Cashed In Part 18

Ian continued, "Eighty percent of human emotion is translated through the eyes. But that's why liars often make great poker players." He smiled wryly.

Ringo put in, "Some players think headphones work better than sungla.s.ses, but you have to ask, what's the purpose, to filter outside stimuli or block your own tells?"

"You're right, headphones would work for personal focus. Sungla.s.ses are worn to hide tells and perhaps see more tells as you can stare at someone without them knowing. Sungla.s.ses do block some tells-the cla.s.sic worry that your pupils will dilate with a good pocket. But I have a theory that often when they are worn as a 's.h.i.+eld' they make the wearer complacent, which leaves them open to other tells if he's not careful."

"Like what?"

"A perfect example is tonight at our table," I broke in. "Everyone but a grandma wore sungla.s.ses and she might as well have since she looked at everyone like they were Johnny being bad. Anyhow, we had a guy who sweat only on his upper lip when he bluffed, a man with a twitch in his cheek that escalated when he realized he'd overbet and a woman whose leg bounced so hard from fish nerves I wondered if she'd be able to walk away from the table. Sungla.s.ses didn't help them."

"They might have helped someone else at the table, though," Ian offered.

I shook my head. "No. I knew you were staring at me and not those chips. I felt it the whole time."

Ian looked impressed instead of caught. "The ability to intuit-that may be the new advantage in the modern sungla.s.s-wearing poker culture. Belinda's ability to feel to believe instead of see to believe makes her hard to beat. I'd like to be able to prove that theory."

I shook my head. "Women are better at it than men, they should win every time they catch cards."

Ian shook his head. "Women need to get over being intimidated. They might use their s.e.x to manipulate a man at the table, but not all use their intuition to outfox them at their game."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man in Wranglers carrying a cup of coffee stride through the crowd sipping their after-dinner c.o.c.ktails. Ack! I spun around. The Marlboro Man was headed out the far door on the other side of the room.

"Gotta go," I threw over my shoulder as I shoved my creme de menthe into Ian's hand and took off through the crowded room.

"Belinda!" Ian demanded.

"Bee?" Ringo called.

I made it out the door, too many seconds after my quarry, but I saw him head down the hallway then into the casino. My silly Manolos were not helping me gain ground. I paused just inside the casino doorway, leaning against the wall as I slipped them off my feet, opened my clutch, drew its strap out and slipped it over my shoulder. This was inconvenient during an important chase. If I was going to keep getting caught up in this Nancy Drew business, I was going to have to rethink my shoes. I stared at the s.h.i.+ny stilettos in my hand as I ran on bare feet. They were so pretty. I don't think I could do ugly sensible shoes even for a good cause. I didn't mind going barefoot every now and then.

The casino was as raucous as the Hold 'Em room was focused. I pa.s.sed a man who hit three oranges on a slot and grabbed me for a dosey-do. Marlboro Man was pa.s.sing the c.r.a.ps tables and almost to the exit. I broke loose and ran. Why hadn't I asked his name? At least I could try to scream over the din. As I pa.s.sed a roulette table, a woman saw the ball hit her number, and she screamed. I covered my ears and ran faster.

A security dweeb grabbed my arm just as I was about to make it out the doorway. "Excuse me, ma'am. Slow down."

"Yes, sir." I tried to shake my arm loose. He held fast. I could just barely see Marlboro Man disappearing out the gla.s.s doors to the outside deck. "Please let me go."

"Can I ask you why you are in such a big hurry?" He was scrutinizing me, for possible drunkenness, theft, who knew what. I tried not to imagine that Kinkaid had me on some sort of cruise s.h.i.+p OnStar and had radioed for me to be stopped. "Can I help you?" he asked, meaning, "Can I help you get out of the view of all these content pa.s.sengers, you freak?"

I remembered what Frank had told me about all fake cops being allergic to domestic arguments. "Yes, you can! My husband is such a jerk. I just can't believe he would do this to me. It's so unfair. Let me tell you what he did-"

He'd directed me out the casino and into the quiet hallway the moment I said "husband." "That's okay, ma'am. You go find your husband and work it out."

"Humph. Big help you are!" I fussed.

He disappeared quickly back into the casino. I ran out the double gla.s.s doors and was a.s.saulted by the strong sea wind and nearly ran into Sam Hyun, who was apparently trying to come back into the s.h.i.+p. Muttering an apology, I noticed the s.h.i.+p was moving a lot faster than it had during the day and wondered if that was by design-cruise along slowly during the day so everyone has a nice leisurely voyage and haul a.s.s at night to get where we needed to go. Sounded like the way I worked on ad campaigns. As Sam pushed his way through the doors behind me, I looked right and left and could only discern in the half light from the s.h.i.+p's interior two figures to the left and a single figure to the right. I went right and found the figure to be a woman, crying and looking off at the moon. She ignored me, which was convenient because I could turn and run back the way I'd come without being polite. I ran to the end of the promenade and encountered no one. I'd missed him again! I was about to turn around when a thump on my head hurt for a second before everything went dark.

Twenty-one.

"Who are you?" I breathed as I looked up into the face of the Marlboro Man who, as far as I could tell, was carrying me in the dark.

He smiled and took a moment to answer. "Just think of me as your guardian angel."

"Angels don't hit people on the head." I winced as my hand went instinctively to my throbbing noggin that had been a.s.saulted twice in twelve hours. First tortured by duct tape and second by . . .

"What did you hit me with anyway?"

He chuckled now and shook his head, muttering under his breath, "He warned me she was a pistol." Then, louder he said, "I didn't hit you."

"Who's he?"

"You're not making any sense," he said. "Who's he?"

"That's what I asked you!" I insisted, squirming a bit in his arms. Ooo, he had nice, firm abs.

He cleared his throat. "You have a concussion, just take it easy. Everything is going to be a bit hazy for a while." He kicked open a door and we were in some kind of bland utility staircase.

"If you didn't conk me on the head for chasing you, then what happened?"

"Why are you chasing me?" he asked, descending the stairs.

"Because you're always there when something is going on and it's a little fishy. You were there in line when I was checking in and when my mom accused me of having saggy pants."

"Your pants looked fine," he a.s.sured me.

"You say that now, not in front of my mother, making you a coward." I paused; he grinned. "Then, you were there at lunch when I got some weird threatening note."

"What note?"

"Like you don't know. Anyway, it said stop snooping or I'm gone."

His face got hard. If Tom Cruise could act, anyone could. I continued, unaffected. "And then you were there when I barely escaped death."

"You mean when you were running around naked with seaweed and mud all over you?"

"It was a life and death situation. And, I need to return your s.h.i.+rt."

"Don't worry about the s.h.i.+rt."

He wasn't even huffing and we'd traveled several floors. Or rather, he'd carried me several floors. I was impressed.

"Where are we going-to the s.h.i.+p doctor?"

"I don't think so, you're better off on your own. I leave you there you might end up in a Cozumel hospital tomorrow."

"Smart man," I said, but his words gave me a chill.

He opened a door and we were in a familiar hallway. He stopped and produced my purse. "Do you want to find your key?"

I reached for the clutch and felt the strap was broken. I dangled it in front of him. "What happened?"

"Broken during your altercation, I guess."

"With whom?"

"Wish I knew."

I handed over the keycard and he let us into my cabin, pulling back the covers and easing me down.

"I think your roommate can help you off with your clothes later."

"You'd know if she could, because you spent the afternoon with her."

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "You are very sure of yourself. But you're wrong about that."

Dammit, I believed him, but how many pairs of black something-skin cowboy boots could there be on board a summer Caribbean cruise s.h.i.+p? He busied himself with putting ice into a towel and pressing it to my head.

I shook my head in confusion as I took over the compress. I was beginning to feel hazy. "I don't understand why you want to help me."

"That's the way it's gotta stay. Some things in life you just have to accept. I know the cell phone service doesn't work out here well, but call this cabin number if you get in a bind and can leave a message. With two pa.s.sengers missing and one overboard dead don't go around the s.h.i.+p alone anymore. Buddy system. Promise?" He handed me a card with a different cabin number from the one I'd discovered Ingrid in earlier today. Darn. So I still didn't know who he really was. The guy who went off the side drowned, huh? Uh-oh, things were getting very fuzzy.

"Wh-what's your name?" I slurred as I drifted off.

"h.e.l.lo, pa.s.sengers."

I woke to the sound of the intercom. I pulled the covers over my head and listened. "This is Captain Santiago at the bridge this morning. I hope everyone is enjoying the Hold 'Em tournament and side cash games as well as our casino. We promise gambling second to none on this the world's first poker s.h.i.+p. It's been quite exciting, with a lot of big money winners. Remember you can get credit on your winnings at the cas.h.i.+er, just not the cash until we dock back in Galveston. We try to make it easier for you. Now, we will be docking in Cozumel in a few hours. Many of you early risers can see the sh.o.r.e already. We have to issue a warning to you as per United States and Mexican authorities this morning. Unfortunately, they have asked everyone to remain on board the s.h.i.+p if at all possible. As many of you know, political unrest and drug violence have made the country quite unstable. Over the past two days, political protestors have targeted tourist destinations to make their cause known to the government. Hence the places you would normally go when at port will be mobbed with protestors who can get out of hand. We want everyone to enjoy this vacation and we have lots to do on board. However, if you have signed up for a s.h.i.+p-sponsored excursion, we will still take you ash.o.r.e if you wish-under guard. Let the tour director know as soon as possible only if you wish to partic.i.p.ate in your excursion. All others will be a.s.sumed to be cancelled. Have a terrific day, and good luck on the felt!"

Nice. I was a prisoner on the s.h.i.+p where I wasn't someone's favorite person. For a moment I felt sorry for myself. Most people had pleasant, relaxing vacations. I had vacations where I ended up in jail, at the morgue, finding body parts in a Dumpster, looking down the barrel of a 9mm Glock, blindfolded and nearly thrown out the window, conked on the head in the dark, diverted for a hurricane and hindered by political unrest. I couldn't blame it all on poker, because the jail thing had been years ago with Ben in Bermuda. Hmm. It was Ben, not poker, that was the common denominator. Note to self: don't go on any more vacations with brother.

Elva would be ticked. She'd been looking forward to hiking the Mayan ruins for months. Too bad. She'd have to win another shuffleboard tournament or carve an ice goose instead.

The phone rang. I reached out of the covers, picked up the receiver and brought it under the comforter with me. "Yes?"

"We're going to hike Chicken Iza."

"It's Chichen Itza, Mom."

"Whatever. I'm scaling that puppy."

"No you're not, Mom."

"Yes. I am, dear. I am not calling for my daughter's permission. I am calling to see if you're still coming. The tour director needs a head count."

I s.h.i.+vered. Terrible visual with that one. "Why? So they know how many stakes to bring so the insurgents can walk around with your tourist heads instead of signs in protest?"

"Very funny, dear. We're going to have armed guards. I promise to carry my secret weapon-the pepper spray you gave me. I swear this will be safer than walking through downtown Houston at night."

Well, she might have me on that one. "Mom, why don't you just stay on board and climb the rock wall or ride the zip line?"

"Been there, done that, Belinda, on day one. Now are you going or not?"

I sighed. I really needed to do a thousand other things, including getting Hans to show me the video from the deck where I was conked last night, pressuring Kinkaid into stepping up the investigation and finding Eria to get her story about Mahdu's disappearance, but I couldn't let Mom and Dad go to their deaths alone. "Is Ben going?"

"Of course not! He's afraid he'll be kidnapped and held for ransom. He and Stella are playing pool poker all day instead."

Anything was better than that.

"Okay, Mom. I'll go," I mumbled, thinking I could find a way while ash.o.r.e to get a hold of U.S. authorities in Mexico and notify them of the disappearances and the dead man overboard.

"Great! We're meeting the tour guide and armed guards on the dock as soon as we can get off the s.h.i.+p. See you there in a couple of hours!"

Wow. Sounded like a blast. The right side of my head was throbbing from the mystery wallop, and the left side was burning from the duct tape torture. I needed drugs. I pulled the whole phone in with me and called Ben.

"I need drugs," I moaned when he answered.

"I'll be right there," he answered.

I threw back the covers and saw Amazonian Ingrid standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed over her chest, tapping her toe, glaring. "I can't work for someone who uses drugs."

I raised my eyebrows, slid my legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Ouch. My neck was killing me. Cradling the phone in my lap, I dialed again. "Bring the hard stuff," I croaked before hanging up.

"What is it?" Ingrid demanded, infuriated. "Ice? Cocaine?"

I shook my head, rose stiffly and shuffled to the bathroom with Ingrid breathing down my neck. I grabbed the door k.n.o.b and tried to pull it closed, but she was in the way. "Crack?"

"Ingrid, I'll tell you what I'll crack if you don't let me close the door."

Stunned, she stepped back. I splashed my face with water and heard the knock at the door. I opened the bathroom door to see Ingrid opening the cabin door to Ben, who held up an array of small packages. Ingrid grabbed his arm and pulled him in.

"Happy to see me, are you, Ingrid? I knew you'd come to your senses. Let's get rid of my sister and get down to it."

Ingrid was looking at the little packages of painkillers in Ben's hand. "These are pharmaceutical samples," she said, stating the obvious, yet leaning against the wall in shock.

"Very good, Ingrid," Ben said, throwing me a look that said "psycho!"

"Ingrid thought I was a meth freak," I explained, fingering the boxes. "Which one is best for torturous neck pain, searing scalp pain and large-lump-on-head pain?"

Ben plucked out one and handed it to me. I retrieved a water gla.s.s from the bar and filled it in the sink, gratefully sucking down the capsule.

"So why are you so banged up?" Ben asked. "Kinky s.e.x with that slimeball you're hanging with?"

"Ian and I are just friends."

"So are Ingrid and I, but wild animal lovemaking is only a word away. I'm guessing Ian is about at that place too."