Someone had been in her stateroom.
Blue sapphire organza spilled out of the opened garment bag in Kathryn Brooks’s closet. She hadn’t touched it since the day they’d set sail, when she’d carefully hung the gown alongside her other performance attire. Kat was meticulous about her work clothes, had to be, considering their hefty price tag. She never would have left one of her bags open. Especially not the one holding her Jovani gown, the one her dad had bought for her.
So, who had opened it?
The question gripped her and wouldn’t let go.
She checked the zipper along the edge of the white casing, found it intact. She glanced around the room.
Everything else looked just the way she’d left it when she’d gone to the gym. The bed had been made, though, and a towel folded into the shape of a monkey hung from the ceiling. Johann’s doing.
She still felt funny about the special treatment, but her agent had insisted on requesting a room with a balcony, a steward and all the perks that vacationing travelers enjoyed.
It was how a world-renowned concert pianist traveled, Becky Landry had told her. “In style.”
Kat unhooked the gown from its hanger and carried it to the bed, laid it out atop the white down comforter. Traced the seams, checked the hem. No harm done.
Perhaps her cabin steward had just been curious. If it happened again, she’d have a word with him. She chided herself for her paranoia.
She needed to get a handle on that. Ever since the fire, she’d been battling anxiety.
Rooming with her best friend had been the perfect antidote. During the day, Morgan was the best kind of company—funny and adventurous, always dragging Kat out of their room to explore new ports and socialize with passengers. And during the quiet hours of the night, Kat was never alone. But Morgan had disembarked for a family emergency four days ago, leaving Kat right back in the very place she’d sought to escape—alone with her thoughts.
The room was stuffy. She left the gown and opened the glass balcony door, stepped out to the railing. Hot wind assaulted her, mid-July sun beating down without mercy. She welcomed the heat, its warmth on her face, the pungent saltiness of the sea—all reminders that she was alive. Just three months ago, she’d wondered if she’d ever feel the sun again, see the crisp blue sky, inhale the scents of summer.
Absently, she traced a hand down her left side, the ridges of the bandage smoothing down under her fingertips. The fire had licked a three-inch-wide path from midthigh to the bottom of her rib cage. In time, the burn would fade, but the scar would remain forever. None of it mattered, though, compared to what she had lost.
Kat blinked hard and shut out the regrets.
She wouldn’t look back. Not with all the beauty stretched out before her. The Jade Princess lulled gently, no land in sight. Four days since leaving port in Salvador de Bahia, Brazil, the ship floated leisurely toward its next destination, the Canary Islands. Kat breathed in the ocean breeze, trying to drum up the thrill of the adventure ahead. But all she felt was the ache of all that had been.
Her dad would have loved cruising. She could picture him walking the promenade and talking up his only child’s accomplishments to anyone who would listen. It hurt to know he’d spent his entire life working, until one day he couldn’t.
A massive stroke in November had pushed him out of the state’s attorney’s office and into disability retirement. Kat had canceled her tour and moved back into the house she’d grown up in. Cared for her dad and willed him to get better while she took a faculty piano instructor position at the University of Miami.
Her father had started to improve, gaining back motion on the right side of his body, carrying on brief conversations. They’d begun to connect in a way Kat had craved since her mother had died. They’d eaten dinner together most nights, classical music in the background, reminiscing and dreaming. He wanted to travel, he told her, once he was back on his feet. She said she’d go with him as soon as his doctor okayed the trip.
But in January, he had another stroke. Kat was at work when it happened. Found him on the floor by his bed when she came home. Too late.
Setting her gaze on the horizon, still and unreachable, Kat clenched the railing, determined. Before her mother passed away fourteen years ago, Kat had made a promise that she would keep putting one foot in front of the other, even when it hurt.
Especially when it hurt.
She’d done just that, and now here she was, on her third job of a six-cruise contract as a concert pianist. She had to hand it to Morgan. The timing had been ripe for this kind of adventure.
The home she’d grown up in had burned to the ground in March, nearly taking her with it. When she was released from the burn center, bandages still covering ugly scars, footsteps slow with pain and heavy from loss, Kat knew it was up to her to make a new beginning.
The rebuild of Kat’s childhood home would be complete by the time her contract ended, and she’d be able to stop living out of suitcases. In the meantime, she’d have a chance to gain some perspective and evaluate what she would do with her career.
Halfway through her contract, Kat didn’t feel refreshed and she hadn’t gained a new perspective or figured out her next course, but at least she was keeping her promise to keep moving forward.
Her watch beeped.
Time to get to work.
She left the balcony door open as she reentered the cabin, hoping to gather the scent of the sea.
Her gaze flitted over Morgan’s bed, concern tugging at the pit of her stomach. Kat picked up her phone and checked it. No updates yet. She hoped everything was okay. Morgan’s brother, Jake, was in the hospital again, and this time it was serious. For Jake, a twenty-nine-year-old cystic fibrosis patient, any hospital visit could mean the end. Kat sent up a silent prayer for Morgan’s brother and then picked her dress up from the bed.
A flutter of familiar anticipation coursed through her. She always felt it right before a performance. Her cruise contract promised an adventure of a lifetime, and Kat was determined to embrace it.
* * *
Samuel West took a sip of black coffee and wondered, not for the first time, how his siblings had managed to pin him down for this one. Whatever their methods, they had succeeded, and now he sat watching rippling dark water against clear blue skies while keeping the corner of his eye trained on the woman who brought trouble wherever she set foot.
Grandma.
Ever since Grandpa Frank had died last year, Grandma had been on what could only be described as a travel binge. After her first trip left her stranded in Italy with no passport and her second trip ended before it had even begun, with a nasty fall on the airport escalator that fractured her wrist, Sam and his five siblings had gathered with Mom to devise a plan.
Grandma relished her independence, and her mind was still as sharp as ever, but she couldn’t be trusted to embark on adventures alone. Together the family made a pact to take turns joining Grandma Alice on her vacations.
Sam could think of a host of other things he’d rather do than hang out on a cruise ship. Too confined and predictable. But it was his turn, Grandma had told him with her no-nonsense voice, and she knew he had the vacation time available. Knew he hadn’t taken a day off in two years.
A flash of blue drew his gaze away from his grandmother and up to the wide spiral staircase at the center of the atrium. A woman stood still and graceful on the steps, near-black hair cascading down past her shoulders. Like a figure in a painting, she