doing exactly the same thing to her captor.