“Would you like a drink?” she asked Amir as she pushed herself up. Either she’d grown used to the gentle sway of the deck beneath her, or she’d drunk so much that they were canceling each other out.
As with every attempt she’d made to engage him, Amir didn’t answer.
She steadied herself with one hand on the arm of the sofa, and leveled him with her best glare, the one that even got Cally’s attention. “Is there a reason you won’t talk to me?” Bluntness often worked when nothing else did. “Do you not like me or something?” That was blatant manipulative psychology; how could he dislike her? He didn’t even know her.
Didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.
His eyes paused on her for almost a whole second, then resumed their ceaseless wandering. “I’m sorry, Miss Sullivan, but I’m on duty.”
At least he’d actually spoken.
“So no drinking. Got it.” Eve made her way to the bar and pulled the bottle of wine from its ice bucket. It was almost empty, just enough to fill her glass halfway. As she’d been the only one drinking it, that explained why the deck was swaying. Or why the deck wasn’t swaying anymore. Or something.
She couldn’t have beenthattipsy; after all, she’d been stuck in here alone (Amir didn’t count) for the last four hours. Three glasses in four hours? She probably wasn’t tipsy at all. Maybe she’d got her sea legs.
She leaned back against the bar and tried to make it look casual, not like she was gripping on for dear life. “What is your duty anyway?”
“Whatever Gabe tells me.” His eyes didn’t stop moving.
“And right now, that is…?”
“Keeping you safe, Miss Sullivan. Which I can’t do as effectively if you distract me.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Right. More Kindle, then.
“Gabe is on his way,” Amir said. “He wanted you to know.”
Then Roberto was on his way too, down to his watery grave. “Thank you.”
She made it back to the sofa with only minor spillage, and was doing her best impression of demure patience when Gabe walked in. His sharp suit was now bedraggled, the shoulders and shirt soaked by rain or sea spray. His gaze found hers, and he sighed in relief.
“You can go, Amir. Thank you.”
“Sure, Boss.”
Gabe waited until the door slid closed behind him, then gave her a smile, strained around the edges. “It’s done.”
“Good.” She paused to see if he would say anything else, then continued when he didn’t. “You were a long time.”
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you anywhere near him.” He walked to the bar, swung the room’s touchscreen toward him, and tapped it. “Were you worried?”
“No, just bored.”
“You were quite safe. I checked in with Amir often.”
“I wasn’t worried, Gabe.”
“Right.” He nodded, as if to reassure himself as much as her. He hit a couple more buttons and some classical music began to play from the room’s audio system, bleak and somber. Perhaps it matched his mood.
“What is this? Tchaikovsky?”
“Shostakovich.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you like Tchaikovsky?” He started flicking through the touchscreen again. “I have two of his symphonies here, and afew concertos.”
“I still prefer jazz,” Eve reminded him gently. He seemed distracted.
“My apologies.” A couple more button presses and Shostakovich was replaced with Miles Davis.
