In a few seconds we were inside. Jagger quietly shut the door and motioned for me to start looking on the other side of the room. As I slipped on my gloves, I figured I’d follow his lead and not talk.

After I searched through several piles of papers on the sideboard, occasionally looking at Jagger, who was fishing through the stuff on the desk, he motioned for me to come over.

There in his hands was the manila folder that read JACQUELYN ARNEAU. The late Jackie.

Jagger slipped on his camera glasses. He started to click away, so I did the same with my “beeper.” When he turned the page, a photo of what had to be Remy dropped to the floor followed by a cascade of several more.

I gasped.

“Quiet, Pauline.”

As soon as he’d used my real name, I bit down on my lip and started to lift the pictures. Several were group photos of the crew. One even had Peter, Rico and Betty in it. The next was of Betty, Jackie and the man I assumed was Remy. All smiling into the camera as if they didn’t have a care in the world. All were dressed alike, in their uniforms with white shorts that came to above their knees.

Remy was in the center with his arms around both women. When I saw Remy clearer now, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for both him and Jackie. What had they gotten themselves into to cause her death and whatever had happened to him?

Fraud.

Money had to be the root of their problems.

Jagger nudged my arm. I looked at him and followed his gaze to the file.

Jackie had been given an advance on her paycheck a while back. The old records were still in her files. Hmm. She’d needed money. Maybe an advance in pay wasn’t enough. So what else would she do to get it?

I looked up at Jagger. He winked at me. My knees wobbled. Delicious. I told myself to behave and get back to the matter at hand. Truthfully, it was getting easier and easier to ignore the tornadoes of maleness that flew off of Jagger. I was quite pleased that my professionalism had grown as I learned more and more about my job.

Jagger opened a bag that had Jackie’s personal belongings inside. I recognized several things from our room, like her clock shaped like the Eiffel Tower, and her nail polish.

A tear escaped my eye. Before I could do anything about it, Jagger reached over and gently wiped the side of my face. Now I know what “swoon” meant. Damn, I could have melted into a puddle right then.

As good as I was about ignoring Jagger-maleness, being touched by him was still another matter.

But it was business as usual for Jagger. He pulled his hand away and motioned for me to look. In the bottom of the bag was a wallet. Jackie’s, I guessed, although I’d never seen it. The wallet was light brown suede and, I figured, made in France. A big J was embossed on it. He opened it and lifted out her credit cards, six of them. Yikes. Then he pulled out her license and other cards we had no interest in. When he went to shut it, I touched his hand.

On the bottom part of the wallet was stitching. For some reason, it didn’t look as if it belonged there. It wasn’t a seam nor a fancy design. I pointed it out to Jagger. He ran his finger across the section and pushed down.

A tiny slit opened.

Jagger eased out a paper folded to the size of a stick of gum. With his gloves on, he carefully opened it.

In what I guessed was Jackie’s handwriting was a list of numbers-with dollar amounts next to them. At the top she had written, “Owed.”

On the bottom of the page, she had scribbled some notes in French. I wondered if Jagger knew what they meant. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did. As a matter of fact, it looked like he was reading them and took a few pictures.

He refolded the paper, tucked it back into the secret compartment and had everything back in place before we heard it.

The click of the door.

Faster then the speed of light, Jagger put the room back in order, yanked me toward the balcony with a hand over my mouth-and soon we were in pitch darkness.

“I’m not going to scrweeeam,” I whispered.

He held his hand in place.

Within seconds we were out on the balcony, which was a hundred times bigger than Goldie and Miles’s. But below-way below-the waves clapped against the side of the ship, and my heart went into overtime.

Instead of a clear star-filled night, lightning flashed on the horizon, sprays of water moistened our faces, and the deep, dark water loomed below.

All my phobias crashed together, so I knew I’d die from fright before I hit the surface if I ever fell overboard. I was not a swimmer, nor was I able to float long enough to save my life. I freaked if I couldn’t touch bottom. Besides, the giant waves below reminded me of The Poseidon Adventure. At any second, I half expected a gigantic wave to come from nowhere and flip the ship over.

Suddenly I wondered if Goldie had been correct. Was the Bermuda Triangle acting up?

Jagger pushed me closer to the edge and I could feel my body stiffen. I think he tried to whisper something in my ear, but if it wasn’t something sexual or that we were going right back inside, I wanted nothing to do with whatever it was. I know he wanted us away from the French doors that led out there, but I didn’t care.

I’d rather be found and thrown into the pokey than fall overboard.

“Move, Sherlock,” he said firmly.

I shook my head, knowing full well that I couldn’t take another step if I wanted to.

“Do you trust me?”

I nodded.

“Then move.”

I shook my head again, although I really wanted to be able to talk and explain how I felt.

So, Jagger not being used to someone saying no, I found myself lifted up and moved away from the door. The problem was that in Jagger’s arms I was now level with the top of the safety railing that kept the captain and his crew from falling overboard. One sneeze, and Jagger could let me go flying over the top.

I clamped onto his neck like superglue.

It took all of my control to ignore the fact that I could cause us both to fall into the sea.

I said a very fast prayer and before I knew it, I was set down over the railing to a very small ledge below. I think I blacked out. Maybe that’s when he pried my hands off of him.

Within seconds, I found myself grabbing onto the closest part of the ship that I could reach (the damn railing), hoping it would keep me from heading down to Davy Jones’s locker. I peeked over to see the waves far below and was glad, in one way, since they couldn’t wash over me, but in another way, I was terrified that it was a darn long way to fall.

Soon Jagger was at my side, holding on to me and motioning for me to stay still-as if I wanted to Polka right here on this tiny ledge to the tune of “By the Beautiful Sea.”

If the Bermuda Triangle didn’t suck us into the surf, I might just jump, since I didn’t think we could ever get off of there alive.

The fear factor was killing me.

My heart thudded. In the room, shadows moved along the wall. Doors opened and shut. We heard voices-muffled voices.

The lights popped on.

“Cleaning people,” Jagger whispered.

Cleaning people? What the heck was he talking about? I thought he’d lost his mind. Maybe Jagger was more afraid than me. Naw. “Whaaaaaaaat?” I asked.

Who cared if I sounded like a frightened kid facing the Headless Horseman on Halloween?

“There are cleaning people in the office. When they’re done, we can go back… What is it, Sherlock?”

Frozen, I couldn’t respond. The ship had tilted to one side. I didn’t know or care if it was port or starboard. For me it was hell.

“You don’t like water.”

At least he didn’t say I was scared shitless. I nodded and in seconds, Jagger’s strong hold had me feeling a bit safer. Of course I wished that hold was on land or at least back in the safety of the hallway, so that I could enjoy it.