Page 11 of Straight Shooter

“Why don’t you get some rest?” He nodded at the bed. “Give me a couple of hours to figure this out. And if I can, I’ll get you to the lifeboat and distract the captain so you can get away.” Even as he spoke the words his brain rejected them. She was injured, vulnerable. Setting her out to sea alone in a lifeboat miles from shore just might be the stupidest thing he could do.

But for now, if it kept her quiet and pacified, he’d go along with it.

She eyed the bed and wet her lips. The slick edges of her tongue prompted a million scenarios to play out in his head.

“What about you?”

He glanced at the double bed pressed against the wall. “I have some calls to make so I’ll be upstairs.”

She removed her hands from the chair and drifted past him. As she moved, she didn’t take her gaze off his form, as if she expected him to jump her.

“Can I trust that you won’t leave this room?”

She pulled up the comforter and dropped it over her knees. “There’s not really anywhere for me to go, is there?”

“Not safely.” He shoved a hand in his pocket and measured his words. He didn’t want her terrified, but he also didn’t need her sneaking around the boat looking for trouble. “If one of the guys finds you, there’s not much I can do to help you.”

Her lashes fluttered as she leaned back onto the pillow—his pillow.

“Okay.” She covered her mouth with a yawn and settled deeper into the mattress.

He sighed, shut the door, and locked it.

Why did it feel as though he’d just locked up a wildcat in a paper cage?

Peyton lifted her head from the pillow and glanced at the clock. She’d slept only an hour, but there was no way she’d fall back asleep. Had the cop returned while she’d been out cold? She mopped up a dribble of drool on her chin. God, she hoped not.

She sat up and rubbed the heel of her palm between her eyes. In most circumstances, she’d be as lucky as a flying pig if someone caught her stealing and let her go—but this wasn’t a normal circumstance. She couldn’t leave the boat without getting the location Max needed.

She threw back the covers and the scent of man and sandalwood drifted away from her nostrils, stealing the comfort that had relaxed her enough to sleep. He couldn’t be that dangerous—he’d rescued her, and his watchful stare had looked concerned as he’d cleaned up the cut above her eye.

Tiptoeing to the door, she cracked it open and peered down the dark hall. Empty. It was after midnight. She doubted everyone was sleeping, but at the very least the guards and Moretti would be drunk or high. She turned and scanned the cabin. No weapons caught her eye, and anything that could be used for self-defense was bolted to a surface. She rummaged through Rhett’s drawers, shook out his clothes, and checked the pockets of his pants hanging in the closet. Nothing. Dammit, he wasn’t stupid enough to leave a weapon available for her to find.

The wind rustled outside the window aggressively, but at least the boat was finally stable. She returned to the door and slipped into the hall. Pressing her bare toes against the smooth, freshly polished wood floors, she passed two other closed-off cabins. No noise sounded from inside the rooms and no glow illuminated the cracks between the doors and the floor.

Please, God, let all the guards be drunk somewhere on board and not on their way to their rooms.

Light from the main deck shone down the stairwell and pooled on the floor near the wet bar, and a standing lamp lit the corner of the seating area.

Where the hell is Rhett? Her gaze traveled to a short hallway behind the staircase. She skirted to it and pressed her back against the wall. One room sat tucked away, its door ajar. She moved closer and listened. Not a sound. She’d need a flashlight before entering the dark space. Making her way back to the wet bar, she stopped at a bifold closet door.

As the springs popped she winced and closed her eyes, breathing a curse. She waited a few beats, but no one came to investigate. Pushing the door open far enough that the light from the staircase hit the shelves inside, she raked her gaze over the contents.

First aid kit, rations, bottled water . . . and a flashlight. She picked up the thick, waterproof handle and returned to the hallway. She slipped inside the room, shut the door, then flicked on the flashlight.

A wide wooden desk ate up most of the space. A wingback leather chair and a wooden bookcase sat behind it. Moretti’s office. Thank god. If the white envelope holding Jenny’s location was in this room, she’d find it. Unless he’d taken it to his room—then she was screwed. She didn’t have time to search both.

She swung the globe of light over the shelves and rounded the desk. Sitting in the chair, she tugged on the top drawer. Locked. Shit! Without her lockpick set or the key, trying to open it would be useless. If she didn’t get back to Rhett’s room before he did, she’d be in big trouble, so searching for a bobby pin or something small enough to pick the lock wasn’t an option.

She ran her fingers over the items on the desk, lifted a pad of paper and a book . . . nothing. Turning around in the chair, she faced the bookcase. Judging by the office’s location in relation to the bathroom she’d hidden in earlier, he couldn’t have been inside the office long when he’d hidden the envelope. Thirty seconds, tops.

He might have been careless so he could return to the party. She stood and checked under the books, picture frames, and knickknacks that weren’t secured and let out a growl of frustration. She gripped the back of the chair with her nails and swallowed down the rush of tears that stung her eyes. Even after the hell she’d been through the last few hours, she’d still let Max down. Her gaze dropped to the blasted desk drawer, and she felt an urge to smash the lock with the steel paperweight on the desk.

Footsteps sounded on the staircase, and she dropped to the floor behind the desk and switched off the flashlight. She sucked in a breath and pressed her shaking hands to the floor. Panic rushed through her limbs. If they caught her again, she might not survive. Cupboards opened and closed at the wet bar and then footsteps retreated to the main deck.

Relief released the tension around her lungs, and she turned the flashlight back on and looked up at the bookshelf. A small box on the bottom shelf caught her eye. She’d already looked behind it, but from this angle, she could see a small lip indicating that the box opened. Getting to her feet, she opened the lid.

A lone gold key sat inside.