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She didn’t need him coming to the obvious, if incorrect, conclusion here. Panic threatened, turning her palms damp. What if some of this did belong to the newlyweds and Travis was conducting a yacht-wide search to find the missing items?
“This isn’t what it looks like,” she blurted into the silence. Dumb move. All she had to do was explain the situation calmly. She’d done nothing wrong.
Travis was stern, yes, but the care and attention he gave his primary client extended to the rest of the crew. She knew he took steps and monitored the details about various destinations and situations that protected everyone on board.
“You can’t possibly think that I…” Her voice faded away. She couldn’t finish the sentence. Not when his glare threatened to give her frostbite. She tapped the phone mounted on the wall. “I was about to call you. Because of this. Because Ifoundthis. A few minutes ago.”
As explanations went, it was a weak start.
Something flickered in his clear blue eyes. She recognized disappointment, having seen it often enough in her early yearsand later in plenty of kitchens around the world when she failed a test or missed the mark with her baking.
Travis’s disappointment gave way to wary speculation. Goosebumps scampered down her arms. “Found it where?” he asked.
“The kitchen. Are you looking for any of this? I mean obviously someone should be. I don’t recognize anything here.”
“You keep track of the jewelry folks wear?” he asked far too casually.
“No.” She pulled her hands into her lap and willed herself to stop freaking out. She hadn’t done anything wrong. “I found this,” she repeated. “Here in the kitchen. All of these bags were in this one.” She shook the plastic bag. “This bag was caught in the back of the potato bin.”
One dark eyebrow twitched upward. “Odd place to bury your treasure.”
It took everything she had to suppress the shiver that rolled through her. Buried treasure might evoke delightful or exciting images of childhood adventures for most people. For Lila the reference might as well be quicksand. She gripped the edge of the desk, willing herself not to slide back into the bad memories and habits of her childhood. She’d made a choice and cleared a new path, following it into a better life and the career and bright future that stretched out ahead of her.
Excuses weren’t needed here, only the simple truth.
“It’s not mine,” she managed. “We both know that.” She willed the statement to be true. Surely he wouldn’t believe she was capable of this. “You know I’m too busy to steal anything when we have guests.” Even when they didn’t have guests, being the full-time chef kept her hopping. She flicked the plastic bag again. Printed with a generic “thank you” message, no store branding at all, it would probably be a dead-end instead of a lead. “This was balled up in such a way that I thought it was empty at first.”She poked at one of the velvet bags. “But all of these were inside it.”
He huffed and seemed to become more intimidating without moving an inch. “You’re leaving us tomorrow, right?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t wait to tell her grandmother she was certain that small-town bakery life was what she wanted. Since she wasn’t a thief, she had to believe this unexpected situation wouldn’t throw a wrench in those plans. “I’m moving back home.”
She’d disembark in Charleston with only the personal items she’d brought aboard and a few souvenirs. Mementoes that didn’t amount to one percent of the value of the loot in front of her.
“So this is… what?” He lifted his chin in the direction of the treasure. “A downpayment for your own restaurant?”
“No.” She kept her voice even and cool, refusing to be baited.
“Are you divvying up the take for an accomplice?”
That was too far. It was her turn to glare. He seemed completely unfazed, holding his relaxed post in the doorway. She should not find anything about his demeanor or stance sexy. Not at all.
But she did.
Fine. She was a lost cause when it came to Travis, but she wasn’t a thief. She had to explain this. Had to make him understand this find was completely an accident. Had to convince him she wasn’t a criminal or a closet kleptomaniac.
Trying to peer around him, she motioned him closer. “Come in and close the door. Please.” She couldn’t afford for someone else to catch sight of this. Convincing Travis would clearly be enough of a challenge. The idea of it spiraling out of her control, of being dragged into a whirlpool of accusations, investigations, and police procedures made her stomach cramp.
To her surprise, he did as she asked without any argument or snarky commentary. He tucked his hands into his pockets. With the door closed there was suddenly too much of him and not enough room in the tiny office. She took a steadying breath, only to have his specific masculine scent, already burned into her memory, filling her nose and lungs.
“I’m listening,” he prompted.
“Right.” She pressed her hands flat on the desk, keeping her fingers away from the beautiful items. “There is no accomplice. Idid notsteal any of this.”
He tilted his head. “Your fingerprints are going to be all over that haul.”
“You’re right.” She wiped her hands on her chef’s coat, for all the good that would do. “I did think of that.AfterI realized what was here. Not like they make see-through velvet bags.”
He snorted out something that sounded remarkably like a laugh. “Do they package potatoes in velvet?”
