The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,86
with Seichan to keep watch during the night.
During his shifts, Gray received ongoing updates from Painter.
At least there was some good news.
Impossibly, Kowalski had washed up on a beach near Cagliari, arriving there only an hour after Gray’s group had departed. He came with his own harrowing tale, but also word that Dr. Elena Cargill was still alive, held aboard a yacht by those who had kidnapped her in Greenland. Unfortunately, by the time authorities could be roused, the yacht had vanished.
A search continued for it.
Sounds of splashing water drew Gray’s attention. Seichan climbed from the spa behind him. His breath caught as she stepped out and arched her back. She shook loose a drape of black hair. Rivulets of steaming water traced her curves and ran down her flat stomach. With little else to do while the Explorer headed to port, the two had enjoyed what the suite had to offer, including the gold-plated master bath with its two heated stone lounges and its own sauna.
Still, it all paled to the stunning beauty standing before him.
He crossed over and drew her close. His hands slid down her backside. She smelled of jasmine blossoms from the bath salts and a spicy musk that was all her. After Jack had been born, they’d little time for intimacy that wasn’t furtive and quick.
“We have an hour before we reach port,” he said huskily in her ear.
“Then I should pump again.”
“Hmm . . .” He glided one palm farther down, gripped the back of her thigh, and lifted her leg to his waist. “I think that could wait.”
“Do you?” With a grace that defied gravity, she raised her other leg and wrapped it fully around him. “Are you sure?”
He rolled her against the wall and let her feel how firm he was on the matter.
She knotted her fingers in his hair and pulled him to her lips.
The next hour went by too fast. A ship’s announcement finally roused them from the tangle of sheets on the bed. They quickly showered, dressed, and reluctantly abandoned the temporary refuge.
Before opening the door, Seichan stepped in front of him, blocking the way. “We should do this again.”
He stayed close to her, cocking an eyebrow. “I don’t think we have time, but I’m willing to try.”
She placed both palms on his chest, something she only did when she was serious. “I mean this. Us together. We need more of this.”
He stared into her eyes. “I miss this, too. But Jack—”
“I can’t just be a mother,” she blurted out.
In that moment, he saw what she had been trying to hide for weeks, maybe months. The guilt, the sadness, the confusion inside her. He leaned his forehead against hers. “I never want you to be just a mother. I love Jack with all my heart, but you are my heart. And if we’re not our truest selves—with him, with each other—then we’re no good to our son.”
She sighed and glanced down. The guilt had softened in her eyes, but he feared it was not gone. He could tell she remained unresolved, and it set his heart to pounding harder, worried.
The cruise director’s voice came over the ship-wide intercom, announcing that they’d reached port and that disembarkation was available for tour groups and individuals.
Seichan patted her palms on his chest, as if tabling the matter. “Let’s go.”
They headed out of the bedroom into the common areas, greeted by the music of Tchaikovsky from the suite’s Steinway piano. Gray had heard the muffled bits of various classical pieces and assumed it was the self-playing feature on the instrument. But Father Bailey was sitting at the keyboard and playing the final chords.
Mac stood next to the piano, his arm back in its sling. He cradled a mug of coffee and nodded to the table. “The butler brought in lunch and a tea service.”
Seichan crossed over to the tower of little cakes and finger sandwiches.
Gray joined Mac and Bailey as the priest stood up, massaging his hands and wrists.
“A bit rusty,” Bailey said. “But it helps me think.”
Gray knew what puzzled the man. It sat on the lounge’s coffee table. The lid of the bronze box stood open. The gold map and silver astrolabe shone brightly in the streaming sunlight. He also noted Maria out on the cabin’s public deck, staring toward the bustle of Palma’s port. Gray knew she wasn’t appreciating the sights, but keeping watch.
“Still, haven’t learned anything new,” Bailey admitted, frowning at the map. “And without Monsignor Roe to help