Page 47

Laurent and I emerged from the stairwell on the game deck to find Rémy and Cody, now in dry clothes, engaged in a game of darts on the far side of the salon area where everyone else lounged, drinking champagne, seemingly all too glad to write my near death off as an unfortunate accident.

I paused, taking advantage of their self-absorption to observe them for a moment before they noticed us. Ever perceptive, Laurent stilled beside me.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I zeroed in on Allison, reconfirming my suspicions about her.

She was leaning against the bar, a glass of champagne casually dangling from her hand, placid as the moonlit sea.

If anyone on this boat could kill someone and get away with it, it would be perennially cool Allison.

Anyone who’d seen her swim knew a cutthroat competitor lurked just beneath that calm exterior.

And with Tyson gone, she’d be free to bring in an investor to pay off her debt.

Frustration curdled my blood. I was exhausted and scared; I wished more than anything that I knew without a doubt Allison was guilty.

It would mean I’d have only one person to evade to avoid being killed myself, not a whole room full of them.

But I knew better than to let my theory about one suspect hinder my ability to see the others.

“I guess the real question,” Samira said from where she lay on the couch with her head in Gisèle’s lap, “is which of you profits most from my husband’s death.”

No one answered.

Samira was displaying the biggest show of grief, which was fitting, but I kept coming back to the question of whether it was real?

She might have glimpsed me leaving her room, recognized I might be on to her, and decided to make sure I couldn’t out her.

She’d certainly been resistant to having the police return tonight.

Though it would be almost too obvious for Samira to be Tyson’s killer: the long-suffering spouse who’d already had one husband die under mysterious circumstances. Not to mention her insistence that she’d receive nothing in the will.

Regardless, it was possible she’d been pushed past her limit.

Or could it have been Gisèle—or better yet, the two of them together? And what of the money in Gisèle’s suitcase? Had they somehow realized I’d found it and wanted to make sure I couldn’t tell anyone? Yes, despite the cliché of it, they were both strong suspects.

My wound smarted as I watched as Rémy let a dart fly, striking the very bottom of the target.

I recalled seeing him here in the game room, so close to where I’d gone over the railing, just a few minutes before my fall.

Yet he claimed not to have seen anything.

What reason might he have had to push me?

Cody’s aim was surer, his dart flying directly into the board, a near bullseye.

He grabbed his champagne glass and downed half of it in one gulp, brooding.

But was his anguish over his brother’s death or over the prospect of being caught?

He’d saved me, which would be odd behavior for someone who had pushed me…

unless of course he’d planned it that way.

Which seemed like a big risk to take for an uncertain outcome.

All of this was bizarre, everyone sitting around swilling champagne like they were celebrating something when Tyson had been murdered and I’d nearly met the same fate less than an hour ago. It made me think of that Agatha Christie novel in which all the suspects had murdered the victim together.

All of them had reason to want Tyson dead. Could they all have been in on it?

Which would mean they’d all been in on the attempt to silence me as well.

Fear curled around my bones like an icy vine, making it hard to breathe.

Act normal, I reminded myself. While this was definitely the closest I’d ever come to being killed, it wasn’t the first time my life had been threatened on the job.

There were reasons I now carried a gun. And I knew from experience that whoever had attempted to murder me needed to think I wasn’t a threat in order to be dissuaded from finishing off the job.

I watched as Jennifer leaned forward from her place on the couch and cut herself a slice of the chocolate cake that sat untouched in the center of the coffee table, “Happy Birthday, Tyson” scrolled on it in curling gold letters.

A birthday, I realized. That’s what they were celebrating. The food and liquor had been purchased in anticipation of Tyson’s birthday dinner tonight. Which was why they were drinking his Dom and eating his cake while he lay in a refrigerated cabinet somewhere, his blood congealing in his veins.

Had it been their plan all along?

The thought made me shudder.

“Oh,” Jennifer said, catching sight of Laurent and me as she reached for a fork. “You’re back. How are you feeling?”

Everyone’s expressions were solicitous as they watched us approach, but I didn’t buy their sympathy. They clearly weren’t my friends. One of them had tried to kill me, and regardless of whether the rest had been in on it, they hadn’t thought it necessary to call the police.

Jennifer patted the seat beside her on the sofa opposite Gisèle and Samira. “We were all so worried about you.”

“Thanks,” I said, perching next to her. You catch more flies with honey. I forced a pained smile. “They got me patched up.”

Laurent made no attempt to disguise his wariness as he sat next to me, a German shepherd ready to attack. I couldn’t say it wasn’t attractive.

Rémy’s dart went wide of the target and he cursed, swaying as he lined up his next shot. He wasn’t the only one who seemed to have become a bit sloppier while I was being patched up. In fact, everyone but Jennifer appeared well oiled. Which could work to my advantage.

My head still pounded, though thanks to the glue and the pills, the pain wasn’t quite as sharp as it had been.

I couldn’t give in to the cocktail of terror and exhaustion that swirled inside me.

I was alone here, my fate hanging in the balance.

One of these people wanted me dead, and no one but me—and possibly Laurent, if he was for real—seemed to give a shit.

“What happened when I went over the railing?” I asked, consciously not using the word “pushed.” A light touch was always more effective.

“I’d just come out of our room and was heading up here when I saw you fall,” Cody said, pulling his darts out of the target.

“Did you hear anything?” I asked. “A scuffle or a scream—”

Cody shook his head. “Nothing. I just saw a body, falling from the deck above. I didn’t even register it was you until I jumped in after you. Someone on the crew heard me shout ‘Man overboard’ and threw me the donut.”

“Were you with him?” I asked Jennifer.

She shook her head. “I was in our suite.”

Alone. No alibi. Though it was hard to imagine rabbit-like Jennifer overpowering me. Or getting the better of Tyson, for that matter, especially with her subpar diving skills.

“What about you guys?” I asked Samira and Gisèle. “Did you see or hear anything?”

They both shook their heads. “We were smoking on the sun deck,” Gisèle answered. “We heard the shouting after and came to see what happened.”

Of course. They’d been alone together, as they had when Samira’s last husband died. The thought gave me little comfort.

“What about you?” I asked Allison, wondering what fib she’d come up with to cover her tracks.

“I was in the powder room on the main deck,” she said. “The steak did not agree with me.”

It was a good lie. Simple, impossible to refute, a touch of embarrassment to prevent follow-up questions. And she showed no signs of dishonesty. But of course Allison would be a good liar.

“Did you see anything?” I asked Rémy.

“No, I was on the basketball court trying to get my phone to work,” Rémy admitted. At Cody’s disgruntled glance, he shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry. I was not able to call my partner and I know he is very worried about me.”

“Do you remember what you were doing before you fell?” Cody asked.

I shook my head, feigning memory loss, though I remembered exactly what I’d been doing.

“Maybe you saw something in the water and leaned too far over the railing,” Allison suggested.

“Or maybe one of you pushed her,” Laurent said.

“But why would any of us push her?” Samira asked.

I wasn’t about to admit to sneaking into their rooms. “Maybe the murderer wanted to use me as a scapegoat,” I suggested. “It’s a lot easier to pin a murder on someone who’s not around to protest.”

No one responded, the room so quiet that I could hear a motor somewhere out on the water.

Laurent rose and went to the bar, pouring himself a glass of Scotch. He leaned against the bar as he swilled it, looking more like someone who traveled on yachts than worked on them. His face was unreadable, his demeanor cool.

Not dissimilar to Allison, I realized.

Laurent was clearly a chameleon who was far sharper and more perceptive than the people he worked for realized. And there was the matter of whatever secret Tyson held over him. Could it have something to do with the car he was shipping back to France? Was he planning to make a break for it?

It would be just like me to fall for a guy who turned out to be a murderer.

But he did seem awfully protective of me since someone had tried to kill me. Which could just as easily be a cover as a sign that he genuinely cared. Regardless, I shouldn’t risk being alone with him again until I had more information.

I shouldn’t risk being alone with any of them.

The sudden sound of raised voices drew my attention to the back of the boat. Cody went out onto the open deck, followed by Rémy, as the rest of us sat up straighter, peering after them.

“What is it?” Allison asked, striding over to join them.

“There’s a dinghy docked at the stern,” Cody said, dropping his darts to a side table and jogging for the stairs.

“Please turn around,” I heard a crew member shout.

Alarmed, I rose and went outside to see a handful of crew members chasing a tall man dressed in black across the pool deck down below. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

“Sir, please,” another crew member cried. “You have to go back to your boat.”

“Hey,” Cody called out, marching toward him. He seemed to recognize the guy. “What are you doing here?”

As Laurent came to stand by me, the captain and another male crew member attempted to stop the man, but he was stronger and pushed right through them.

I could feel Laurent tense the minute he laid eyes on the man. “Shit,” he murmured, turning to bolt after Cody.

What the hell?

My pulse raced as I leaned over the railing, watching Laurent rush toward the man. “I got this,” Laurent said to Cody.

But Cody didn’t back down, following closely on Laurent’s heels.

“It was you,” the man said, pushing Laurent squarely in the chest.

My hand flew to my mouth.

“Get the fuck off our boat,” Cody said, drawing back his fist.

Laurent placed a hand over Cody’s fist before he could do any damage. “I’ll handle it.”

The crew hovered around them, ready to step in, but Laurent waved them back. “What are you doing here?” Laurent asked the man.

“You knew,” the man shouted at Laurent. “You fucked me over.”

Next to me, Gisèle grabbed Samira’s elbow. “Is that the guy from the gray yacht?” she whispered.

“Marcel,” Samira confirmed.

I knew as she said it that she was right.

But what business did he have with Laurent?

Laurent waved him toward the sugar scoop at the stern, his level of confidence impressive. “Let’s talk down there,” he said.

“Without them,” the man said, pointing at the crew and Cody.

“It’s okay,” Laurent said to Cody. I could tell Cody didn’t want to let him go, but Laurent was insistent. “It is my problem. I can handle it.”

Disappointment weighed on me as I watched Laurent lead Marcel past the glowing pool. Even though I’d known he had secrets, that I shouldn’t get attached to him and couldn’t count him out as a suspect, seeing it play out before my eyes made me realize just how much hope I’d held out.

Once again, I’d been wrong.