Page 8 of An Epic Voyage
A fine-living magazine had published a piece about his yacht.From all accounts, it was a floating luxury hotel with amenities galore.It was also massive.Indy wasn’t sure she’d have enough time to search it before they reached his resort.She’d have to do the best she could while avoiding suspicion.
As she navigated the pier, the boats grew larger and more ostentatious.She couldn’t imagine the wealth it took to own one of these monstrosities.They had to have a large staff to keep it running smoothly, which was another concern.If the boat were packed with people, it would be next to impossible to check every nook and cranny for a wayward nuke.Not to mention that he no doubt employed a plethora of security personnel.
The Benny One, Benedict Van Houten’s yacht, was moored a hundred feet in front of her.As she approached, her steps slowed.Activity buzzed around the watercraft.People were coming and going, loading what looked like food supplies onto the ship.The article she’d read mentioned the Michelin-starred chef Van Houten employed as his private cook.He traveled with the billionaire, so she might get to sample some of his award-winning cuisine—assuming she was allowed to eat with the host.There was a good possibility that she would dine alone in her cabin.
A tall man with light-blond hair and mirrored sunglasses caught her eye.He was standing on the deck of the yacht, watching the comings and goings with his arms crossed.The black polo shirt he wore fit him like a glove, emphasizing his size and muscle mass.Security.She could spot them a mile away.
Squaring her shoulders, Indy adjusted her sunglasses and strolled forward, her blue hibiscus flower-print dress blowing with the breeze.She approached the bridge that led to the boat and started across.A massive hand stopped her progress.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, this is a private yacht.”
Indy’s gaze followed his arm to his face.He hovered several inches above her five-nine height.Maybe six-five or six-six.Square jaw, lips set in a firm line.His short hair stood up fashionably in the front.She imagined it was as silky as it looked.Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she was guessing a moss green.Goodness, he was handsome.
“Oh, I know,” Indy informed him.“I’m here for Jinger.I’m her makeup artist.”
“You’re not Pammy.”
“No, she developed a horrible case of food poisoning.”Indy made a face and patted her tummy.“It was particularly nasty.Liquid was coming out of both ends, if you get my drift.”He recoiled a bit at the description.“I mean, it was explosive at times—”
“Okay, I get the picture,” he interrupted.“I’m sorry, I can’t let you on.You haven’t been vetted.”
Indy frowned and feigned ignorance.“You mean I need a permission slip from a veterinarian?”
The man’s lips twitched, and a hint of dimples appeared.She almost sighed.
“No, it means you haven’t been investigated.I’m talking about a background check.”
She slapped her hand against her chest.“Why do you need to investigate little ol’ me?I’m simply a cosmetologist.”
Dang, she needed to dial down the Southern Belle act.She’d almost ended her sentence with, “I do declare.”Maybe she was overdoing her attempt to appear unthreatening, but the man’s attractiveness was throwing her off kilter.
“So you say,” he drawled.
“Are you calling me a liar, sir?”
His phone buzzed.“Stay right there,” he ordered as he answered.The person on the other end talked loudly, so Indy shamelessly eavesdropped.
“Griffin?Pammy just called.She can’t make it.I was so distraught until she told me she sent her best friend to cover for her.Her name is, wait a minute, I wrote it down.Here it is.Indigo Adair.Please send her to me as soon as she arrives.It’s an emergency.”
“Are you okay, Jinger?”
“No.I broke a nail.”
The man rolled his eyes and disconnected.Indy learned two things.One, the man’s name was Griffin, and two, Jinger with a J was going to be a handful.
“Everything okay?”she asked sweetly.
“I’ll need to see your driver’s license.”
“Why?Are you going to make me steer the ship too?”
Instead of responding, he held out his hand.The man obviously didn’t know how to take a joke.She thought it was a good one too.She was hoping for another reappearance of the mysterious dimples.
“Any day now.”
“Keep your shirt on,” she muttered as she fished in her bag and withdrew her wallet.She slapped her ID into his hand.
“Take off the sunglasses.”
