“Lord no, I couldn’t possibly bear another pot of tea. What I need, dear girl, is to think about you having some fun once this is over. I recommend some dancing and perhaps a few men. Or women, should you choose.”
“Mum—”
“Or stick to men if you prefer. Somewhere out there.” She flung her bone-thin arm to indicate the window. “See the world. Live your life. Leave all this behind. Take a wild leap. Dance your heart out.”
Smile. She needed her mother to smile. “Didn’t we already establish that the Royal Ballet would laugh me off the premises?”
“As indeed they should.”
* * *
Royal. Princess. Northern Princess. Is that close enough, Mum?
Slowly, reluctantly Lulu came awake. Leaving those dreams—not so much dreams as mushed-up memories—always made her sad. Sometimes she wished that she didn’t have them, but more often, she felt profoundly grateful that she did. Her mother had been gone for nearly seven months now, and these occasional dreams were all she had left of her acerbic, affectionate presence.
But she could never hang onto them for long. They evaporated in the daylight like dew on spiderwebs. Other details took over.
Her feet were cold. All night long something warm had weighed down her feet, but now her own personal blanket was gone. The other blanket—the one that belonged to the fisherman whose name she couldn’t remember at the moment—had slid halfway to the floor. She sniffed her armpits. God, she needed a shower. Where did one shower on this boat? What about breakfast? What about everything else, like…staying alive, for instance?
“Psssst,” she hissed. No answer. Huh. Everything had been fine last night. She’d just assume it still was this morning.
And what next?
She should contact the authorities, but which ones? Maybe the British embassy? The FBI? She swung her legs over the edge of the bunk. A piece of trim ran the length of it, formed a raised perimeter meant to keep the occupant from rolling off. Nice thought, but she had bigger problems to worry about than falling out of bed. Or into bed, for that matter.
How far was Mr. Bad Guy going to take this? Would he keep up his pursuit or decide to cut his losses? Was he back on the Northern Princess or still here in Lust—Lost—Harbor?
Voices sounded from above. Probably from on deck. The fisherman—Tristan! That was his name—must be awake by now. She didn’t even know what time it was. It could be so hard to tell in these Northern latitudes.
She dropped to her knees next to her backpack, which she’d stashed right next to the bunk. Rummaging though it, she found her phone, then hesitated. She’d turned it off last night because phones could be tracked, and she honestly had no idea what Mr. Bad Guy was capable of. Was it safe to turn it back on now? She had no idea, so she left it off.
She glanced around the tidy cabin. Bunks, four in all, lined the sloping aluminum walls. Each had a foam mattress covered in heavy-duty marine fabric. Underneath each bunk sat plastic storage containers. There was absolutely no privacy, but since she was the only one here, she decided not to worry about it.
Quickly she stripped off her black clothing and stuffed it into the bottom of her bag. Maybe she could find a launderette somewhere in town. She pulled on new underwear and a pair of cream dance tights, along with a sundress printed with bright tulips. Remembering that it was September in Alaska, and likely quite cold outside the cozy cabin of this fishing boat, she added a Royal Ballet hoodie that her mother had given her, sarcastically. She considered it good luck, and if ever she’d needed some of that, the time was now.
Realizing that she’d left her hairbrush behind on the ship—Could that get her in trouble? Could they collect DNA from that?—she combed her fingers through her hair, then gathered it into a braid. Braids worked well for women in dire circumstances. Just look at Katniss Everdeen.
Making a face at her own absurdity, she pulled on her trainers and shouldered her bag. Last step, the biggest beauty essential of all: paste on a smile. She knew better than most how to do that. Not only did she do it for a living every time she stepped onstage, but she’d also perfected the technique during her years taking care of her mum.
“Brilliant morning to you all!” she chirped as she stepped onto the deck. Four faces swung toward her, belonging to Tristan, another man, and two women. They were gathered on the stern deck, each holding a thermos or a takeaway cup. “Hullo everyone, I’m Lulu. I’m Tristan’s campa—” She caught the slightest shake of Tristan’s head. “Trespasser. I’m his trespasser.”
Tristan choked back a laugh. He cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Coffee, trespasser?”
That sounded like a good idea. “Don’t mind if I do. Then perhaps you could direct me to the closest hotel or inn or hovel of some kind.”
“See, that’s what we’ve been talking about,” he murmured as he poured coffee from his insulated aluminum mug into a tin cup for her. It instantly warmed her hands. Even with her hoodie and her tights, the chill of the morning air made her skin prickle.
Or maybe his voice did that. Or his big body so close to hers. “Who is we?” she whispered to him. “I don’t need a ‘we’ talking about me.”
“Give them a chance,” he murmured. More loudly, he went on, “Lucas Holt is the harbormaster.”
Lucas lifted his thermos in acknowledgement. Dark-haired and stern-faced, he certainly looked like he was in charge. “Charmed,” she told him.
“And this is Maya Badger, she’s the police chief.”
Oh dear. This was getting serious. The police chief? Maya Badger had rich brown skin and gorgeous amber eyes that seemed to perceive everything at a glance. Could she detect the bit that Lulu was keeping hidden?
Most importantly, was she to be trusted? After her experience with the “security chief” on the Northern Princess, Lulu couldn’t assume anything.
“I’m almost entirely innocent, Madam Police Chief,” she said breezily, hoping it came across as a joke instead of a nervous deflection.
Maya’s eyebrows rose. “Then you’re prepared to cooperate in the investigation?”
Lulu swallowed hard. There was already an investigation? She shot a smoldering glance at Tristan, who’d wasted no time at all selling her out. He shook his head slightly, a smile playing across his lips. Which were quite attractive, she noticed, firm and well-formed. Highly kissable.
“Absolutely,” she assured the police chief.
In fact, Lulu would be conducting her own investigation into the local authorities, although she’d be relying on her gut instinct and talent for reading people.
“And this is my sister, Toni Del Rey,” Tristan continued. “I’m not sure why she’s here, except that she has a knack for being in the middle of anything interesting.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Toni.” Tristan’s sister didn’t look much like him, being dark-haired with a Spanish flair, as compared to his tawny hair and light eyes. “But I assure you all, I’m not at all interesting.”
Maya was watching her steadily. Instead of a uniform, she wore snug black pants and a burgundy sweater that made her skin glow. “All sorts of things are interesting to a police chief, especially anything to do with the cursed Northern Princess. I want to hear more about this man Tristan spotted on the boardwalk last night. Why were you hiding from him?”