Free Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3) by Susan Vaughan Page B

Strange to see her in something other than jeans and a T-shirt, but of course she wore Mimi’s clothing. She’d tied her hair back. A tempting thought, reaching across the small table to free her fiery curls from their ribbon. He spread the snowy white napkin on his lap.
    Recovering, she sputtered and looked around as if for rescue, but the hostess had skated away to greet another patron.
    “Sorry, Cleo.” He smiled. “Unless you can top the fifty I gave the hostess to seat me here, you have a dinner companion.”
    She sucked down a long swallow of her cocktail, a Campari and soda, if he wasn’t mistaken. An Italian aperitif, a long way from her usual light beer.
    He gave her a minute while he checked out the scene. White tablecloths, candlelight and flowers, brocade wallpaper. Could be an upscale place in D.C. or New York, except the view out the window—moonlight carving diamonds in a shield of water.
    Couples, a few families with older children. A single man in the corner engrossed in his mini tablet. No one watching Cleo.
    Her chin lifted and her shoulders straightened, but high color stained her cheeks. “You wasted your money. My name is not Cleo.”
    Thomas raised a hand and ordered a scotch. When the server left with his cruise card, he raised an eyebrow, pointed to the right sleeve of her blue silk blouse. “You can prove you’re not Cleo by rolling up your sleeve. If you have no band of butterflies there, I’ll leave you alone.”
    “I have to prove nothing. You’re the one here under false pretenses. I could call Security.”
    “Go ahead. But it will cause a scene, call attention to you. Raise questions about your identity. Do you want that, Cleo? Or should I call you Mimi?”
    The server returned with the scotch. Thomas eyed her as he signed the drink chit and stowed his card. All color had drained from her face, leaving only the shock and a few ginger freckles. And highlighting the smudges beneath her eyes. Not sleeping. Probably not eating much.
    They placed their dinner orders. He ordered Coquilles St. Jacques. Cleo chose Boeuf Bourguignon, the first entrée on the menu. She probably hadn’t even read the list. He added a bottle of Pinot Gris to the order, and the waiter left.
    Deciding to wait her out, Thomas sipped his drink. Good thing they were stuck on a ship or she would hit the road.
    She heaved a sigh and moved her small beaded bag from her lap to the table. “Why are you here and how do you know about Mimi?”
    “I know what happened in Venice. Your father sent me to protect you.”
    “My father? But how did he—? Oh, Greg called him.” She huffed. “But of course he couldn’t tear himself away to come in person.”
    He’d hoped to save this until a more private place. “The admiral’s laid up with a broken leg. He’s in the hospital.” He recounted the rest of the conversation, ending with, “He hadn’t told your mom yet when I spoke to him Friday.”
    She looked stricken, by turns guilty and afraid. Finally her gaze sharpened as if she’d set aside the emotion for the moment. “But why you ?”
    “I’m out of the army. I own a security company. The admiral thought you’d trust me more than one of my operatives. I didn’t tell him why you wouldn’t want to see me.”
    The color found her cheekbones again. “You got that right. Tell my father I’m just fine. I don’t need your protection. I don’t know how you smuggled yourself onto this cruise, but you can smuggle yourself off at the next port.”
    “That’s my plan but you’re joining me.”
    “No way. As Mimi I’m safe on this ship.”
    “You’re not safe anywhere. By now the bad guys have probably figured out where you are. Centaur will stop at nothing to obtain the missing necklace.”
    “Centaur, like the mythological man-horse combo?”
    Her puzzled frown told him the boyfriend hadn’t shared any of his dealings with Zervas’s organization. No involvement. One of the knots in his shoulders