Alias Smith And Jones. Kylie BrantЧитать онлайн книгу.
she had a tendency to babble, and there was no doubt she’d outdone herself on that scene.
Blowing out a breath, she pressed her hand to her stomach, quelling the nerves that were still scrambling there. They were caused by nothing more than a minor case of claustrophobia, she assured herself. These quarters were small. Jones was big. Really big. Especially across the shoulders. And his chest was pretty wide, too, not to mention his biceps, which were…
Eyes widening with horror at her totally inappropriate train of thought, she pushed away from the door, crossed to her suitcase and began unpacking. She couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. Especially by the man who might well have been the last one to see Sam before he disappeared.
Not for the first time, she wished she could afford to come right out and ask Jones about her brother. But the risk was too great. There was no telling how well the two knew each other, or what their relationship was. She had no idea, at this point, if Jones could be responsible for his disappearance.
No, remaining covert was in everyone’s best interest. If Sam was all right, and for some reason had had to abort his mission temporarily, she didn’t want to end up blowing it for him. That was the same reason she hadn’t alerted her brothers. Cade was a New Orleans police detective, and James…well, James ran the family and their father’s business with the same ruthless rein. Neither of the men understood the word subtle. They’d have torn the hemisphere apart looking for Sam, and in doing so would have destroyed his cover forever. Better that she make some discreet inquiries first, and determine whether they had cause for alarm. And then, she thought grimly, shoving her emptied suitcases in the closet, if she still was unable to find a lead on Sam, she would unleash her brothers.
After she’d stowed the smaller bag holding her toiletries beneath the sink in the minuscule bathroom, she went to the door and peeked out into the hallway. If there was a trace of Sam on this ship, it was likely to be somewhere down here. And with Jones and his crew member busy above deck, there was no better time to look around.
It didn’t take long to explore the limited space. Unfortunately, her search yielded no hint that her brother had ever been onboard. But then, Ana thought, studying the last closed door, she hadn’t finished her search. Not quite.
With a strange reluctance she reached out, turned the knob. The door swung open revealing what was obviously Jones’s cabin.
The space was filled with a large bed, which was un-made, the pillow still bearing a slight indentation. Surprise surged. It occurred to her for the first time that Jones had slept on the ship. Maybe he even lived on it. Suddenly the area took on an almost suffocating intimacy.
To distract herself she gazed around at the cabin. It was more spacious than the others, but was filled by the bed and the rolltop desk tucked into the corner.
And it was the desk that had snared her attention now.
After throwing a furtive look both ways, she slipped into the room, leaving the door cracked so she’d hear if someone was coming. She went to the desk, picked up the shirt he had draped across it. Maybe he’d had intentions of getting fully dressed after all. She wondered if her arrival there that morning had interrupted him. The thought had her stomach fluttering. Forcing her mind away from the vivid mental image that bloomed, she tossed the shirt onto the bed and reached for the top drawer.
Locked.
A quick check proved that the drawers were similarly secured, which only made Analiese more determined. Straightening, she folded her arms, contemplating the lock’s opening and wondered what a few twists of a hair pin would yield. She had some in her toiletry case. But before she retrieved one she grabbed the shirt off the bed again to replace it.
There was no sound to alert her, but suddenly she became aware that she was no longer alone. Sudden foreboding weighting her limbs, her gaze slowly went to the doorway. And saw Jones lounging, one shoulder against the jamb.
She released the shirt as if it were in flames. Ohmygod, she mentally groaned as she looked up to his unsmiling expression. With the vast amount of material her life provided, she thought fate could pass up the occasional opportunity to humiliate her. Since he wasn’t moving, she gave him a weak smile. “Hey, I was just looking for you.”
“I told you I’d be up on deck. Why would you be looking for me in my room?”
She tossed a quick look around. “Oh, is this your room?” Then she almost winced as she heard the disingenuous tone in her words. “I was wondering…if you had anything for motion sickness.”
“Motion sickness.”
“I’m already feeling a little nauseous.”
“Funny. We haven’t pulled anchor yet.”
Great. Where was a tidal wave when she needed a good distraction? “I meant I will be nauseous. Soon. When we take off.”
He settled his weight more comfortably and crossed his arms. “You’re planning on getting sick?”
“No, of course not.” It took a great deal of effort to keep her smile in place. “I just mean that normally I do. So I thought if I took something now, before I really needed it, when I did need it I wouldn’t need it so much.”
With a vague sense of horror she realized the foolish drivel was coming from her. There seemed to be no end to the mortifying depths to which she would sink around him.
He hadn’t moved, was still watching her with the expression one might wear contemplating a strange breed of animal in a zoo. “So if you tend to get seasick, why would you charter a ship?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to deny any such weakness. She was an excellent sailor, had been going out on the gulf since she could walk. But she kicked pride aside to salvage what she could of the situation. “It’s just the first hour or so out, then I’m always fine. And I meant to pick something up before I left home, but completely forgot about it. If you don’t have anything…”
Silence stretched, taut with tension. Then finally he straightened. “I can probably find something.”
Relief filled her. “Great.” She could barely contain her eagerness to get out of his room. He disappeared into the head, and she took the opportunity to scurry across the narrow hall into her own quarters. Jones reappeared a moment later, holding two tablets and a paper cup filled with water. She took both from him, and said, “Thanks. I think I’ll take these now and lie down for a while.”
It seemed to take an interminable amount of time before he quit staring at her and backed out of the doorway. “That would probably be best.”
Swinging the door shut after him, Ana gulped the water down. It didn’t help. Her throat still felt strangled. Dumping the pills in the now-empty cup, she crumpled it in her hand. As far as her espionage skills went, she was scoring in the negative range so far. If she didn’t get better at subterfuge than this, she wasn’t going to be of much use to Sam.
She got the hairpin she’d come for and sat on the edge of her bed, waiting until she felt the ship begin to move. Although her nerves still hadn’t recovered from her last encounter with Jones, she forced herself to cross the corridor again and ease his door open. Losing no time, she dropped to her knees before the desk and began to twist the pin into a decent pick.
Inserting it into the lock on the rolltop, she probed carefully. Although she had no experience at unlocking desk drawers per se, she had grown quite adept at picking the lock on the strong box in which Sam or James had hidden her car keys whenever they’d attempted to ground her. She could have just had extra sets of keys made, but she’d thought the idea had lacked finesse.
Her skills were rusty, so it took several minutes before she heard a tiny click, and she triumphantly removed the pin, easing the top upward. Excitement filled her when she saw the neat piles of papers and notebooks lining the cubbyholes. She’d hit pay dirt. Reaching for the first book, she withdrew it and began flipping through it. Something in here had to yield a clue about the trip Sam had taken with Jones. Whatever it was, she