Cashed In Part 20

"Girlie, you should be more trusting of human nature. People are good."

Unless they are desperate. Unless they are offered an opportunity to be bad and get away with it. Unless they decide to advertise their cause by surfing disembodied heads onto the steps of resorts. How had I been raised a cynic by such Pollyanna parents?

The tour guide had arrived by the time Dad and I returned to our cozy group. He gave us a rundown on safety precautions, pretty much a candy-coated version of the cruise handout, and then we were on our way to our little bus. I couldn't help looking down at the water off the side of the dock to see if I could locate any floating heads.

We paused at some street vendors who displayed handmade silver jewelry in their hands. A mariachi band was weaving its way through the crowded dock. When the other cruise pa.s.sengers on our tour stopped to shop, I pulled my cell phone out and dialed Frank.

I got a signal for a second, then lost it. I moved a couple of feet to the right and tried again. This time it went through. I was so prepared for the voice mail that when Frank answered, I almost dropped the phone. And when I didn't do that, I walked three steps to the left and lost him anyway.

d.a.m.n.

I returned to my good spot and dialed again. Frank answered on the first ring. "Honey Bee."

"Frank!" I said, pressing the phone to my ear. There was a lot of background noise, from my end certainly, and I couldn't tell how much from his end. I was so relieved to hear his voice that I spoke what I felt when I heard it. "I miss you."

"I miss you too. I'm so sorry I've wrecked our vacation."

"It's okay." Even though it wasn't. I didn't know what to tell him. I didn't want him to worry, but I needed advice. "I just wish you were here."

"I wish I were touching you right now, Honey Bee," his deep, rea.s.suring baritone rode smoothly through the phone, spilling right into every erogenous zone I owned.

"I think I'm desperate," I purred back.

"Desperate for what?"

"Generally desperate-desperate for your counsel, desperate for your voice, desperate for . . . lots of things you could do for me."

"Hmm . . ."

"Don't do that." I moved too far left again as I squirmed. I moved back. "Are you there?"

"I'm here, unfortunately, and want to be there," he said. "So, because I'm not, you need to tell me what's going on."

"You didn't get my e-mail?"

"No."

"Oh, d.a.m.n, I don't know where to begin then," I said, sticking my finger farther into my ear to drown out the mariachis. It sounded like they were in stereo.

"Start anywhere," Frank urged. "I'll catch up. How's the tournament?"

"I'm still in it."

"Of course, you had the best teacher in the world."

"Complimenting both you and me in one sentence. Talented. I haven't been catching the best of cards, though, which disproves Richard's theory of gambling and love."

"Who's Richard? Should I be jealous? And what's his theory?"

"A nerdy but nice mathematician on board. No. And his theory is if you are unlucky in love, you will win at cards."

"So you think you aren't lucky in love and therefore should be winning? I'm offended."

"Well, I'm the one who got stood up."

Frank was quiet.

"Frank?"

"I'm with you in more ways than you can imagine," he finally said, quietly.

Humph. He didn't know I was imagining warmed Dove soap scent around every corner of the s.h.i.+p. Good thing too or he'd get a big head.

"Sure I shouldn't be jealous?" he prodded. "There's no one on board you've met who you want to tell me about, is there?"

Did he have a sixth sense about Ian?

"I met Ingrid," I said in a challenging nonanswer.

"Bee!"

His tone was suddenly urgent in warning. It caught my attention so sharply, I looked around. I saw an object sailing through the air at the other end of the dock and ducked behind one of the street vendors just as it exploded. The force knocked the rickety vendor stand onto me, the vendor and a dozen other people who'd piled behind it with us. We held ourselves still, waiting in the sudden silence. As the smoke and dust began to clear, we began to move along with other huddled groups. Unconsciously I'd used my body to s.h.i.+eld a small boy, whose mother, carrying an infant, grabbed his hand, thanking me profusely. She dragged him off, running. Others ran, others stood stunned. Sirens whined in the distance and a half dozen people closest to the blast lay alive but bleeding.

I looked frantically for my parents and finally saw them safe in the bus two hundred yards away. My phone had been knocked out of my hand in the scramble for cover, and I'd be lucky to find it again. Then I heard the ring under a pile of woven blankets. I dug toward the sound and picked it up. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It wasn't a big bomb. How did you know something bad was going to happen?"

"I'm in security. We have an instinct about these things."

The sirens were getting closer. "The cops are almost here. I guess I should go help the injured."

"Bee, listen to me, go ahead on your tour. You don't want to talk to police in Mexico. You don't want to go to jail in Mexico."

"Why would I go to jail?"

"Because that is where most people end up when the Mexican police are involved. Unless you have a lot of money on you."

I doubted the twenty dollars I had on me would do. "But I actually wanted to tell them about all these disappearances we have on board the s.h.i.+p-"

"Bee, a bomb just went off and you think they want to hear your story about missing Americans? Get out of there and watch your b-"

Static roared in my ear. d.a.m.n.

My mom had spotted me and waved out the bus window. A pair of our gangsta guards came walking my way, also waving at me to hurry. One of them had a gun. Where did that come from? The sirens were getting louder. I ran, still trying to dial Frank. The phone reported no service.

As I stepped up into the bus, the driver gunned the accelerator. The boys jumped in behind me and shoved me up the stairs. I crawled into the first seat and saw the police cars wheeling around the corner. And down an alley I saw the sun glint off blond hair. It was only after we'd sped past, that what I'd seen registered. I'd swear it was Ian Reno, a tall blond young man wearing shorts with toucans on them and a small dark-haired woman in khakis in an intense conversation with two men.

Twenty-three.

Undaunted by the explosion (in fact, thrilled by it since it would make her the talk of bridge club for generations), Elva was bound and determined to see the Chichen Itza ruins. We really didn't have a choice, as the police were in the process of blocking off the entire pier, the Gambler was pulling away from the dock and the tour director admitted we wouldn't be able to get to the s.h.i.+p until later that afternoon, once they sent the dinghies for us. So it was spend the day with the Mexican cops or go climb around on ruins where people now long dead had lived.

What a vacation.

The day actually went smoothly after the big bang with which it began. I never could get a cell signal again, so was left replaying the conversation with Frank over and over in my mind. I hadn't told him I was in Cozumel-how did he know I was in Mexico? Of course, he had the cruise itinerary so he could have guessed, but how did he know I was taking a tour? But the biggest question of all was how did he know I'd been in danger? Maybe he heard the zing of the bomb over his fancy high-tech security-expert phone. Maybe he didn't know but was getting ready to yell at me about something and hollered my name that I interpreted as a warning. Maybe we were so psychically interconnected he could feel what I felt no matter where we were.

Okay, I didn't believe that one, but it sounded cool.

Every time I gave up trying to solve that puzzle I returned to Ian in the alley. Had it really been him? Who'd been the American woman with him? And why were they in a dark alley in Cozumel?

The bomb at the pier had probably increased our safety the rest of the day because police had gone to all the tourist venues, gathered up the protestors and hauled them off to jail. So much for free speech. The paddy wagon was just speeding off as we arrived. The ruins were empty, so it was a quiet day except for the time when Mom talked one of our bodyguards into showing her how to rappel.

I'd had to put a stop to that before Elva killed herself.

By the time we headed back to the s.h.i.+p, my mind was in so many pretzels I wasn't sure if I'd ever think straight again.

Jack was waiting for me when we got on deck after bribing our way through the police barricade. Good thing Dad brought his wallet after all. Because while they seemed t.i.tillated by where my remaining ten dollars had been located, I don't think it would have kept them from detaining us. Dad's couple hundred did.

"Guess I have to win the tournament to pay you back, huh, Dad?" I asked, giving him a squeeze.

"Aw, you're worth it-most of the time-when you aren't ruining my fantasies."

"What are you talking about, Dad?"

"I always wanted to go out with a rock climber." He reached over and pinched Mom on the rear then chased her up the stairs. Oh dear.

Jack watched them go, looking a little soft around the edges himself. "C-cute c-couple," he murmured. "For a pair of geriatrics."

"Who are you?" I asked. "I thought you were Jack Smack, tough investigative journalist?"

"So? I c-can appreciate a healthy human relations.h.i.+p, can't I?" Jack demanded defensively.

I peered at him. He looked a little high. I wished I could blame it on something other than the obvious. "What have you been up to today, Jack? Did you get your project done?"

"Of course, that only took us a c-couple of hours, then we had t-time to k-kill before you got b-back, so Ingrid and I h-hung out." Jack blushed and avoided eye contact.

His exaggerated stutter was a dead giveaway but since I didn't want to know what they hung out or where they hung it, I changed the subject. "What did you find out?"

"First, no one c-came in or out of the c-cabin number the Marlboro Man gave you to call. No one answered, either. Some big dude named Hans from security ran us off for loitering after about an hour d-down there. I did cajole a member of the staff into telling me the c-cabin was paid for by a FBG Enterprises with a sole occupant named John Smith."

I snorted. "His name isn't John Smith."

"I was skeptical too, but maybe it is. S-someone out there has to be named John Smith. Call him John next time he s-saves your life and see if he responds."

"Thanks for the advice. What's FBG Enterprises?"

"I don't know. The Internet is d-down."

"What do you mean, the Internet is down?"

"There is some kind of mechanical d-difficulty. The captain announced after you'd left that they were working on it but we might not have a c-connection for the rest of the cruise."

I frowned. "That's by design, I'm sure, so we can't contact anyone. We really are isolated from the outside world, aren't we?" I staved off a shudder and tried not to miss Frank again.

"What happened on board when the bomb went off?" I asked as we began climbing the steps to the third deck.

"The c-captain told us to remain calm, that Mexican authorities had everything under control, that they were s-sealing off the pier. No one else was allowed to leave the s.h.i.+p and we would be waiting for those who had gone on excursions to return before we shoved off. The rest of the d-day was pretty routine. I think everyone on board felt smart that they had been weenies and stayed home for the day."

"Did you see Ian?"

Jack nodded. "Sure did. He got back on board right before you did. I guess he went on an excursion t-too?"

I raised my eyebrows. I guess it was possible. Maybe he and the woman were meeting the tour guide when I saw him. "Anyone else reboard the s.h.i.+p that you recognized?"

"No," Jack shook his head then stopped. "Oh, yes. One person, but I don't remember her name. I j-just recognized her from the opening night of the tournament when all the poker stars were introduced. She was the c-cute young Hispanic woman."

Rhonda the Ruler.

We found Ingrid with Ringo, their heads together over a piece of paper in the Internet lobby where all the computers were powered down.

"The column design is all planned out," Ringo announced excitedly, waving the paper with drawings on it.

"And we have the first couple of topics all lined up," Ingrid put in. "This is going to be the hottest Hold 'Em blog on the web."

"I don't doubt it," I said, trying to sound encouraging. I could advertise any product but had absolutely no interest in advertising myself. It was beyond me why someone would want to read about me muddling my way through a game millions had played for a lot longer and better than I had. It made me slightly uncomfortable. "Hey, maybe we can go with a Hold 'Em for dingbats type theme?"

Everyone stopped talking and turned to me. Oops. Ingrid c.o.c.ked her hip and planted a fist on it. "Bee, your image is one of a cool, sophisticated-with-an-edge, ultrasmart, supers.e.xy woman who wins at the biggest poker game in the world. Please refrain from this kind of talk."

"Sorry," I muttered.

The trio shook their heads at the dunce and finished their conversation. Ingrid had talked Jack into doing a "Hold 'Em Hearsay" column with tidbits from his poker reporting travels. "Champions' Tips with the Chips" would be written by invited guests, recent winners of tournaments around the world. That was the best idea yet, at least I wouldn't have to write them.

I wandered away for a moment to the interior railing that looked down on the lobby below. I saw Delia walking along the shops to the right side of the lobby. She slipped into the liquor store. I looked back at my team and decided they could do without me for a few minutes while I slipped away to chat with Rick.

At the first house phone I could find, I dialed his room and held my breath until he answered. "Rick, it's Bee. Can you meet me on the Sky Deck in a few minutes?"

"It's supposed to be dangerous for me to leave the cabin alone."

"Says who?" I demanded.

"Says my wife."