Christmas Captive. Liz Johnson

the side of his fist against the white wood, but Amy grabbed his forearm before he could connect.

      “What are you doing?”

      The lines around his mouth deepened, his eyebrows angling down. “What do you mean? I’m knocking.” He spoke like she was a child, and she glared back at him, wishing he wasn’t quite so much taller than she was.

      “Elaina might have fallen asleep. So maybe don’t wake her up and scare her socks off by pounding on the door in the middle of the night.”

      With a frown and a shake of his head, he stepped back and waved his hand in front of the door. “By all means. Show me how it’s done.”

      Oh, she could show him a thing or two.

      And she would...if Elaina wasn’t in jeopardy and there wasn’t at least one thug still free on this ship.

      Rolling her eyes at him, she gently rapped on the door with the edge of her knuckles. Bump-bump-buh-buh-bump. Bump. Bump.

      The door quickly opened, and Jordan whispered in her ear as Michael led them into the suite, “No fair. You didn’t tell me there was a secret knock.”

      “You didn’t ask.”

      “Hmm?” Michael looked up, his eyes wild and dark hair thoroughly disheveled as though he’d been running his fingers through it all night. He probably had. “Did you say something?”

      “No.” Amy gave the room a quick visual sweep, taking in Pete standing beside the closed door on the far side of the room. That had to be Elaina’s room, and it was clear that Michael’s bodyguard wasn’t going to let a soul past. That, at least, unwound one string from around her lungs.

      Michael’s restless marching threatened to tie it right back up.

      “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, shooting a quick glance toward the kitchenette to her left. It had a not-quite-full-size refrigerator tucked between two lengths of Formica countertop. Each slab was bare save for a coffeemaker that could make only one cup at a time. “Water? Tea? Decaf?”

      Michael’s eyes were trained on the floor, and when he looked up again, they narrowed in confusion. “What?”

      She glanced at Jordan, whose eyes mirrored the concern she felt. With a gentle sweep of his hands, he encouraged her to keep going.

      She lowered herself to the edge of the chocolate-brown sofa. “Michael, why don’t you sit down with me for a minute? Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Keeping her voice low and even, she managed a half smile, which didn’t garner any reaction from her brother-in-law.

      “Michael, what happened tonight?”

      He stopped pacing, slammed one hand on his hip and stabbed the other through his hair. “You were there. You’re the one who told me.”

      Taking a deep breath through her nose, she let it out through tight lips, trying to formulate a line of questioning that would lead to answers.

      She needed to know what he knew. And she needed that info now.

      But she was going to have to guide him there.

      Jordan cleared his throat from across the room. He’d taken up a chunk of space outside the kitchen area, leaning a shoulder against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest but the relaxed angle of his neck made him seem...what? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

      At ease, maybe.

      And somehow it helped her breathe just a little easier.

      Maybe Michael picked up on that, too. He took a step, then paused. Then he sank into an overstuffed armchair.

      “The man in the cell tonight,” Jordan began slowly, thoughtfully, “have you ever seen him before?”

      Shoulders slumping until his arms rested on his knees, Michael shook his head. “No.”

      Jordan kept his voice low and easy. “Had Elaina ever seen him before?”

      “I don’t think so. No. I’m pretty sure she hadn’t.”

      Jordan scratched at his chin, his gaze going to the ceiling like he was formulating his next question. “Do you usually go on vacation with a bodyguard?”

      The question made both Amy and Michael snap to attention, and she stared at Jordan.

      “I’m just saying,” Jordan continued, “Lybania’s a high-risk area, so I’m sure you’re provided with a protection detail when you’re at the embassy or traveling in Lybania. But I don’t know very many ambassadors who vacation on US soil with a bodyguard.”

      “We’re not on US soil,” Michael said.

      Jordan uncrossed and recrossed his arms, his gaze never wavering. Silence lingered too long and too heavy to last.

      Even the silent bodyguard in question shifted from one foot to the other.

      Finally Michael put his hands over his face and sighed.

      “I think someone is trying to kill me. And now they’re coming after Elaina.”