DARK MOON (Decorah Security) Read online

  He pushed at several locations, frustrated when the door wouldn’t open.

  Behind them in the dark, a shot rang out.

  “Jesus!” Cole whispered. He’d thought that using the riot or whatever you called it was a good excuse to do some exploring, but if they didn’t get out of here soon, they might not get out alive.

  He felt Emma stumble sideways and knew she’d found the secret to opening the door from this side. They tumbled through into a dimly lit corridor, and Cole quickly closed the door behind them.

  “What happened?” Emma asked.

  “Don’t know. But I’m hoping we’re in a private part of the ship. And if anybody asks what we’re doing here, we’re escaping from the captain’s ill-fated party.”

  “Right.”

  Running feet made them both stop short. Emma pulled Cole into a side passage just before armed guards came pounding down the hall.

  As soon as they were alone again, they kept going. Cole was in the lead, and he gasped as water he hadn’t seen hit him in the face.

  “What the hell?”

  Emma dodged to the side, avoiding the deluge. As he raised his head and blinked into the subdued light, he realized they had come out into a room with an artificial waterfall and a pool. The entrance to the tunnel was behind the cascading water, but he’d charged right through.

  Cursing, he backed up, following Emma along a dry walkway.

  He was soaking wet now, and mad as hell at himself for blundering into this space without looking where he was going. What if the tunnel had led to an animal cage?

  All right, unlikely.

  He and Emma moved to the side of the room, which was illuminated by emergency lighting. Screened by tropical greenery, they looked around.

  Away from the cascading water, he could hear parrots cawing and people talking. Did he see the glint of metal bars on the other side of the open space? It was hard to tell. But he was sure he caught Karen Hopewell’s scent.

  Was she here?

  They stopped to listen to the conversation at the bar.

  “The lights went out for a minute. What happened?”

  “Some kind of malfunction, I guess.”

  “We paid enough for this trip. They better get everything working again.”

  “Go over and intimidate the girl in the cage, if you want to have some fun. Just remember—no touching.”

  Cole strained to see who was talking and made out casually dressed men and women gathered around an open-sided thatched hut with a bar and stools on four sides. The men were wearing tropical shirts and shorts or slacks. The woman were in shorts and halter tops or shirts.

  “Where’s Del Conte?” somebody called out.

  “Or Big Ben.”

  “Is this a hinky fantasy scenario?” someone asked.

  Running footsteps came tramping through the underbrush, moving fast.

  A woman screamed as a man dressed like a black-clad ninja launched himself at one of the guests, knocking him off the stool.

  Chaos erupted, with people shouting and running in all directions.

  “Stay here,” Cole ordered Emma as he charged forward. He didn’t know what was happening except that one of the guests had been attacked.

  He leaped toward the men on the ground just as the one in black raised a hand with a knife.

  Cole grabbed the arm, pulling it back, bringing a scream to the attacker’s lips.

  As he and the man grappled, he heard a scuffle in back of him. Another attacker materialized, and Emma leaped on him.

  Christ, no.

  Fear fueled his strength. Intent on immobilizing the ninja he was fighting, he yanked the man’s arm back, hearing bone crack.

  “Watch him,” he shouted to the people who had been lounging around the bar as he scrambled up and turned toward the attacker Emma had taken on. But she already had him down. With a hand in his hair, she slammed his face against the floor, then lifted his head and did it again.

  More men charged into the room, and Cole prepared for another attack.

  “The next person who moves is dead,” a hard voice said.

  Cole went still, as did everyone else around him.

  “What the hell is going on?” the voice asked.

  “Ben, thank God,” a woman said.

  The newcomer nodded to her before turning to Cole. “You, Mason, what the hell are you doing here?”

  It took a minute for Cole to realize the guy was talking to him, since he’d only acquired the name Mason a few hours earlier, strange as that seemed after so much had happened. He raised his head and saw the speaker was the man who had taken charge after the incident at the entry port.

  Before he could answer, Emma had started talking, her voice sounding high and shaky, and he knew she wasn’t faking her panic. “What are we doing here? I’d like to know! We were having dinner with Mr. Del Conte. Then the damn lights went off in the dining room and somebody started shooting. Cole and I were desperate to get out of there. We were fumbling along the wall, and a door opened, and we ran down a tunnel. It ended here. Then Cole walked into the waterfall and we were trying to figure out where we were—when these guys rushed in and started attacking everyone.”

  She stopped, dragged in a breath and huffed it out, giving a good imitation of a ditz brain who’d run out of steam.

  “That’s right,” one of the men said. “We were attacked, and this man and woman were trying to help.”

  “We’re Cole Mason and Emma Ray,” he said.

  “Get up,” Ben ordered.

  As Cole scrambled to his feet, guards rushed in and grabbed the men dressed in black and also Cole and Emma.

  “Not them. They saved us when the other ones attacked,” a woman protested.

  “We’ll sort it out,” Ben said.

  The guards kept hold of Cole and Emma, marching them across the room.

  They passed the area where he’d spotted the glint of metal and saw bars. A cage. For one of the animals that was supposed to have escaped?

  He looked more closely and saw a redheaded woman, standing with her shoulders against the far wall.

  His heart clunked inside his chest when he smelled her scent very strongly. It was definitely Karen Hopewell.

  As they approached, he tried to determine her condition. Her hair was coifed. Her face was made up, and she was wearing a white, see-through kimono and nothing else besides a butterfly clip in her hair. In the corner of the cell he spotted a bucket for her to use as a toilet.

  For a second, their eyes met. She couldn’t know who he was, but she seemed to be silently pleading with him to rescue her.

  There was nothing he could say to her. She was alive, but she was on display in a way that obviously terrified her—and sickened him. He evaluated his chances of breaking free from four armed guards and knew he’d only get himself killed—and maybe Emma, too. They’d have to get back here later.

  Still, the look on Karen’s face made him want to leap to the bars and yank the door open. Only logic kept him from doing it.

  He turned his head toward Emma and knew she had seen Karen as well. Like Cole, all she could do was walk past. Moments later, they exited the big party room and were herded down another hallway.

  The guy named Ben stopped in front of a door and knocked.

  “Come in,” a voice called. It was Del Conte.

  Two guards stayed on either side of Cole and Emma. Two more stood behind them with guns. Not good odds for an escape attempt, but if the conversation between Ben and Del Conte went the wrong way, they might have to risk it.

  Cole’s hearing was excellent, and he could pick up the exchange on the other side of the door.

  “I have Cole Mason and Emma Ray.”

  “They disappeared from the dining room during the attack.”

  “They claim they were trying to escape the fracas and found your private door. They ended up in the Tropical Lounge.”

  “And then?”

  “There was a knife attack.”


  “A knife attack! From whom?”

  “Cast members.”

  “They shouldn’t have been able to get in there. Or into the private dining room for that matter.”

  “Someone must have given them the code to the Tropical Lounge door. And they disabled the guard outside the dining room.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “We’re investigating.”

  “What about Mason and Ray? What was their role in this?”

  “The guests said they came to their rescue.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “It sounds plausible, but both of them were on the offensive when I came in. They looked like trained fighters.”

  “I want you to focus on their background check. And on how security was breached.”

  “Meanwhile, what do we do with Mason and Ray?”

  There was a pause. “Treat them like ordinary guests.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Send them in here. I want to hear their story.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The door opened again and Ben came out. “Mr. Del Conte would like to speak to you.”

  “Of course.”

  As Cole and Emma stepped through the door, Del Conte kept his gaze on them as he gestured toward the guest chairs across from his desk.

  They sat.

  Emma shot Cole a quick glance before clasping her hands in her lap. Probably she wanted to speak up the way she had previously, but hopefully she understood that this was between the men.

  He looked around the plush office, taking in the artwork and the expensive furnishings.

  “Is that a real Picasso?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Del Conte snapped as he inspected Cole’s wet hair and clothing. “What happened to you?”

  He grimaced. “I didn’t know you had an indoor waterfall.”

  “You would have, if you’d taken the normal route to the Tropical Lounge.”

  “I didn’t know you had a Tropical Lounge. It’s not on the map.”

  “It’s a restricted area for special guests.”

  “What’s the normal route there?”

  “An invitation from me.”

  “Well, when the shooting started in the dining room, we thought it might be prudent to leave.”

  “A reasonable decision. But how did you find my private doorway? That’s not on the map, either.”

  “We saw you come in,” Cole answered, “so we knew where it would be.”

  Del Conte nodded. “I should thank you for coming to the aid of my guests.”

  “No problem,” Cole answered. “But perhaps you could tell us about the attacks. There was a disturbance when we arrived. Then in the dining room—and the Tropical Lounge.”

  “There’s some unrest among my crew members.”

  “And they’re trying to kill your paying guests?” Cole snapped.

  “It seems some of the people my senior staff hired were not properly vetted. I’ll have the situation back under control shortly.”

  “I hope so. I thought this was a safe place to bring my sweetie for some fun and games.”

  “It is!” Del Conte snapped. “In fact, I’d like to make amends by inviting you to the party I’m giving tomorrow morning for special invited guests only.”

  Cole felt his chest tighten. He wanted to refuse, but he knew this must be some kind of test. Del Conte had invited them to dinner. Now he wanted to observe them in a party situation. Presumably with people he trusted. He looked at Emma. “How about it, honey?”

  “Sure,” she said in a weak voice, and he knew her reaction was the same as his. But she understood the stakes.

  “What kind of party?” he asked.

  “We’re using a Mayan theme.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “It’s very appealing. You may find it as interesting as your love of Ancient Roman and Greek culture. It’s at eleven on Deck Three. You should arrive an hour early—to give you time to get into costume.”

  “Costume?”

  “Of course. That always enhances the reality of the fantasy experience.”

  He stared at them for several seconds then turned back to the papers on his desk.

  oOo

  Stinger Henderson pushed his chair away from the computer, stood and brushed back his long hair. He’d been hunched over the keyboard for hours, and he stretched cramped muscles before striding down the hall to Frank Decorah’s office and knocking.

  “Come in,” his boss called.

  Decorah, who had come straight back after dropping off Cole and Emma in Florida, looked up, his eyes bloodshot and wary. He’d given orders not to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary. And he’d put other assignments aside to personally focus on the Karen Hopewell kidnapping. He’d given orders not to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary.

  Seeing the worried look on his computer guy’s face, he snapped, “What’s the bad news now?”

  “I’ve been monitoring the online information pertaining to Cole Mason’s legend.”

  “It’s not holding up?”

  “It’s holding so far. But someone is doing a lot of checking into the details. Not just his. Also Emma’s.”

  “Someone from Del Conte’s security, I take it.”

  “That’s a good assumption.”

  “Make sure they get the right impression.”

  “I’m trying. But there may be ways to get around the story we’ve built up.”

  “Perfect,” Decorah muttered. “Are you telling me Cole and Emma are in more danger than we anticipated?”

  “Yes.”

  “We can’t pull them out. I mean even if we wanted to, there’s no way to reach them.” He gave Stinger a direct look. “Do what you can to protect their cover.”

  “I am. I just want you to be prepared in case we have to come up with some other way to spring the Hopewell woman.”

  “We’ve got a ship standing by, but it’s not equipped to attack the Windward. And if it did, that might trigger undesirable actions on Del Conte’s part.”

  “Like killing the hostage—and Cole and Emma, too.”

  “Exactly.”

  oOo

  Cole exited Del Conte’s office.

  Glancing back, he saw Emma following him, her gait stiff. His emotions were churning. He wanted to take her back to their room, lock the door and pull her into his arms so that he could comfort her—and himself.

  He made a dismissive sound. Not exactly the right strategy for two operatives on a mission.

  Which meant he had to jerk himself out of defensive mode. About fifty feet down the hall he slowed his pace and allowed her to catch up with him.

  “That was annoying.” he said aloud. “I don’t like being attacked when I’m on vacation—then dressed down by the cruise director.”

  “Try to relax,” Emma answered, unwittingly helping to set up the scenario he’d decided on. He leaned toward her, speaking in a barely audible voice. “I think this might be a good time for us to have a fight.”

  “What?”

  “Be on the outs.”

  He raised his voice again. “I spent a lot of cash on this vacation, but I’m not having much fun. And you’re part of the problem.”

  “You’re blaming what just happened on me?”

  “You weren’t exactly being friendly to Del Conte.”

  “You just said you didn’t like the way he was treating us.”

  “But he did invite us to something interesting tomorrow.”

  “You know I don’t want to do it,” Emma retorted, speaking for the character she was playing and for herself as well.

  “Well, you damn well better.”

  She gave him a stormy look as they stepped into the elevator, probably wondering what he had in mind, exactly.

  When they reached Deck Seven, he stepped out and marched down the hall, keeping several paces ahead of her, thinking about what he was going to do next.

  Once they were in their room, he turned to fa
ce her with an annoyed expression on his face. “I’m getting tired of your acting like a wet blanket.”

  “And I’m getting tired of your crazy suggestions. Like having your mark tattooed on me. Or playing that I’m a witch. You think that would be fun for me?”

  “The witch stuff was Del Conte’s idea, but I can see it. If you get into the spirit of the experience.”

  “Oh please. After you had me shaved, what would you do, whip me?”

  “Yes. You’re being a pain in the ass.”

  “I’m being . . . sensible.”

  “Well, if you don’t like what the ship has to offer, you can sulk in the room. I’m going out to have some fun.”

  “What?” she wheezed, and he could see she was genuinely startled.

  “You can stay here and play with yourself, if that’s all you can think of to do.”

  She swallowed hard. “Cole, please.”

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t wait up for me.”

  She stared at him. “You’re still wet from that waterfall.”

  He stopped short and looked down at his clothing. “Damn.”

  Muttering under his breath, he whirled toward the closet and took out a clean shirt and pants. She watched him throw his ruined clothes on the floor, then change into a new set. He strode toward the door, then stopped and turned.

  “Lock the door behind me.”

  “What?”

  “Lock the door, and stay in here.”

  “And if I want to enjoy this place on my own?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  oOo

  Bruno Del Conte stood up and walked to the liquor cabinet at the far end of his office and poured himself a single malt Scotch. After downing it in one gulp, he poured another shot and sat back down at his desk, this time sipping from the glass.

  Things were getting out of control in a way that astonished him. The fat guy from the dinner party had been shot in the arm and was recovering in the infirmary. Thank God nobody else had been injured. The perpetrators were being interrogated now, but so far they hadn’t implicated anyone else.

  But how had they gotten into the private rooms?

  He fought a sick feeling that he hadn’t experienced in years. Long ago when he’d watched his father with Dieter, he’d known that he should be the one enjoying that warm, close relationship. Fate—and a drunken accident—had changed everything, and Bruno had vowed never to be in a position of weakness again.