Had Celia been trying to get hurt? Had Jeff let her hand slip a little bit too easily? Was she trying to get just hurt enough...
To spend time at the ship’s hospital? To get closer to George Garcia and therefore...
Closer to Edward Thompson?
Close enough to give him a little jab, a little mosquito bite... with a good shot of a paralyzing drug?
Eight
Chloe was, beyond any shadow of a doubt, one of the most professional partners with whom he’d ever worked, Wes thought.
Because, once they returned to the ship, she was truly in and out of the shower in ten minutes, hair washed and all. Not that showering fast was really on any agency graph regarding professionalism; it was more a representation of her entire being, swiftly ready to move and act in any direction.
He emerged quickly himself, though that day he could have stood under the hot water for a long, long time. The questions in his mind raced, seeking logic in it all was like trekking through a mire...
But he wasn’t going to be outdone and so he emerged casually but nearly attired for whatever they determined the evening would hold for them.
Chloe was on the sofa, sipping coffee, staring into space.
“Same questions, right?” he said.
She shrugged. “What else? But... I think about those rocks. Celia could have been pretty seriously hurt. Wouldanyone really do that to themselves? Of course, you saved her, so we don’t have to wonder—”
“Chloe! What was I supposed to do? I had no choice there!” he said, frowning.
She shook her head, smiling. “Of course you had to save her! No, no, no, I know that you had no choice, but I’m still wondering if...”
“If she meant to get hurt. Then again, hm. If she’d been really hurt, they might have wanted to send her to a Jamaican hospital or even air-lifted her somewhere. As good as the hospital on the ship is, it’s not everything that a hospital can be.”
“A dilemma!” Chloe said.
Wes nodded, walking over to the coffee pod machine in the room and brewing a cup for himself.
Chloe already had one, so he didn’t need to worry about choosing between the gentleman his mother had tried to raise or the hardcore partner Chloe expected him to be. Then again, maybe the two things didn’t need to be mutually exclusive!
“So, tonight, what do we do?” Chloe asked. “Did anyone we’re hunting say anything about where they’re going for dinner?”
“I’m in contact with George Garcia on this burner,” Wes told her, indicating his phone. “Though that shouldn’t surprise anyone if they somehow steal this phone and realize who I’ve been talking to. After all, we’re so concerned about Edward, the man we dove in to save! Our dear Celia has already been to see him. He made sure he kept his own body between her and Edward and prescribed an antibacterial cream for her little scratch. She wasn’t really hurt at all—barely a scratch on the outer flesh. Anyway, Edward had talked about his excitement over being able to moveabout. George will be escorting him to the ship’s restaurant called The Beautiful Sea tonight. I don’t know, so far,” he said dryly, arching a brow to her, “I was feeling a craving for crab or lobster or maybe even their specialty, New England–style scrod. Best buttered breadcrumbs in the seven seas, so I’ve heard,” he told her.
“Seafood it is!” Chloe said. “We’ve got about thirty minutes before first seatings. Oh! Did we need a reservation for that?”
“We have one.”
“Hey! You didn’t ask me—”
“George added us in on his reservations,” Wes told her, grinning.
“Oh!” Chloe winced and gave him a smile. “Sorry. I mean, I was teasing, and it would have been fine. We seem to be on the same wavelength most of the time.”
“We do. Good partnership,” he said.
She laughed. “And great marriage! We fight less than anyone I know,” she told him, still in her light and teasing frame of mind. But then she was suddenly deadly serious. “I am so frustrated! How do we really determine the truth about any of these people?”
“We just keep getting to know them,” he told her quietly. “And, of course...”
“Of course, what?”
“I hope that we’re right about Edward.”
