She didn't even like wine, which she supposed was an indication of her very red blood and her low-brow, blue-collar upbringing. Give her a beer and she was much happier. She barely managed to keep from shuddering at each sip, and thank God she could spit the nasty stuff out. At least with dinner she'd be able to get her favorite drink, a teeter-totter, which was a delicious blend of half champagne and half sparkling green apple juice. She couldn't stand champagne on its own, but mixed with apple juice it was great. All the servers and bartenders at these events knew what she drank, without having to ask.

Where was Syd, anyway? They'd be sitting down to dinner any minute, and after being coerced into attending this thing, she'd like to have someone she could talk to. Jenner was feeling decidedly grumpy that she'd endured this to give Syd company, and her friend wasn't even here. She should have expected it; Syd was often late-partly, Jenner suspected, because she dreaded these functions even more than Jenner did, but her tardiness was usually about fifteen to thirty minutes. This time, she'd missed the entire wine-tasting, which had lasted for over an hour.

Jenner was thinking about slipping outside and calling her when Syd said behind her, "You're blond again. I love the shade."

Jenner turned, smiling wryly. "You're late. If I'd known you were going to miss the entire wine-tasting, I wouldn't have shown up, either."

"I just couldn't-" Syd looked down at herself with a sigh. She looked fine to Jenner. Her gown was classic in line and construction, the cream color looked great with Syd's honey-blond hair and golden skin, and Syd herself was very pretty, with her natural sweetness evident in her expression. But Syd was hypercritical of herself, always fearing she didn't measure up to her father's exacting tastes, afraid people were making fun of her, second-guessing her clothing decisions, which of course meant she never wore the first thing she tried on-at least not without trying on several other outfits before, in despair, she went with her original choice.

On Syd's behalf, Jenner would have hated Mr. Hazlett, except he so obviously adored Syd and tried in a number of ways to prop up her fragile self-esteem, and was hugely relieved and grateful to Jenner for being Syd's friend. J. Michael Hazlett did indeed have impeccable taste; he was handsome, urbane, and completely comfortable in his skin, as well as being a formidable businessman. But he never said anything the least critical to Syd, and would have fought tigers to protect her. It was hard to hate someone who not only wasn't a villain, but who actually, in his own endearing, slightly clumsy masculine way, tried to show his daughter how special and lovable she was. She and Mr. Hazlett had become coconspirators, always trying to make certain one of them was available to lend Syd support if she needed it.

Just like now.

"You look great, as always," she said to Syd. "But leaving me to handle a wine-tasting on my own just isn't right."

"I'd rather talk about your hair than my tardiness," Syd replied, smiling. "I still say blond is the most flattering for you, it makes you look so alive and bright. Though the auburn was striking," she added hastily. "And the black was very elegant. What is your natural color, anyway?"

"Dishwater blond," Jenner retorted. Though she hadn't seen it in years, she recalled the exact, unexciting shade. A psychiatrist could probably have a field day on why she changed hair color so often, but it was her hair, and if she wanted to change it she could, so who cared what an analyst might think? She'd loved having black hair, loved the edgy, kick-butt feeling it gave her. The red hair had been surprisingly sexy, and she'd liked that, too. When she got bored with this pale blond, she'd probably go back to the red for a while.

There was a signal for everyone to take their seats at the elegantly decorated banquet tables, each seating eight. By Jenner's count, there were fifty tables, which meant four hundred people were in attendance. An orchestra, seated in the balcony, began softly playing, providing a pleasing background without being so loud they intruded on the conversation below.

As Jenner took her seat, holding the slim skirt of her long black gown so she wouldn't catch her heel in it and pitch face-forward into the table, she remembered her first charity dinner, almost seven years ago. She'd done her best to mingle beforehand, to introduce herself to people, but she'd felt enormously out of place and uncomfortable. No one had spat on her, but neither had she been made to feel welcome.

At dinner, she'd found herself sitting at a table with seven strangers and a daunting array of silverware and glasses, which had all but paralyzed her with uncertainty. She'd thought, "Holy shit, five forks!" What was she supposed to do with five forks? Use a fresh one for each bite? Defend herself from the others at the table?

Then the pretty young woman across the table had caught her eye, given her a friendly, conspiratorial smile, and very discreetly lifted the fork on the outside of the setting. There hadn't been anything derisive in her attitude, just an honest offer of aid, which Jenner had gratefully accepted. She'd gotten through the dinner, realized that the order of utensil use was very simple, and in the course of that dinner also realized that the young woman across the table was genuinely sweet and friendly. Afterward, they had gravitated toward each other so they could really talk, and by the end of the event each had found a friend.

Strange how much she'd changed since then, Jenner thought, and yet one thing hadn't changed: She still didn't truly fit in here. She'd left Chicago behind, and in truth no longer felt like the girl she'd once been, the one who had been so bitterly hurt by family and friends alike, but her sense of not belonging was as strong as ever. Here she was, thirty years old. She'd lived in Palm Beach for six years. In those six years, she'd attended a hundred or more of these charity events, gone to cocktail parties, pool parties, whatever-and to the others of this social set she was, and would always be, the working-class meat packer who'd gotten lucky and won the lottery. She would never be one of them, no matter how casually friendly they were to her. If not for Syd she probably would've moved on, looked for somewhere else to live, but instead she'd made a home here.

She'd filled those seven years by staying busy. Al had warned her, years ago, that most people who win the lottery end up broke within five years. Jenner had been determined not to be one of those people. With Al to help with the investments, a good accountant, a couple of attorneys-and, oddly enough, a head for handling investments herself-Jenner was richer than she'd been the day she claimed her winnings ... over twice as rich. Even with the recent stock market tumble she was financially sound, thanks to her diverse portfolio. The market might be drastically down, but her own losses were less than twenty percent. These days she even managed a portion of her investments herself, through an online account-though Al, who was now a senior partner at Payne Echols, took care of the rest.

Managing that much money took a lot of time, much more than she'd imagined way back when she'd first picked Payne Echols out of the yellow pages. Add in the charities she supported, the ever-changing list of classes she took-in art, in gourmet cooking (French and Italian), in cake decorating, judo, skeet shooting, ballroom dancing, pottery, computers, snorkeling, even parasailing-and her days were full enough. Occasionally aimless, but full.

She'd tried gardening and knitting as well, but she hadn't enjoyed either of those. Though Jenner often felt as if she still didn't know who she was or what she wanted to do, she definitely knew that she was not Suzy Homemaker. She was good in the kitchen, but she'd rather be surfing the Web. And except for the occasional lunch she'd prepared for Syd, who was she going to cook for? If she was the only one there, she'd rather pick up something from the deli down the street and save herself the trouble.

She had a luxury condo with all the security bells and whistles, and someone to clean it. She had great clothes. She had a great car, a beautiful little BMW convertible. She dated occasionally, but not very often. If a man wasn't in her financial league, then how could she ever truly know whether he liked her for herself or if he was just interested in her money? Her experiences with Michelle, Dylan, and her dad had definitely left emotional scars.

She knew she was unduly critical of the people she socialized with, knew that most of her uncertainty stemmed from herself, but protecting herself by holding most people at a distance was a damn sight easier than dealing with the hurt and repairing the damage if her suspicions were proved correct.

They were actually pretty nice people, she thought, looking around the table. They gave millions and millions to worthwhile charities every year, and it wasn't because of tax deductions, either. Jenner had made the horrifying-to her-discovery that, at her financial level, almost nothing was deductible. She didn't even get a personal deduction. So these people gave because they wanted to do good, to make a difference, and not because it in any way benefited them financially. That they combined social events with their giving wasn't a horrible thing to do. Why not get together with friends before writing those huge checks?

She liked most of them, but she wasn't close to any of them, except for Syd. Syd also suffered from Jenner's dilemma when it came to men; she, too, wondered if someone wanted to go out with her because of her father's money rather than being interested in her. And regardless of how sweet Syd was, how genuinely friendly and nice, how could Jenner say she was wrong in feeling the way she did when Jenner suffered from the same doubt?

After dinner, the auction part of the evening began. She and Syd went into the adjoining room and walked among the tables where the donated items were on display. Nothing there called to her, though she supposed she'd do her part and bid on at least a couple, whether she wanted them or not. There were small white envelopes and thick, rich paper for the attendees to use to place their silent bids. After a quick perusal of the items, Sydney bid on a facial and massage at her favorite spa-for much more than she would have paid by simply booking the services-and Jenner bid on a pair of unexciting pearl earrings. If she got them, she would donate them to a center for abused women. She passed a lot of stuff on to the center. Sometimes, even a piece of jewelry could do a lot for the self-esteem of a woman who had been beaten down to the ground.

After the auction was over-neither of them won, but they both wrote checks anyway-there was dancing, which was as far removed from the dancing Jenner had learned at Bird's as caviar was from tuna. As they watched the elegant couples sway and twirl, Syd asked, "Are you excited about the cruise?"

Jenner racked her brain, but drew a blank. "What cruise?"

"What cruise?" Syd echoed, staring at Jenner was if she were insane. "The charity cruise. Didn't you read about it in yesterday's paper? You are going, aren't you?" She looked suddenly anxious. "Dad has to be in Europe for some meetings at the same time, or he'd go, so I have to go in his place."

Okay, Jenner could already see where this was heading. Everyone who was anyone would be expected to go on this cruise, as the charity circuit took to the high seas. And if Syd went, then she'd want Jenner to go along for company and support. And, what the hell, she'd probably go. She hadn't been on a cruise before, but she liked the water, liked her snorkeling and parasailing lessons, so why not?

"I didn't read the paper yesterday," she said-a lie, because she'd read the stuff that interested her. "Fill me in."

"It's the maiden voyage of the Silver... Something. Or maybe it's a Crystal Something. I don't remember." Syd waved away the ship's name, because it truly didn't matter. "It's the most luxurious boutique ship in the world, and before it goes into service its maiden voyage is being used to raise money for charity. All the proceeds from everything will be donated, from the passenger fees to the casino take. There'll be an art auction, a masquerade ball, a fashion show where you can actually buy the garments and they'll be tailored to fit you ... oh, all sorts of stuff. Doesn't it sound like fun?"

"At least it sounds interesting," Jenner allowed. "When is it, and where is it?"

"Um ... I'll have to get back to you on the *when,' but the *where' is a two-week cruise in the Pacific."

"Hawaii? Tahiti? Japan?"

"Uh-farther south than Japan. Does anyone cruise to Japan? Anyway. Hawaii or Tahiti. One or the other. Or both. I don't know. They're both pretty, so who cares?"

Jenner had to laugh at Syd's reasoning, because she was absolutely right. They could be cruising up and down Lake Erie, and they'd still go, because it was for a good cause and that was what they did.

"Okay, I'm in. Tell me more."

Syd's expressive face filled with relief. "Thank goodness," she breathed. "I was afraid I'd have to go by myself. Dad booked one of the penthouse suites, so from what I understand we'll each have a private bedroom. This ship is supposed to be gorgeous; every stateroom is at least a mini-suite, with a balcony, but there are way more true suites than there are on any other ship in the world-for right now, at least."

"Which line owns the ship?"

"I don't think there's a line. I think it's a consortium of people, because one of the co-owners, Frank Larkin, is hosting the voyage. Dad knows him."

That wasn't surprising; J. Michael Hazlett knew everyone.

Still, two weeks of isolation, of peace and quiet, sounded very nice. She would sleep, see new places-something she'd discovered she loved to do-and eat great food. On the flip side, there would be many nights like this one, nights where she rubbed shoulders with the rich and powerful who would make up the very exclusive passenger list. And after all, she was now one of those rich and powerful.

Two weeks ... Maybe she didn't want that much peace and quiet. She felt suddenly uneasy. "I don't know about being out of touch that long," she said.

"Silly. There are phones in all the rooms, and Internet access. Most ships just have an Internet cafe, but this ship has full wireless service."

So long as she could get to a computer, she could keep on top of things, so Jenner relaxed. She was a little paranoid about staying informed, maybe because she hadn't actually earned her money and she was always, in the back of her mind, afraid it would slip away as easily as it had come. She didn't have survivor guilt, she had dumb-luck guilt.

"Maybe we'll meet a couple of someone specials while we're at sea," Syd said, smiling wryly.

"Yeah," Jenner said, "like the ship won't be filled with people we already know, and this set is lousy with young, handsome, straight, available men who don't care one way or another that between us we could fund our own small country."

Sydney covered her mouth and coughed to hide a laugh. "You're so jaded."

"And so right."

Syd's smile faded, became a little sad around the edges. "Maybe it's just us. No one else seems to worry about being married for their money, they just go ahead and live their lives."

"And get divorced," Jenner pointed out, then wished she hadn't, because Sydney's mother and father had gone through an extremely bitter, acrimonious divorce when Syd was twelve, a terribly vulnerable age, and that had surely played a part in making her so unsure of her own worth as opposed to her material worth.

It hadn't helped that, after less than a year, her mother had relinquished custody of Syd to her father and moved to Europe with her new husband. Syd's whole life had been full of emotional upheaval, including a broken engagement.

By contrast, Jenner considered herself heart-whole. She'd had crushes, sure, and a couple of times when she was younger thought she was in love, but that was it. Since she'd won the lottery, she'd been way too wary to let anyone get close to her, and perhaps that was more a reflection on her than it was on the men who might have shown an interest in her if she'd been more approachable. Perhaps she was the one who couldn't forget she'd been a meat packer, maybe she was the one who thought no one would want her for herself.

The stray thoughts made her impatient with herself. It wasn't that she'd entirely given up on men, or that she believed every man on the planet was either greedy or snobbish. But how did a woman in her position go about finding the men who were neither, and how could she tell? She hadn't figured that out, yet.

A week later, their arrangements were made. The cruise ship Silver Mist was sailing from San Diego, and the publicity surrounding a ship full of millionaires, billionaires, and assorted glitterati was at fever pitch-at least in their circle. Jenner imagined the average Joe couldn't care less about a bunch of rich people taking a cruise and the ship's owners donating all the proceeds to charity. Unless it directly impacted them ... well, big hairy deal.

Realizing that didn't stop her from looking forward to it. This was her first cruise, and she was vaguely excited.

Sydney was truly excited about the cruise, though she suffered her normal anxieties about the social events onboard. But she had a friend from college who lived in the San Diego area, and she decided to fly out ahead of time for a visit beforehand.

"You should go with me," she cajoled Jenner. "You'd really like Caro, and she'd love to have you. If you're uncomfortable staying at her house, though, you could always get a suite at the Del Coronado. It's a great old hotel, and the Navy SEALs train on the beach right in front of the guest rooms. If you just happen to run into one, you wouldn't have to tell him right away about the small country thing."

"Now, there's a match made in heaven," Jenner retorted. "He could overtake the small country, and I could buy it. We'd have all bases covered."

Navy SEALs notwithstanding, she resisted Syd's arguments. For one thing, Caro hadn't invited her, even though she was fairly certain Syd had already broached the subject with her friend before asking Jenner. She could imagine Caro's agreement with the plan had been fairly tepid, hence she'd left the actual invitation to Syd.

But she and Al had a face-to-face meeting scheduled, which they didn't often have an opportunity for these days. She and Al had become good friends, and she wanted to catch up on how things were going in Al's life. All things considered, she'd rather visit with Al than suffer through a slightly awkward vacation with Syd's college friend.

It wasn't lost on her that her two best friends were single women named Al and Syd. How weird was that?

"Thanks, but I need to make this meeting with Al. Her flight back to Chicago is Monday afternoon, so I'll have that evening to finish packing, then I'll take an early flight out and, with the time change, arrive in San Diego in plenty of time to meet you at the port. You enjoy your visit with Caro, I'll do the same with Al, and then you and I will spend two nice, lazy weeks cruising around the Pacific."

"I can't wait to see the ship," Syd said, hugging her knees. They were on the balcony of Jenner's condo, watching the sky change as the sun set behind them. "All of the suites are decorated differently, and the one Dad reserved is gorgeous, all white and silver with touches of blue. It looked really serene and calming, at least in the pictures on the Internet. Not that I imagine we'll be spending a lot of time in the suite, other than sleeping there."

"Then who cares how it looks?" Jenner asked what she considered a very practical question.

"I don't want to sleep in an ugly room," Syd said indignantly. "Anyway, there's something planned for every night, and plenty to do during the day."

"You've been on a cruise before, right?"

"Of course. It's a lot of fun. All sorts of classes, which you'll like, plus things like spas, movies, dance contests, and unending food. We'll need a different gown for every night."

"Packing will be a bitch," Jenner said, thinking with horror of how many suitcases would be required. Not only would she evidently need fourteen evening gowns, but the shoes, the evening bags, and the jewelry that went with them. "Gaaa."

"Who cares? It's all for a good cause. Bring that gorgeous strapless black gown you bought last month, just in case you meet that handsome, straight, nonjudgmental available billionaire we're always looking for."

"The SEAL sounded more likely."

"But you have to be prepared, just in case. You never know what'll happen."

Chapter Seven.

FRANK LARKIN READ OVER THE PASSENGER LIST, NOTING the names he knew and their stateroom assignments, particularly those that adjoined the owner's suite. The Silver Mist was due to sail in two days, and every detail had to be perfect. The assignment of the suites adjoining his owner's suite bothered him. On one side was a couple he didn't know, either personally or by name, and suspicion sharpened his gaze as he stared at the names, Ryan and Faith Naterra. Had they requested the suite next to his for any specific reason? Or had they simply requested one of the top suites-almost everyone had-and they'd simply been lucky enough to be among the first to sign up?

Frank didn't believe in luck. He also didn't believe in assuming there was no ulterior motive in asking for those suites. Rather, there was definitely an ulterior motive; everyone breathing had an ulterior motive. That ulterior motive might not involve him personally, but the possibility was always there.

Either way, he didn't know Ryan and Faith Naterra, and that made him suspicious.

His head ached. It always did, a dull, ever-present reminder that there was, after all, something he couldn't overcome. Briefly he massaged his temples; he knew that wouldn't ease the pain, but the action was so instinctive he couldn't stop himself. He had become so accustomed to the pain that most of the time, until recently, he'd seldom noticed it was there. Lately, though, he seemed to feel a small point of heat inside his head that was like a worm gnawing through his brain.

Was that the cancer? Could he actually feel the tumor growing? His doctor said no, but how could the bastard know? Had he ever had brain cancer? Had he ever had to live-yeah, fucking bad pun-with the knowledge that his brain was being eaten by disease and there was nothing he or anyone else could do to stop it?

The doctor had tried to explain that his brain wasn't being "eaten," that the disease was adding cells that didn't have the normal brain function, blah blah blah, and what the fuck difference did it make? It was killing him anyway. And he could still feel that kernel of heat. He could take the pain; it was relentless, but not excruciating. What he couldn't take was the enraging loss of control, the helplessness. Well, fuck that. He wasn't going to die curled in a ball, whimpering with pain and pissing himself because he couldn't control his bladder any longer. He would go out his way, and by God, no one would ever forget Frank Larkin.

But now wasn't the time, not quite. Before that time came, he had a lot of things to arrange.

"Find out about this Ryan and Faith Naterra," he said to Dean Mills, his head of security. "I've never heard of them, and I don't like it."

Dean was a stocky man in his early forties with close-cropped white-blond hair and sharp blue eyes. The stockiness disguised a powerful musculature that most people underestimated, but what Larkin prized him for had nothing to do with physical strength and everything to do with an extremely useful blend of intelligence and lack of ethics. Dean was ruthless in getting the job done, whatever the job happened to be. He looked briefly at the information the Naterras had provided when they booked the cruise, said "Will do," and went off to dig up every scrap of information about them he could find.

Larkin went back to the passenger list. Most of the names were familiar to him, even if he didn't know the people personally. Those who could afford this cruise belonged to a small, relatively close-knit group of the super-rich who had money to burn on something like this charity cruise, so being acquainted with most of them wasn't difficult, if you moved in the same circles. Larkin didn't, but he moved in a circle of movers and shakers that overlapped with them on social occasions.

He'd made a damn good living off these people, so it made good business sense to be familiar with as many of them as possible. Right now, he was raking in more money than he could count on his "green initiative" companies and programs. The rich idiots felt guilty about having so much money and were eager to do something to save the planet. Fine with him. He was more than happy to take their money and plant a stupid tree somewhere, just like a bunch of other hucksters who couldn't believe their good fortune. Most of the so-called green industries were nothing more than cons-the only green concerned was the folding kind-but if it made people feel better then he saw no reason why he shouldn't profit from it.

Still, the easy profits fed into his already intense contempt for the gullibility of the very people who bought his "products" and gave to his trumped-up causes. By and large, Americans were idiots, falling all over themselves in their asinine desire to "save the world," or whatever quixotic notion was in favor at any given moment. Some people admired their idealism, but they were idiots, too. The smart people saw how to make money off them, and seized the moment.

He'd made his share of money, manipulating government policy to set up conditions under which he could better run his cons, so that now he had more money than he could ever possibly use. Yet what good did it do him. No amount of money could provide him a cure, or even a reasonable treatment to give him more than another month or so-and he would still be deathly sick during that time anyway, which made the whole effort a waste of time.

Dean knocked briefly before reentering the spacious office, making Larkin aware that his thoughts had been drifting, wasting time that had become so precious, he almost refused to sleep until he was so exhausted he couldn't put it off any longer.

"Nothing suspicious," Dean reported. "They live in San Francisco, they've been married almost six years, no kids. He inherited money from his stepmother, who was one of the Waltons; she had no kids of her own, and she married Naterra's father when the boy was just three, so he was practically hers. He's dabbled in a few things, including Microsoft."

Nothing there that was suspicious. Larkin read over the printout Dean gave him, and even he couldn't find a single detail that gave him pause.

But would there be? Wasn't that the point of someone being in deep cover? He thought of the meeting that was set up in Hawaii, thought of how many governments were after the North Koreans, and said, "Change the staterooms. Shuffle everyone around."

"People chose-"

"I don't give a shit what they *chose.' It's my fucking ship, and I want people moved around. I don't want anyone next to me who asked to be there, understood? If anyone complains, tell them there was a regrettable computer error and it's too late to make changes." As no one would board for another forty-eight hours, that was complete bullshit, but they wouldn't find out about it until they were actually on board, so the excuse would hold. And if it didn't ... he didn't care. If dying had any benefit at all, it was that it was very freeing. He'd seldom followed any rule it didn't suit him to follow, but now he had absolute freedom, because nothing had any meaning.

He glanced back at the passenger list. While most of the passengers assigned to his deck were married couples-young and old, but mostly older because they tended to have the most money-there was one "couple" different from the rest: Sydney Hazlett and Jenner Redwine. Sydney was the daughter of J. Michael Hazlett, who had originally booked the cruise but then had to cancel for business reasons, and sent his daughter to represent the family instead. Redwine was some blue-collar dolly who'd won the lottery and hung around the fringes of Palm Beach society trying to fit in. But she and Sydney were best friends, and they were a known quantity. There wouldn't be even a hint of a threat from those two.

"Put Hazlett and Redwine in the Queen Anne Suite," he ordered. "And ... Albert and Ginger Winningham in the Neptune." Most ships had numbered suites, not the Silver Mist. The suites in the lower decks were numbered, but on his deck each suite had some pretentious name to make them seem more important. Those particular suites were the ones on each side of his.

Albert Winningham was eighty-four and hard of hearing. His wife, Ginger, was arthritic and wore glasses as thick as the bottom of a Coke bottle. If Larkin had been in the mood to be amused by anything, he'd have laughed. He'd be perfectly safe, wedged between two airheads and Mr. and Mrs. Deaf and Blind.

Dean made a note of the arrangements. He would make certain the changes were made. "Anything else, sir?"

"Has the ship been swept for bugs?"

"Twice."

Something in Dean's carefully blank expression alerted Larkin that he must have asked that question before. He rubbed his forehead. "We can't be too careful," he muttered. "Are you certain the entire crew has been vetted?"