Page 58 of Uncharted

“Sassy, you’re right.”

Easton shakes his head. “After we search my dad’s room, I’m going to pry the molding off. There’s something under it causing it to bubble out.”

“But that had to have been done at the shipyard. They weren’t putting in moldings on the way to the port to get guests, were they?” I ask. But neither Dante nor Easton would know—they both came on after me. Shayla had gotten stuck in here, as well as Easton once before the night we abandoned ship.

“I know they were chasing issues, but not carpentry. The squirrel deckhand, the one with the hair—what was his name?” Dante slaps his hand on the side of the door.

“Ryder or Waldo?”

“No, Mitch—Waldo—they were like one interesting side character together to me.”

“Dante! Mitch was soft-spoken, with longer hair, and an engineer. Waldo had worked on tugboats.” I put my hand on my hip. There are times that Dante’s chef-ness really comes out. I worked with a chef who called me the short one for a four-month charter. I’m five-ten, but the chief stew was six feet and a former model. I stayed out of the kitchen and off service as much as I could for that season. Housekeeping and the laundry room lacked the drama that the rest of the boat had.

“Damn, Sassy. I don’t know. The one with the pointed nose and the man bun.”

“Mitch.”

“Mitch, then, was grabbing grapes out of the walk-in all the time. He was complaining about having to help Calvin instead of working on deck. I just ignored him, like a squeaky mouse. I’ve got zip empathy for complainers.”

“No,” Easton says in mock shock.

“I heard you’re doing some sort of treasure hunt. I want to help. I’ve got another hour while my secret for tonight does its magic.” Dante winks at me.

“Secret?” Easton scowls. “But Haley knows?”

“Sassy hears all and knows all.” Dante makes a face at Easton.

“You’ll tell me, won’t you, Firefly?” Easton wraps his arm around my shoulder.

“It’s a good one. You’re going to love it. You’ll need to wait for the surprise.” I kiss his thumb. Pizza and some beers really are going to do great things for the guy’s morale. Actually, for my morale too.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go hunting for a fucking diamond. I might have a surprise of my own.” Easton leads me down to the primary suite.

“All right, Rockwell. You better not be talking about your dick,” Dante scoffs.

Easton laughs. “I’m not, but now I wish I was.” He kisses the side of my neck.

The thought of someone running around the ship actively trying to basically kill us all makes my insides quiver, but being with these two lightens my day. My fingers tingle with excitement. When I was little, I wanted to be a detective. That was before I found out how dangerous it was, that plants were a lot safer. Then again, I’ve never done anything with my botany––including finishing my degree.

The doors to the primary suite are closed. They’re double doors for twice the entrance. It feels like yesterday I found Shayla behind them, buried in horse boxes. Crap, thinking about her makes me so worried again. I really want to get home and find her safe. Her and Emily mostly, but everyone. Heck, I even want whoever did this to us to be safe. Mostly so I can see them punished.

I push the doors open. Things are all over the floor. But then this is kind of like how Candy left it any time she waltzed out of the room. Use a towel, drop it. Wear a shirt for an hour and leave it puddled on the bathroom floor. This is worse, though. Everything from the dresser tops has rolled against the starboard wall. The sheets are hanging off the side of the bed, and a bunch of the pillows are still in place, while ten or so others are on the floor. “Right, we need a plan of attack. First, we search the bed, then we can pile things on top of it.”

Dante laughs.

I turn and point at him. “By searching the bed, I mean searching the bed.”

He nods. “Got it. You’re right. This is important.”

We strip the bed, look through the mound of pillows, and even move the mattress off its box spring. Then we search through the ton of clothes on the floor, shaking out each one. Horse sweatshirt after horse bathing suit—I never imagined that there were bras with horses on them, but there are.

“Where was Candy when you told her to drop the bags?” Easton tosses a pair of his father’s pants on the mounded bed.

I triangulate the position. “Between the bed, dresser, and sofa.” The sofa’s a fainting couch. At least, that’s what my old chief stew used to call them, the kind of thing you see in old movies, when people go to see a therapist. “Here.” I stand on the spot. We’ve got everything off the floor and the dresser, and the nightstands are empty too.

Dante moves to me, circles me, and then drops to the floor so suddenly I squeal. He presses his head to the floor, turning it to one side and then the next. Then he rolls a full tumble and does it again. Easton and I are just glaring. “I don’t see anything, Sassy.”

“Well, Sam did a good job. It’s just weird. There was more than one bag. Where did they go?”

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