taunted her. She’d brought Heather a sandwich. And she’d left the light on even after glancing up at what might be a dirty window.
Does she have a guilty conscience? Can I use it against her to get her to help me? Or should I try another way to flip her?
It was perfectly acceptable to lie to suspects and tell them that someone else connected to the case was spilling their guts and blaming everything on them. Cat and Tess were excellent liars themselves—look at how well they had covered up for Vincent all this time—and Heather had picked up pointers about how to lie convincingly: keep your eyes wide open, keep your story simple, and don’t try too hard.
She doesn’t like Ilya. Could I lie about something he told his uncle? They probably only speak to each other in Russian. What could I make up that she would believe?
“Nothing,” Heather whispered. The jitters came then; she shook uncontrollably and her eyes welled with tears. Control. She had to stay in control. But it was so hard when she was frightened, dirty, hungry, and exhausted. She wasn’t a cop. She was an event planner.
But I’m Catherine Chandler’s sister , she reminded herself. Okay, her half-sister, but I’ve got the half that matters. Mom was smart, brave, and sneaky, and so are we. I can do this.
And I will do this.
“Bring it,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Sea Majesty had left the Port of Los Angeles behind and made for the open water. The passengers were busily acquainting themselves with the pools, the volleyball court, the casino, and the shopping mall, which was extensive. There was a queue in the Majestic Memories shop to see the embarking photographs, which were displayed on video screens.
“There she is.” Cat gave Vincent a nudge in his side. The girl she had noticed before sat on the side of the grotto pool with her legs in the water. She was wearing a black nineteen-thirties-style bathing suit and a broad-brimmed black straw hat, and she was hunched over a book.
“And there he is.” Vincent gestured with his chin.
The guy in the black suit and sunglasses was barely visible as he studied the girl.
Cat sauntered casually over to the pool and stopped beside the girl. She allowed her shadow to fall over the girl’s book. No reaction. Cat squinted at the page. Poems of the English Romantic Period. Homework?
“Is the water nice?” Cat asked.
The girl shifted slightly but didn’t answer. Cat leaned over and stuck her hand in the pool. “Ooh, it’s a little chilly.”
Huffing, the girl looked up from her book. “It’s perfect. You should go in.” Judging by her tone of voice, she was silently adding, And leave me alone.
Cat slipped off her wedges, lowered herself to the cement, and put her legs in. She fanned them back and forth but didn’t speak.
The girl turned a page. Then she looked over at Cat, looked again. Gave her head a quick shake.
Cat glanced at her. Without looking up, the girl said, “I thought you were Kate Middleton.”
Cat was so surprised that she guffawed. The girl frowned. She said, “It was an honest mistake.”
“Oh? Have you met Kate Middleton?”
This time the girl looked at her full on. “Yes, I have. Haven’t you? I thought they put all the people who had met Kate Middleton on the same deck.”
Oooh, touchy. Cat moved her shoulders. “Okay,” she said, “I think I’m busted. Here’s the deal. My husband and I noticed a man following you and we want to know if you know him.”
Paling, the girl sucked in her breath. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “ No. ”
“You do know him,” Cat pressed, senses going on alert.
“Where…? I mean, I have to go.” She closed her book. Cat placed a hand on her forearm.
“Let me help you. Who is he? Are you traveling with him?”
“Stay away from me.” The girl got to her feet and looked around. Cat began to get up too, but by then the girl had taken off—in a one-eighty away from the man.
Cat
Does she have a guilty conscience? Can I use it against her to get her to help me? Or should I try another way to flip her?
It was perfectly acceptable to lie to suspects and tell them that someone else connected to the case was spilling their guts and blaming everything on them. Cat and Tess were excellent liars themselves—look at how well they had covered up for Vincent all this time—and Heather had picked up pointers about how to lie convincingly: keep your eyes wide open, keep your story simple, and don’t try too hard.
She doesn’t like Ilya. Could I lie about something he told his uncle? They probably only speak to each other in Russian. What could I make up that she would believe?
“Nothing,” Heather whispered. The jitters came then; she shook uncontrollably and her eyes welled with tears. Control. She had to stay in control. But it was so hard when she was frightened, dirty, hungry, and exhausted. She wasn’t a cop. She was an event planner.
But I’m Catherine Chandler’s sister , she reminded herself. Okay, her half-sister, but I’ve got the half that matters. Mom was smart, brave, and sneaky, and so are we. I can do this.
And I will do this.
“Bring it,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Sea Majesty had left the Port of Los Angeles behind and made for the open water. The passengers were busily acquainting themselves with the pools, the volleyball court, the casino, and the shopping mall, which was extensive. There was a queue in the Majestic Memories shop to see the embarking photographs, which were displayed on video screens.
“There she is.” Cat gave Vincent a nudge in his side. The girl she had noticed before sat on the side of the grotto pool with her legs in the water. She was wearing a black nineteen-thirties-style bathing suit and a broad-brimmed black straw hat, and she was hunched over a book.
“And there he is.” Vincent gestured with his chin.
The guy in the black suit and sunglasses was barely visible as he studied the girl.
Cat sauntered casually over to the pool and stopped beside the girl. She allowed her shadow to fall over the girl’s book. No reaction. Cat squinted at the page. Poems of the English Romantic Period. Homework?
“Is the water nice?” Cat asked.
The girl shifted slightly but didn’t answer. Cat leaned over and stuck her hand in the pool. “Ooh, it’s a little chilly.”
Huffing, the girl looked up from her book. “It’s perfect. You should go in.” Judging by her tone of voice, she was silently adding, And leave me alone.
Cat slipped off her wedges, lowered herself to the cement, and put her legs in. She fanned them back and forth but didn’t speak.
The girl turned a page. Then she looked over at Cat, looked again. Gave her head a quick shake.
Cat glanced at her. Without looking up, the girl said, “I thought you were Kate Middleton.”
Cat was so surprised that she guffawed. The girl frowned. She said, “It was an honest mistake.”
“Oh? Have you met Kate Middleton?”
This time the girl looked at her full on. “Yes, I have. Haven’t you? I thought they put all the people who had met Kate Middleton on the same deck.”
Oooh, touchy. Cat moved her shoulders. “Okay,” she said, “I think I’m busted. Here’s the deal. My husband and I noticed a man following you and we want to know if you know him.”
Paling, the girl sucked in her breath. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “ No. ”
“You do know him,” Cat pressed, senses going on alert.
“Where…? I mean, I have to go.” She closed her book. Cat placed a hand on her forearm.
“Let me help you. Who is he? Are you traveling with him?”
“Stay away from me.” The girl got to her feet and looked around. Cat began to get up too, but by then the girl had taken off—in a one-eighty away from the man.
Cat
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