"Kwan," Matt said.

Okay, they had a name now.

On the opposite side of the street, Faith snapped pictures and laughed. It looked as if the colorful market was her subject, but she was in the perfect position to capture the North Korean's face. Kwan was likely a false name, but it would do, for now.

"Right to business," said Matt. He'd adopted a slightly loopy persona, and to anyone watching, it looked as if the long-haired man was singing to himself. He even swayed in time to imaginary music. People in the park actually walked out of their way to avoid getting too close to him. "Kwan is pissed. He's been waiting. Larkin just handed him something small. I can't make out what it is."

If Faith had gotten a picture from the right angle, maybe they could enlarge the photo and identify whatever had been passed between the two men: a flash drive or microchip, maybe. This could be it, not just a meeting but an actual passing of technology. Why like this? Why not transfer the designs, or whatever information was changing hands, electronically? No money had exchanged hands; Kwan wasn't standing there with a duffle bag filled with cash, so it was likely Larkin's payment, at least, had been electronic.

Matt supplied the answer, keeping the team up to date on the exchange. "Seems Kwan is annoyed that the information had to be passed this way, but the weapon's designer is apparently old school, and didn't want his plans sent out over the Internet. Untrustworthy bastard, but lucky for us. Maybe he's met Faith," Matt teased.

Kwan dropped whatever Larkin had handed over into his jacket pocket, then patted it, to make sure it was well seated.

"Kwan wants to know if it's complete," Matt continued. "Larkin says no. Three months, maybe six if there are delays, and the prototype will be ready. The design he's been given is a good-faith exchange. Any decent scientist should be able to complete ... Jesus Christ," Matt's voice sobered and dropped a level. "EMP? Did he say EMP?"

For a second, everything went still. Faith's smile faded. Ryan went very still. Cael didn't breathe. And then they all continued on as if they hadn't heard the words.

It was Kwan who turned away first. Larkin watched, seeming amused, before he headed for the street, a small brown bag containing his market purchase swinging casually in one hand.

"Ryan, you two follow Kwan while I call this in," Cael ordered, keeping his voice low. "Matt, make sure Larkin is headed back to the boat, then get busy. I want the surveillance tapes ready when I get back."

Since they'd started tailing Larkin, Cael and the others had been keeping a sharp eye out for Mills, or one of the other security guards. It was unlike Larkin to go out alone, unlike him not to have some sort of backup. Then again, it was likely that none of his people knew Larkin was a traitor. Who in their right minds would think an electromagnetic pulse weapon in the hands of the North Koreans was a good idea?

So what had Larkin and Mills been talking about the other night? If Mills wasn't in on the EMP deal, what sort of plans did the two of them have?

The job done, for now, Cael looked down at Jenner. He was surprised to find that she was watching Larkin as intently as he had been. She hadn't been able to hear Matt, but she had apparently been paying attention. Her eyes narrowed, and when she realized that he was watching her, she looked up and asked, "What the hell is he up to?"

JENNER WASN'T STUPID. In her thirty years she'd been up, she'd been down, but she had never been stupid. Larkin was into something dirty. She wasn't ready to accept without question that Cael and his people were the good guys; they had, after all, kidnapped her and Syd and they hadn't exactly been nice about it. She'd been handcuffed, ordered around, and manhandled.

But she hadn't been hurt; chafed wrists didn't count. And she'd been watching Cael, seen the split second of shock in his expression as he listened to the deck boy's running commentary. Then his gaze had hardened, and all she could think was that she was very, very glad she wasn't Larkin.

She hadn't entirely discounted the possibility that she wasn't caught between the bad guys and the good guys at all, but had gotten herself into a situation with bad guys and badder guys. On the other hand, she was leaning heavily toward coming down on Cael's side. He wasn't having clandestine meetings with North Koreans-yes, she'd heard one of the others mention that, and as far as she could tell he and the entire group were merely watching.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, here?" she asked, trying for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Sooner or later she'd wear him down.

"No."

"I could make a scene here and now," she said softly. "Scream, cry, run like hell."

"Remember your friend," Cael said, and while she was beginning to think he was on the right side of things, as right as was possible given the situation, she was also aware that he was capable of doing anything to get his way.

That didn't stop her from challenging him, pushing him. How else could she find out what she wanted to know? "I don't think you'd have Syd hurt. Threatened, yes. Scared, absolutely. But not hurt."

"Are you willing to test that theory?" He leaned closer. "Are you willing to lose your phone privileges?"

"No." If she was learning him, he was also learning her. He didn't think she'd balk if he cut off her calls to Syd. He probably didn't really need her any longer, she thought. Their so-called relationship was firmly established in the minds of more than a few people. He could keep her completely confined to the suite, and no one would know any better.

Understanding didn't make her feel any better about the situation. He knew the calls were important to her, so he'd taken to using them as a threat, like she was a rebellious teenager. Phone privileges!

He put a hand to his ear, his attention diverted. "Copy," he said, not for the first time that day, and then he returned his attention to Jenner. "Larkin is headed back to the ship."

"You mean the field trip's over? Hip hip hooray."

"I have to make a call first." Cael took her arm and steered her away from the crowd. They walked at a fast clip to a nearby park. As they walked, Cael pulled a cell phone from his pocket and punched in the number. He stopped, silently ordered her to stay put, and walked away from her, just far enough so she couldn't hear.

While she could've made a pest of herself and followed him-what the hell was he going to do in a place so public?-she didn't. She let him have his space, and enjoyed a moment of her own.

Think, think. She hadn't been entirely clearheaded lately, and why should she be? Her life had been turned upside down, all because she'd had the misfortune to be reassigned to the suite next to Larkin's. First of all, she hadn't been hurt. Second, she could see for herself that Larkin wasn't who he pretended to be, not entirely. And third, Larkin had just had a quick, clandestine meeting with an Asian man who didn't exactly look like a Boy Scout. She'd take Cael over either of those two, any day. The devil you know ...

Cael ended his call, faced her knowing that she hadn't moved, that she'd remained exactly where he'd left her. Her compliance, these past couple of days, had made him less vigilant. No, he was always vigilant; he never relaxed, but he was beginning to take her compliance for granted.

"So," she said as he neared, "what would you have done if Linda Vale and Nyna Phillips had been assigned to my suite?"

"I'd have improvised."

"Do you improvise often in your line of work?"

"More often than I'd like."

"Would you have slept with them?"

A quick grin flashed across his face. "I like them, but I'm not that dedicated."

"Tell me what's going on. I'll try to help."

"No."

At least he was being honest with her. She might not like the answer, but she knew he wasn't feeding her a line of bull.

They walked back toward the market. "I talked to my people in San Diego this morning," Cael said. "While you were in the shower." For a moment Jenner thought he was going to threaten Syd's safety again, and she stiffened, slightly. She was getting damned tired of that. But he said, "Adam complained that, for entertainment, Ms. Hazlett has taken to dressing the others like Barbie dolls."

Her heart leapt, as he gave her another name, another piece of the puzzle. Of course, Syd likely knew the name Adam, so it wasn't exactly earth-shattering information. For all she knew it wasn't even the man's real name. Still, the anecdote was priceless to her. "Female guards, I hope."

"God, so do I."

She could definitely see Syd dragging out her gowns and cocktail dresses and choosing the best ones for someone else. Whenever they shopped together, Syd was always thrilled to find something that was just right for Jenner. Knowing that she was doing the same sort of thing now, even if the subjects of her attentions were kidnappers holding her an unwilling hostage, made Jenner feel so much better that happy tears stung her eyes. Syd was still Syd. She turned her head so Cael wouldn't see her emotional response. "Thank you," she said when she was certain she could speak without a telling waver in her voice.

"You're welcome."

Damn it, she wasn't supposed to like him, but when he took her arm again, she was glad of the touch.

WHEN HE RETURNED to the ship, in the privacy of his suite, Larkin sat at the dining table in the parlor, the plate he had requested sitting in front of him. The fine china was almost entirely covered with thick slices of fresh baked bread. The smell was heavenly, awakening a remnant of a pleasant memory from his childhood. A silver spoon sat in the short, squat jar of pineapple and apricot preserves he'd purchased in the farmer's market.

For years, he'd been careful of his diet. Yes, he drank, and he'd tried recreational drugs a few times, but he prided himself on keeping fit. He worked out at an exclusive gym, and ate a rigorously low-carb diet. No bread. No preserves. No desserts. All for nothing.

He'd been indulging himself lately-hell, why not?-but nothing tasted as good as he thought it should. Some days he didn't want to eat at all. When the jar of preserves in the farmer's market had caught his eye all of a sudden he knew that was exactly what he wanted. There were plenty of jams and jellies to be had aboard the Silver Mist, but they were ordinary. The thought of them didn't appeal to him in any way, but the pineapple-apricot preserves were different. They were exotic, freshly made, a gourmet treat.

He was about to dip into the jar with the knife when a chilling thought occurred to him, freezing him in place. What if the preserves were poisoned? He felt as if people were watching him, all the time. Soon it wouldn't matter, but right now, having his plans go on without a hitch mattered to him more than anything else. He wanted to go out on his own terms, not someone else's. He didn't want to die writhing in pain, his insides torn apart by poison. No, when he went he'd be so close to a bomb he wouldn't even have time for a last thought, much less experience pain.

The old woman in the market might've seen him coming, and put this appealing jar of preserves right where it would catch his eye. Or else she'd swapped it for a special jar as she'd bagged his purchase, using sleight of hand. Who knew what these people were capable of? She hadn't looked Hawaiian, she'd looked more Oriental. What if she'd been a plant by that fucking Kwan?

Or maybe she was a serial killer, indiscriminately taking out tourists with her island charm and innocent-looking wares. Maybe all the pretty goodies on her table included some sort of exotic island poison?

He jumped out of his chair and stalked to the door, opening it on the guard he had posted there upon his return from Hilo. From here on out, he wanted one of his most trusted men with him at all times. He wasn't taking any chances.

"Tucker," he said, "get in here." Dean was also in the corridor, and the presence of his head of security annoyed him. Had the two men been talking about him? Did they plan something worse than poison for him? "You, too, Mills."

When the security guards entered the room, with Dean closing the door behind them, Larkin pasted a smile on his face. "You have to try this," he said in a friendly tone, Tucker the object of his attention. Dean stood back and watched with narrowed eyes, as he often did. "It's so delicious, I had to share with someone." He picked up a piece of soft, warm bread, and slathered on a thick helping of the preserves before handing it to the unsuspecting man.

"Thanks, Mr. Larkin, but I'm not hungry," Tucker said, suspicious at the unexpected overture and handling the slice of bread as if it were a hand grenade.

"But it's so good." He moved the offering closer. A slick layer of sweat sheened his grayish skin. "Try it."

"No, really, I'm-"

"Try it!" Larkin screamed, thrusting the bread at the startled man.

Tucker glanced back at his boss, and Dean responded with a subtle nod of his head. At that, Tucker accepted the bread and immediately took a large bite. He chewed, swallowed, commented on how good it tasted, and then took another bite-knowing that was what his employer required, but looking as if he really did enjoy the tastes. He finished every bit of the bread, while Larkin watched him closely, waiting for some sign that the preserves had been poisoned.

Tucker, unaware that he was supposed to have been poisoned, seemed fine. He wasn't at all bothered by what he'd eaten. Larkin talked for several minutes, about everything, about nothing, waiting for Tucker to fall to the floor and start slobbering, or writhe in pain. Nothing happened. Larkin asked questions about passengers and events, asked if Tucker had noticed anyone out of the ordinary watching him, but he barely paid attention to the man's answers.

When he was certain Tucker was unaffected, Larkin abruptly ordered, "Get out," and sat at the table once more. "You stay," he said to Dean, and his own personal bulldog obeyed, as he always did.

After Tucker closed the door, Larkin slathered preserves on another piece of bread and took a big bite, no longer worried about poisoning. He waited for a burst of fruity flavor on his tongue, but instead he tasted nothing but sugar. The preserves were too sweet, and the bread had an unpleasant yeasty taste. He took another bite, but it was as annoyingly disagreeable as the first.

He dropped the bread onto the plate, disappointed and angry. He'd rather have a Ghostwater, and he would before the night was done, but even that pleasure had to be tempered. He couldn't drink too much, because drunks talked. Too many drinks and he might let his facade slip and tell the people around him what he really thought of them, the stupid bastards. He might even tell them what he had planned.

That didn't leave many pleasures to enjoy in the few days that remained. Tiffany Marsters had tried flirting with him, soon after her break with Traylor, but she was too loud and ballsy. Even if he were was still capable of screwing her, he'd have thought twice about getting involved with someone like her. He preferred women who knew who was boss, and it sure as hell wasn't her.

"Mr. Larkin, is everything all right?"

Larkin's head snapped up. He'd forgotten that Dean was still in the room. "Do you want it?" he asked, pushing the plate away with contempt.

"No, sir. Thank you."

"It's not poisoned," Larkin assured him.

Dean was always calm and unruffled, but for some reason he looked startled. "I hope not," he said. Would he be this calm in his last moments of life? Larkin wondered. Or would Dean dissolve into pure, unadulterated panic?

The only pleasure Larkin had left was picturing the deaths of all those around him. In a way, it was too bad he wouldn't survive long enough to see it all come to pass. But he could imagine it, and sometimes the images were so real he felt as if he could touch them.

He hurt so badly some days, he didn't know how he could wait days for the end of his life. He had to wait, though; setting off the bombs while they were in port would seriously increase the number of survivors. When the ship went down, the few passengers who survived the blasts would find themselves literally in the middle of a massive ocean, wounded and in a panic, in complete darkness except for the light from the flames on the burning ship, until what remained of the ship sank and they were left floating on bits of debris in a black night unlike any they could imagine.

He wanted them all dead. He wanted the world to remember Frank Larkin, and how he took all these stupid sheep to the bottom of the ocean.

With luck, even the survivors wouldn't survive for long.

Chapter Twenty-four.

"WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?" JENNER WAS NEARLY AT a jog, trying to keep up with Cael as he moved at a fast pace down the long, deserted passageway. He held her hand, which would look better than the usual iron grip on her arm if they ran into anyone. So far, they hadn't.

When he realized that she was struggling to keep up, he shortened his stride-only a little, but enough to give her a break. "I have things to do this afternoon. You're going to stay with Faith for a while."

"You mean she's going to sit with me." As in, babysit. She didn't like it at all.

While she was more than ready for a break from Cael Traylor, she didn't know Faith. She knew the facade, but likely Faith was, like Cael, two people: one public persona, one private. The public woman was classy, serene, quiet, and seemingly thoughtful. What was the private Faith like? She was about to find out.

Cael knocked, the door opened, and they were ushered in. The first thing Jenner noticed was that Faith was not alone. Tiffany was also there, sitting on a blue sofa, long legs crossed, eyes all but shooting daggers. Both women were dressed casually, as Jenner was. Their outfits were expensive and classically cut, even Tiffany's colorful sundress.

Remembering what Syd had said about the suite she'd chosen for them-lots of blues and two bedrooms-Jenner wondered if this was the one she and Syd would have been staying in if everything hadn't gone bat-shit crazy. For all she knew, there were a hundred staterooms just like this one, but she doubted it, because she was pretty sure she remembered Syd saying the suites were individually decorated.

"Two hours," Cael said simply, and then he left Jenner alone with the women, who stared at her as if she were a bug under a microscope.

She didn't like being in this position, and her back went up. "What, you've never seen a blackmailed, threatened, extremely cooperative prisoner up close before?"

Tiffany laughed; it was an honest laugh, a little throaty, not at all like the shrill laugh she affected in public.

Faith kept her composure. "We're just doing our jobs. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you."

"Sit down, then, and make yourself comfortable."

So far, the private Faith was very much like the public one. Jenner was anxious to see how long that would last. She chose a chair in the seating area that put her back to the wall. "Are you always so polite to the people you kidnap?"

The two women looked at each other with meaningful and silent communication, and Jenner felt like an interloper. An unwilling interloper, but still ... these women, this team, were close. She was the outsider, but damn it, she hadn't asked to be here.

It was Tiffany who said, "This is a first, for us. Kidnapping isn't exactly SOP."

"But you're all willing to do whatever has to be done to get what you want."

"Yes," Faith responded, calmly but with certainty. "You'd do well to remember that until this is all over and done with. Are you sure you wouldn't like some tea?"

Jenner looked from one woman to the other, and made herself remember that, like Cael, they were professionals. And dedicated, to whatever it was they were doing. She suspected either one of them could put a very quick stop to any resistance she might offer, which she wasn't going to do. She didn't want to lose her phone privileges.

She leaned back a little, relaxed. "Actually, I'd love a cup of hot tea."

Faith smiled, like any other pleasant hostess. "Of course. Tiffany?"

"Why not? Maybe we could get some little cucumber sandwiches, too?" she added with a slightly evil grin.

Tiffany was one of those women who oozed sexuality. She was gorgeous, built, exotic, and the way she moved was unconsciously sensuous. Sitting there, watching her, Jenner couldn't help but wonder if Cael and Tiffany had ever been ... no, she didn't want to go there. She felt the heat of a blush in her cheeks. As if she cared who Cael slept with! Well, he slept with her these days, in the very literal sense, but it wasn't exactly sleeping she had on her mind when she wondered about him and Tiffany.