I guess an FBI agent is never really off duty. He pulled back, looked out the window, and said, “Shit!”

When the door opened, Tim was out before me in the proverbial flash and running across the lobby. I stood in shock for a few seconds and then headed after him.

It really was Remy!

Had to be.

I took in a deep breath and was glad I’d been a jogger for the last thirteen years. Before I knew it, I was running through the doors after Tim, and the clatter of footsteps on the metal stairs sounded ahead. A door opened and shut below.

Tim cursed and jumped over the railing, just making it to the staircase below before he fell to the bottom deck. Yikes! He was through the door before I made it down. When I opened it, I saw him at the end of the hallway, which led out to one of the lower decks.

“Tim!” I shouted, but when he turned to answer, I watched a lounge chair come flying through the air-and smack into the back of his head. I screamed and ran faster as I watched him fall to the ground.

He was out cold. I grabbed my linen handkerchief from my purse and put pressure on the wound. It wasn’t too big, only a small gash, but damn head injuries bled a lot worse then they were. Hopefully he didn’t have any brain trauma. “Tim. Tim!”

He opened his eyes. “What the hell?”

“Good. You’re alive.”

“Is that what you’d call this?”

I took his hand and placed it on the handkerchief. “Hold this really tightly. I’ll call for help.” I hurried to a phone on the wall, called the infirmary and told Rico where we were. “You all right?” I asked, hurrying back.

“I’ll live,” Tim mumbled.

“Good. Stay here.”

I ran ahead and around the curve of the deck-then froze when I heard a splash. I looked over the railing; Remy was in one of the lifeboats, pulling the starter on the motor and then sailing off.

Foolishly, I shouted to stop.

He looked at me and gave me a third-finger salute.

When I got back to Tim, I knelt down beside him and pressed my hand on his. “I got it now.”

He looked at me. “Where’d he go?”

As Rico and two other crewmembers came rushing over to us, I shut my eyes for a second and whispered, “You don’t want to know.”

After Tim was stitched up and told me for the hundredth time that it wasn’t my fault that I had called his name, making him turn around, I walked him to his cabin, where he promised to stay put until morning. I still think he blamed me though, but he didn’t act like it. He was that good of a liar.

The other agent was called and instructed to keep waking Tim through the night to make sure he didn’t have a concussion and remained coherent.

On the way to his cabin, I told him about the lifeboat, and we realized that Remy, being a longtime crewmember, knew how to get it down and use it.

I also thought that now I was much safer onboard, but didn’t voice that tidbit to Tim.

Probably he still thought that I never saw Remy.

Inside Tim’s cabin, which, by the way, was huge, with a balcony and two rooms (courtesy of the taxpayers?), I helped him to the couch near the windows. “Can I get you something?”

He shook his head and then said, “Damn it!”

“I don’t recommend shaking. Doc Pete will have a look at those stitches tomorrow and make sure your brain wasn’t involved.”

He looked at me.

I raised my hands in the air. “No comment. I’m certainly not going to tease you after you’ve been injured with some low-blow brain joke.” I sat next to him and asked, “You think Remy is headed for Bermuda?”

“We’re set to dock there by morning. So, I’m sure he is. My partner sent word ahead to the authorities to be on the lookout for him.” He leaned back and sighed. “We’ll get him.”

I was dying-no pun intended-to find out if Tim was convinced that Remy was the killer. But he looked rather worn and even a bit pale. I took his pulse, out of habit, despite his protests and led him to his bed. He slipped out of his suit jacket, shirt and slacks while I turned around, and I tucked him in.

When I noticed his reflection in the mirror opposite the bed, I couldn’t help but bite my lip to keep from swooning. The guy was built like a brick wall and had tattoos on both upper arms. From here I couldn’t see what they said, but one was clearly a sun design. Neat. They really looked neat and sexy. Who would have thought Pauline Sokol would go for a guy with tattoos?

Come to think of it, Jagger had to have one or two somewhere on his body-I’d just bet he did.

And promised myself that some day, I’d have my answer.

Once back in my cabin, I sat on the edge of my bed and thought about tonight. Betty had the night shift, so the place was all mine-and that meant no snoring with a British accent. I did feel horrible about Tim getting injured though. Not to mention the fact that Remy got away.

The only positive thing was, he was running like a guilty man, which made all our work and Tim’s head injury all worth it.

I got up, headed to the bathroom to change and was soon snuggled in my bed. When morning came, we’d be docking in Bermuda-and I’d never been out of the United States.

I couldn’t wait!

Warmth touched my face, causing my eyelids to flutter. I rolled over, grabbed my pillow and said, “I’m not going to school today, Mom.”

Had I said that out loud? Ha! After a few seconds, I started to chuckle. Then I felt around my empty bed with my hand and suddenly missed my darling Spanky. He was always good for a hug or a laugh-what a canine sense of humor he had-and I could talk to him about anything.

Not that he gave a damn about what I said, but that unconditional-love thing always kicked in.

With thoughts of Spanky stuck back in my mind, I realized there was no movement. Not that I’d felt the ship much-thank goodness. But we must have stopped.

I flung myself up on my knees and looked out the porthole.

Land!

Across the street, and I do mean the ship had pulled into the dock like a car parking along the sidewalk, was row upon row of shops. Colorful, typical Bermuda-from the tourist brochures I’d read-shops. Bright pinks, beiges, yellows and even blue buildings. The Harborfront Restaurant. A perfume shop. A jewelry store. Several clothing boutiques and even an Irish linen shop. How neat!

I couldn’t contain my excitement as I jumped up and pushed the porthole open more. With just about sticking my head out, I could see gigantic ropes holding the ship in place. Reminded me of a doggie chain holding the monster of the sea from escaping. And the small cars were driving on the wrong side of the road! Well, I told myself, for Bermudans it was the correct side, but it sure looked odd to a New Englander.

With a laugh, I got up, danced around my cabin and then pulled clothing out of my drawers and closet. Thank goodness Kris had let me have the first day in port off and took my shift.

After all, the rest of the medical crew had been here a gazillion times. Feeling very much the newbie, I donned my white shorts-Bermuda length-and a dark pink sleeveless top, and grabbed my Steelers visor and sunglasses. First I lathered my face, arms, legs and neck with heavy-duty sunblock. As much as I’d love a nice tan, I wasn’t a fool. My European ancestors had blessed me with skin as fair as ivory and hair as light as sunshine-without added chemicals.

Soon I was on my way to breakfast with the crew. I hoped I’d see my parents sometime today. I figured I’d more than likely run into them and Goldie and Miles, since Bermuda was not a gigantic island-and besides, passengers had to stay on the part of the island where the ships docked.

Rico was eating near the doorway with a few of the other guys. All wore the stupid salmon shirts.

“Hey, amore, how’s it hanging?” he asked, then laughed.