Page 72 of Filthy Rich

I catch myself and stop pouring in the nick of time. “What woman?”

The guy shrugs. “Dunno. Some woman on Deck 12.”

Deck 12. Tamsyn’s deck.

Blind panic takes the wheel. It’s irrational. I know that. But I can’t help it. That’s what the thought of something happening to Tamsyn does to me. I try to set down my pitcher and glass but only wind up knocking them both over in the process. I don’t give a shit. I take off at a dead run, navigating the pool, corridors and stairs. I don’t dare trust the elevators to get me there as fast as I can get myself there. And when I round the corner to Tamsyn’s hallway, the sight that greets me is enough to make me piss my pants:

Uniformed officials emerging from what looks like Tamsyn’s cabin and walking off while conversing in subdued tones.

Shit. Fuck.

Funny how your whole life slows down to nothing in moments like these. Funny how the same legs that have been racing me around all morning now refuse to go any faster than tortoise speed.

I force myself to keep going.

Just as the cabin door is about to swing shut behind them, Mrs. Hooper’s little dog darts into the hallway and makes a beeline straight for me.

“Juniper!” calls a voice from the depths of the cabin. “Bad dog! You get back here!”

Tamsyn appears in the doorway looking a little tired but otherwise the same as always. She brightens at the sight of me, with no idea that the thought of her being hurt or sick nearly sent me into cardiac arrest.

I make a choked sound. “Come here,” I say, reaching for her as the dog jumps around my ankles. But I don’t have time for the dog now. I’m too focused on wrapping her up in my arms to reassure myself that she’s fine and I haven’t used up all my chances with her.

She pulls me close, a sound full of relief and maybe even a little gratitude.

I run my hands through her hair, savoring the scent of lily of the valley on her skin and kissing her forehead, temples and finally, hotly, her mouth.

“You okay?” I ask urgently when I let her up for air.

“I’m fine,” she says, looking flushed but pleased as she takes my hand and leads me inside. I scoop up the dog with my free hand along the way. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I heard there was some medical emergency?”

“Not me! Mrs. Hooper.”

“What happened?” I ask as the door swings shut behind us.

We settle on the sofa with the dog, and she tells me the whole story, including how scared she was when she found Mrs. Hooper on the floor and wasn’t sure about the extent of her injuries.

“Where is Mrs. Hooper now?” I ask.

“In the infirmary getting an X-ray. She really messed up her knee when she fell. I just came back to let Juniper out. And some officials from the ship stopped by to make sure there were no safety issues in the cabin.”

“Did you call her kids?”

“Yeah. And her niece, Penny, in Florida. It looks like Mrs. Hooper will be moving down there to be with her when we get back. And Penny’s going to oversee her care and maybe get her some testing to see why she’s been a bit confused lately.”

“Dementia?”

“Not necessarily,” Tamsyn says. “Some of her medications can cause fuzziness, so I’m hoping that’s the issue. Maybe her dosages can be tweaked.”

I nod, my brain already shifting to how I can use this unexpected turn of events to my advantage. Tamsyn might call it being manipulative. I call it being proactive. Because this is it. The opening I need. Served up to me on a silver platter. And I’m not saying I’m happy Mrs. Hooper had to injure herself. But I’m not sad about it, either. As for what I would have done if the old girl hadn’t experienced her emergency in such a timely and thoughtful manner?

Whatever it took.

That’s decided, then. After all, what kind of idiot doesn’t answer the door when opportunity knocks?

“So…what about you?” I ask. “Sounds like she won’t be needing you anymore.”

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