Chapter Twenty-seven.

CAEL HOPED HIS HEAD WOULD BE PUT ON THE CHOPPING block first so he could get this ordeal over with, but no, they decided to save him for last. A bartender and then a popular steward went first, then a couple of widowers, then a shy man who was there with his fiancee, who dutifully bid on him until he was hers-for the evening's record sum of seven thousand.

There were a couple of catcalls as Cael was introduced. From what he could see, they all came from rich, primarily white-haired, giggling widows. Playing along, he tipped his hat to the crowd. He even winked at one blushing matron. He looked for Jenner, but she and Tiffany were no longer standing where he'd last seen them. Great. They were probably in Tiffany's suite or in one of the bars, yucking it up at his expense.

Somebody was going to pay for this.

The bidding started, and quickly escalated. He passed the five-thousand mark within a few minutes. Still no Jenner. Cael caught Ryan's eye; he and Faith were amused, and a little worried, but there wasn't much either of them could do. If Jenner or Tiffany didn't step up to save his bacon, he was going to end up the property of either the plump, lascivious granny in the lime-green fringed dress and matching fishnets or the scary-looking broad with too much makeup and unnaturally blue-black hair. They were the only two left in play, as the bid passed eight thousand.

A flash of red in the crowd caught his eye. Jenner was making her way toward the front of the crowd, with Tiffany close behind her. Jenner raised her hand and got the auctioneer's attention.

"Fifty thousand," she called in a clear, steady voice.

The crowd murmured, a few people applauded. The scary broad looked pissed as she and the lime-green granny conceded the bid-not that either of them couldn't have offered more, but there was only so much money they were willing to part with just for a little bit of fun.

"Poor baby," Jenner said confidently as she reached the dais. "Did you really think I would share?" The crowd burst into laughter and applause as she claimed him. He was the only one in a position to see how cool her gaze was, and he knew she was still pissed off.

LARKIN HAD LEFT the costume party and escaped to the quiet of his suite. If he'd had to listen to more of that fucking music, he'd have thrown the musicians overboard. He sat at the desk in the parlor, writing a letter on his e-mail program. He wouldn't send the e-mail until the last possible moment, but he wanted to be prepared. He still wasn't sure who to send it to. The New York Times, the Washington Post... but newspapers were going the way of the dodo. How many people bothered to read them anymore? He should also send the e-mail to a couple of television networks.

I take full responsibility for the destruction of the Silver Mist and its passengers. If I could take more of you assholes with me ...

No, if he wanted the letter published in its entirety, he'd have to watch his language. Fucking pussies.

If I could take more of the worthless parasites of the world with me, I would. Gladly.

He could die with a bang or he could fade away; he really wasn't a fading kind of guy. Serial killers, bringers of mass destruction, they were remembered long after they left this earth. He would be remembered, too.

When the Silver Mist blew out of the water on the tenth day of her maiden voyage, I made my mark on the world. At the end of the day, money means nothing. Power is reduced to the simple control over life and death.

Yeah, that sounded about right. Powerful. People would remember what he'd written until their own deaths. When the time came, he'd turn on his computer, set the e-mails to be sent at a certain time-perhaps 9:55, five minutes before the bombs would explode-and then he'd put everything in motion. Some bombs were on a timer, simply for logistical reasons, and he had the triggers for others. While Dean and his idiot team of would-be robbers got ready to move in on the art auction, Frank would be setting the real show into motion.

His head throbbed; eyestrain caused by the computer screen was a bitch these days. Suddenly unsure, he checked to make certain he hadn't accidentally logged onto the Internet, because sometimes he did things that he didn't quite remember. He didn't want to send the message yet, so he hadn't even gone online. There was no e-mail of any consequence headed his way-very little was of true consequence now. There was no reason for him to surf the 'net. He didn't care how the stock market was faring, or what news of the day might be interesting, because the simple fact was that nothing was interesting now. Funny how certain things that had seemed so important faded to nothing when a life was reduced to a matter of days. He saved what he'd written so far into a draft file, and shut down the computer.

LARKIN HAD ALREADY LEFT THE PARTY by the time Jenner took possession of her winnings. Cael smiled for the crowd, but she could see past the easy grin. He was annoyed that his plans had gone awry, for a short while, and he was anxious to get back to the stateroom, since Larkin was in his.

Tonight she was the one who said, for the benefit of those listening, "I'm tired. Are you ready to turn in?"

"Sure, any time you are." Hah! As if he was ever that accommodating! Smiles in place, he took her arm and they walked at a leisurely pace toward the elevators.

They were silent in the elevator, each of them too pissed at the other to engage in their customary verbal joust. They stepped off the elevator, headed toward the suite-and the guard posted next door. The man ignored them, didn't even glance their way or nod when Cael slipped the key card in the door to unlock it, as any other member of the crew would've done.

Cael went to the bedroom, stripping off his jacket as he went, tossing his fedora aside. He didn't guide Jenner to a chair and handcuff her, didn't look back to make sure she wasn't making a run for it. She followed him into the bedroom, kicking off her shoes and removing her own hat, twirling the cloche on one finger as she headed for the bed. Cael was already setting up his laptop to review anything he might've missed.

Finally she broke first, mainly because she couldn't leave well enough alone. "Are you really mad because I didn't save you from the horrors of the auction block?"

"No," he said curtly She'd prefer that he make a joke or insult her in that funny way he had, but he was deadly serious. She sat on the side of the bed, as close to him as she could get. After a few seconds he glanced up, frowning, and tensed at what he saw in her face. "Don't look at me that way."

"What way is that?" Like she wanted to eat him up, which she did. She was tired of trying to hide the way she felt.

"You know this is a bad idea," he said, trying to turn his head away and ignore her.

"I know no such thing."

Sighing, because she obviously wasn't about to let him work, Cael set aside his equipment and stood to look down at her. Maybe he was trying to intimidate her. "The situation is ... difficult."

She had to snicker. "Couldn't say hard, could you?"

He ground his teeth, which he seemed to be doing a lot lately. "Jenner ..."

"I know, I know. You kidnapped me. You're afraid I'm having some sort of nervous breakdown, or that I might feel obligated to sleep with you so you won't kill me when this is all over, or-"

"I'm not going to kill you," he snapped.

"I know that," she said softly. "But the situation isn't exactly normal."

"No, it isn't."

"I know how to fix that."

He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. "Yeah? How's that?"

"Let me go."

He remained silent, but his eyes narrowed.

She continued, "As long as we're still cruising around the Hawaiian Islands I can get off the boat, go to a hotel, lay low until the cruise is over. If I give you my word that I won't betray you, if I swear that you can trust me ... you can let me go."

"So that's what this is about," he said curtly, temper flaring in his blue eyes. "You think if you flirt with me, I'll suddenly lose my common sense."

She sighed. "No. I'm thinking if you let me go and I stay of my own free will, everything changes."

She stood, because being seated made her feel as if she were in a subservient position. Cael was still taller than her, bigger than her, stronger than her, but in every way except physically she was his equal, and it was time he acknowledged that.

He stared down at her, evaluating, calculating, and she couldn't help but think about Linda Vale and her Wayne, the only man in her life, the only man she'd ever wanted. Jenner wanted to know what it was like to love that deeply. Cael got to her. He made her angry, he made her laugh, and when he kissed her-yowza! He got to her in ways no other man ever had. Was that love, or just the heightened emotions of the moment? Only one way to find out.

"Fine," he said. "You're free to go."

Jenner threw her hands up. "Was that so hard?" Then she went up on her toes and kissed him, quickly and softly, as she had earlier, when they'd been on deck.

She stepped around him, collected her pajamas, and headed for the bathroom.

"I thought you were leaving," he said, sounding almost disappointed.

"Nope. This is my stateroom, after all," she said. "They'd probably kick you out of this room if I left the cruise, and wouldn't that be a pain in the ass. The difference now is, I'm not a prisoner, I'm a partner."

"Like hell you are."

She gave him a very satisfied smile. "And honey, I'm not nearly as easy as you seem to think I am. Once we get off this damn boat, where are you going to take me on our first date?"

Chapter Twenty-eight.

JENNER CAME OUT OF THE BATHROOM IN HER PAJAMAS, her face freshly scrubbed, her nipples pebbled against her thin tank. It was all Cael could do not to groan. He had to be the biggest fool on earth, to think he was in control of anything where she was concerned. He'd known she was going to be trouble the first time she opened her mouth. He just hadn't known how much trouble-or what kind.

She picked up the conversation they'd been having before she'd changed as if there had been no break. "So," she mused. "CIA? NSA? FBI?" A hint of a smile teased the corners of her lips. "Coast Guard? Since we're partners now, there's no reason for you to hold out on me."

He had to set her straight, sooner rather than later. "We're not partners."

She was unshaken, completely unaffected by his edict. "I say we are. So, details, please. What have you gotten me into?"

He considered turning his back, but that could be dangerous, and ignoring Jenner Redwine was getting more and more difficult. In the end, he didn't even try. Maybe she'd earned the truth. "Let's just say that not everyone who does work for the government actually works for the government."

"That's as clear as mud."

"No dental, no pension plan ..."

"Contract work," she said, without even a hint of alarm in her voice.

It was dangerous for her to know too much, but she was already in a dangerous position. She already knew too damn much. He nodded once, and returned his attention to the audio and video he'd been reviewing before she'd interrupted him. Larkin had opened his laptop tonight, but it was hard to tell if he'd signed onto the Internet or not. If he had, Faith would have the details shortly. Might be nothing, but then again, maybe there would be a clue about what he was up to with Mills.

He didn't handcuff Jenner to the chair. Why bother? She'd had several chances to blow his cover and she hadn't done it. If she'd headed out the door when he'd told her she was free, would he have stopped her? Maybe, maybe not. Didn't matter; she was still here.

A date?

She crawled into bed, pulled the covers to her chin, said good night, and closed her eyes.

Like it or not, she was into the shit damn near as deeply as he was.

JENNER WOKE A COUPLE OF TIMES, realized Cael still wasn't in the bed with her, and opened one eye to see that he still sat in the chair by the bed, watching and listening to the man next door. What could be so important that he'd rather be over there than in bed with her?

She sighed. While she knew very few details, she knew what he was doing was truly important. She'd heard enough, seen enough to know that much.

The bed dipped, waking her, when Cael finally came to bed. She sighed, rolled toward him, and found him propped on his elbow watching her. "What is it?" she asked, then blinked when she saw he was naked. Completely.

"My turn," he said, and pulled her under him.

She shot awake, her heartbeat going from normal to shuttle blastoff in something like a tenth of a second. His heavy weight crushed her into the mattress. "What? Wait!"

"Wait, my ass," he said in a goaded tone as he grabbed the hem of her tank top and dragged it off over her head. The sudden exposure sent her senses reeling, and she would have done something totally silly like covering her breasts if he hadn't shackled her wrists with his hands and pinned them to the pillow on each side of her head as he looked down at her. In the lamplight she could see the way his features clenched, and her nipples pinched tight in response-not from the cold, not a simple reaction to being touched, but a response to him, all heat and power and dark sex.

He slid farther down in the bed, still holding her wrists, and clamped his mouth over one thrusting nipple. Pleasure so sharp it was almost pain shot through her breast. She made a keening sound as his tongue stabbed at her nipple, circled it, before he sucked hard and deep. She bucked under the lash of sensation, straining against his grip, his weight, those wilds sounds still coming from her mouth.

He made a rough sound against her breast, and released one hand so he could reach down and give a mighty tug at her pajama bottoms, shaking her out of them as if he were shaking a pillow out of a pillowcase. He had to completely turn her loose to accomplish the job and she tumbled to the other side of the bed. He dragged her back into position and covered her, putting his hands behind her knees and lifting them around him.

If the past few tumultuous minutes counted as foreplay, that was all she got. He reached down between them, said, "Fuck!" in a strained voice, and reached for the bedside table. Blinking in confusion, Jenner turned her head and stared in amazement at the number of foil packs scattered across the tabletop.

"Holy hell," she blurted.

He tore open the foil, rolled the condom on with a few fast, rough motions, and pushed into her-that fast, that hard, that intent.

She sucked in a deep breath, half-closing her eyes as she absorbed the sensation. She was just barely wet enough to take him, and he was so thick and long ... another of those helpless, keening sounds burst from her throat. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she tried to anchor herself, but he was taking exactly what she had offered. As he'd said, it was his turn, so she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave herself over to him.

He thrust hard and deep, no finesse, just a raw drive to climax. The power and heft of him pushed her over the edge almost before she realized she was there. She came hard, clenching around him, and with a muffled curse he came, too, his almost savage rhythm changing to something slower and deeper as he rode the crest.

The silence in the bedroom after was broken only by the gasps of their breathing, as if they'd both run a marathon. Cael pulled out of her and collapsed beside her, his body gleaming with sweat. Jenner felt as if her entire body were throbbing from the force of her heartbeats. That hadn't been like anything she'd experienced before. It hadn't been amazing, or great, or any of the other adjectives she'd heard used to describe sex. It had been powerful and primal, stripped down to the simplest form-no polish, no technique, though she was certain he had them. He had fucked her. He had mated her.

Until now, until this final step, she would still have been able to step back, but not now. This had gone too far. A man didn't make love to a woman like that and walk away unscathed.

Panting, she lifted her head and met his gaze, brilliant blue under narrowed lids, his expression both hard and extremely satisfied with himself. Then she looked at the bedside table, estimating the number of condoms. Looking back at him she said, "You're in big trouble now, cowboy."

"You think so?" he asked, reaching out for a fresh condom. "Brace yourself; you're in for a rough night. We'll count coup in the morning."

LARKIN COULDN'T SLEEP. He got out of bed and paced the suite, feeling as if ants were crawling on him. Something was wrong. Something was out of kilter, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Finally he realized what it was, and went to the suite's main door to jerk it open and stick his head into the hallway. The guard on duty, Johnson, straightened with a jerk. "Is anything wrong, Mr. Larkin?"

Larkin glared at him. "You can go," he said sharply. Johnson looked surprised. "But Mr. Larkin, I thought ..." "Don't think," Frank said. "You might hurt yourself." He hadn't been thinking clearly himself, apparently. While the suite was more secure if there was a man at the door, and he worried less about the eyes he sometimes felt on him, it would also be harder to find the privacy he needed when the time came for him to set the timers on the bombs. These yahoos thought all the bombs would be detonated by manual triggers, but that wasn't the case. The bombs they'd planted belowdeck, in places he couldn't access without arousing suspicion, were operated by the trigger in his possession. The incendiary bombs on the public decks were on a timer, which he would set himself, early in the morning of his last day on this earth.

The morons also thought the triggers they had in their possession were operational, but they were merely toys. He had the single working trigger, and he'd use it at the proper time, well before they were expecting it. If there was a guard on his door at all times, how would he get away to set those timers? He hadn't been thinking clearly when he'd ordered Mills to set up the constant watch. It was the tumor, the damned cancer that had stolen his ability to reason.

Johnson left and Larkin closed the door, reveling in the seclusion that had become his life. He trusted no one. He needed no one. And that was a good thing, because he had no one.

THE NEXT MORNING, Cael watched, narrow-eyed, as Jenner got dressed. The night between hadn't eased the stress of being around her. He was beginning to feel a real sense of terror that this particular stress would never ease. They'd done normal things this morning: showering, eating breakfast, and still all he could think about was getting back inside her. After the night they'd spent, logically he should be hours, maybe even days, from being ready for sex again. She was trying to kill him. Slowly, painfully. He'd rather be shot; it would hurt less.

"What the hell are you wearing?"

Jenner glanced down. "It's just a sundress."

That was like saying they were "just breasts." The thin fabric of her blue sundress draped over her like a second skin; the skirt was knee length, showing off fine legs. Even her feet, in another pair of those ridiculous sandals, were sexy as hell.

Yep, she was trying to kill him.

They were going ashore again today, to Kauai this time. Tiffany was joining them, since she was single and Tiff and Jenner were new best buds. The rest of the bunch would keep an eye on Larkin, all four involved with the surveillance if their subject stayed onboard, which seemed to be his preference since the Hilo meeting, Faith and Ryan tailing him if he decided to go ashore.

After today, there would be only one more day of splitting up his team to watch Larkin. Tomorrow night they'd be back at sea. Cael was more comfortable with that scenario. Once they were at sea, Larkin wasn't going anywhere.