Page 107 of Hearts Aweigh
“What are you doing?” Althea hissed.
Emily shushed her and whimpered again. “Help me … please.”
The figure on the camera feed jerked, his head turning right and left.
Daisy crossed her arms. “Do not tell me you left a walkie-talkie in the lost and found.”
Emily shrugged. “It pays to have a backup plan. I figured it might come in handy. Obviously, I was right.” She spoke louder into her handset. “Help!”
Their culprit crept to the long, body-sized bag they’d borrowed from the ship’s morgue and planted in a dark corner. He tucked his flashlight between his teeth, knelt on the ground, and slowly unzipped the bag. Bending close, he looked inside.
“Aaaargh!” His anxious cry reverberated through the cell phone speaker. He scrambled back. Arms and legs flailed. His flashlight clattered to the floor. The hood of his sweatshirt drooped off his head. He yanked the covering up and raced from the room.
The Shippers stared at the phone. A single beam of light showed on the dark screen where the blackmailer’s flashlight still shone.
Emily waggled her eyebrows at Althea. “Aren’t you happy you bought that horrible mask at the waterfall?”
“Lawd have mercy.” Althea plopped on the bed. “I supposed criminals had more gumption.”
“Bless his heart,” Daisy murmured. “I told you that mask was grotesque.”
“Bless nothing.” Gerry huffed. “He’s a thief. And an incompetent one at that. He deserves whatever he gets.”
Emily set the phone on the table. “Ladies, the culprit cooperated quicker than we imagined.”
“What do we do now?” Althea asked.
“Now, we set the final trap. But we’re going to need help.”
“Help?” said Gerry.
“From a friend of yours.” Emily prayed the long-legged Shipper would cooperate. “Gerry, how do you feel about asking Seamus for a favor?”
CHAPTER 53
SPENCER SAT IN THE OFFICEchair facing the window, his elbows propped on the armrest, his forehead resting on his steepled fingers. He raised his gaze to the outline of the distant horizon against the ocean waves. Was it too far to swim to shore? Or perhaps he could steal a page from Priscilla’s book and call for a helicopter?
Anything but face Abby after his spur-of-the-moment declaration.
“I’m in love with Ms. O’Brien.”
Was he mad? Abby obviously thought so. The whites of her eyes had shown all the way around her irises. And his ex-wife wore a similar visage. It was the first time in their entire relationship he’d seen her speechless.
Rather than embarrass himself further, he’d done what any good lawyer would do—file a motion for a continuance. After sending Abby to check on his daughter, he’d alerted Priscilla in no uncertain terms she should leave and then locked himself in the downstairs office for the rest of the day to gather his wits.
“I’m in love with Ms. O’Brien.”
It fit the cover story and picture he’d shown Priscilla. Abby had even played along. A fake relationship was the perfectploy to discourage his barracuda of an ex-wife. So why did the statement play on a loop in his brain?
“I’m in love with Ms. O’Brien.”
Because the instant the words left his mouth, he’d recognized them for what they were.
The truth.
He—logical, calculating Spencer Randolph Masterson—had fallen for a woman he barely knew. He wasn’t fool enough to believe in love at first sight. But how much better was love at second sight? Or third?
They’d met two and a half weeks ago.
