Page 16 of Under the Radar
10
Mac poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and sank into the comfortable leather chair that faced the security monitors. He loosened his tie, settling in for a three-hour shift on the desk. The ship had left the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay and was heading south in the shipping lanes. They’d been moving at a swift clip for several hours. These were the hours when manning the cameras were most important. Partiers drank, gamblers spent lots of money, the entertainers danced and sang, and the restaurants were crammed to capacity.
He switched to the bow camera where his security personnel were in place. Sometimes passengers attempted to fly in the wind like the couple had done in the movie Titanic. It gave him a headache just thinking about it.
He glanced at the elevator cameras and each one was crystal clear. Passengers poured out of the lifts, dispersing in a dozen different directions. A woman cautiously peered out of the crystal elevator and looked both ways. She fell in with a small group of people, leaned against the wall at the entrance to the Lido cafeteria, and looked right and left. She removed her enormous hat and blonde hair cascaded halfway down her back.
Mac sat up straight. That looked like Mo. He’d seen her only once today on a monitor and that GQ guy had been close behind her. Why had she checked the hallway outside of the elevator before she stepped out? It was odd behavior for a very social woman. She got in line at the pizza parlor and started a conversation with an older couple.
Mac congratulated himself on not checking her schedule once today. Attaboy. Why should he give a crap about what Mo was doing and with whom? She’d made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t interested in him. End of story.
And even if she was interested, he’d keep his distance because medication had made his mental state worse, not better. He’d always been super sensitive to medicine. Mac had called his doctor yesterday and, with permission, quit taking the small dose of prescribed valium. Now he was a sleepless zombie of jumbled emotions. He’d be a real prize winner for the next day or two coming off the med.
He purposely avoided looking at the screen where Mo stood in line until his second said, “Hey, commotion in the Lido cafeteria.”
GQ stood in the dining room, attempting to placate a large, square woman with red hair. She waved her arms and pointed at a blonde. The body language signaled a fight about to break into full swing.
Uh-oh.The blonde was Mo. Damn.
Mac jumped up and barked into his radio. “Dimitri—Lido. Code red.” He moved at a brisk pace down the back hallway, through the kitchen to a hidden door by the coffee bar, and into the dining room.
The large redhead was yelling, “You keep your hands off my husband, you slut. I’ll rearrange your face the next time I see you near him.”
GQ moved in front of the woman and said something to her. Mo attempted to veer around the couple with her tray of pizza and drinks.
The woman shoved GQ out of the way and lunged for Mo. Mac broke into a run. Dimitri closed in from the opposite direction. The red-haired woman just missed Mo and slammed into the pizza tray. Mo stumbled backward into a booth as soda cascaded through the air, landing on her. One of her heels went airborne. Passengers screamed, scrambling to get out of the way.
Dimitri pulled the pizza tray away from the woman’s face and restrained her. Another security guard the size of Godzilla pushed GQ into a seat and held him there. Mac leaned over Mo sprawled in the booth.
“Maureen, are you okay?” He tapped her cheek.
She opened her eyes, looked at him, and closed her eyes again. “I think I’ve had a terrible brain injury, maybe a concussion.” She blinked. “Definitely a concussion. You look like someone I know.” She pressed her dripping hands against her eyes.
“You do know me. It’s me, Mac. Let me help you.” He removed a scattering of wet napkins from her hair and slid an arm under her back to help her sit up. “Good grief, girl—you’re a sticky mess.” He knelt down and touched her face. “Are you okay?”
“Mac? I think I’ve slipped into another dimension.” She accepted dry napkins from a woman in the next booth and patted soda off her face and chest. “All I did was come here to get something to eat.”
Mac pointed at GQ and his wife. “Do you know these people, Mo?”
“Just him. He’s followed me everywhere for two days. He’s always a few steps behind me.”
Oh.Her odd behavior started making sense. “Are you traveling together?”
Her eyes bugged open. “What? You gotta be kidding. Hell, no. I keep trying to shake him off, but he’s like gum on my shoe.”
“Has he been bothering you?”
Mo rolled her eyes. “Yessss. And I had no idea he had a wife.” She struggled to get up and pointed at GQ. “I don’t know why you keep following me, but I’ve repeatedly asked you to leave me alone. I don’t want to see you again. Or your wife.”
Mo focused on Mac next. “Damn. I still think I might have a concussion, so I’m not sure if I’ll see you again. Maybe you’re a figment of my damaged imagination. Where’s my hat and shoes?” She stalked off and picked up one of her heels. Mac found the other under a chair. The heel was broken off. He handed both pieces to her.
“Thanks. This is great, just great.” She clutched the heels to her chest. “My last pair of heels in this world are now effed up. Doesn’t anybody care about nice shoes anymore? They can last for years if you take care of them, polish them occasionally, don’t let them get wet, and have new soles added every once in a while.”
Mo tossed a hand in the air and rubbed her temple with an index finger. “I’ve got a pair of flip flops in my stateroom. I’ll wear them. It’s just stuff. I think I need to get through this stage of my life before I buy any more good shoes.” She limped off toward the elevator. A passenger trotted over and handed Mo her hat.
Mac turned to Dimitri and Godzilla. He pointed at GQ and his wife. “Take these two to an empty conference room. Offer them refreshments—but no liquor. I’ll be there shortly to settle this situation.” He crooked a finger, summoning a waiter.
“Jorge, call concierge and ask for a stack of complimentary rooftop dining tickets per my request. I want you to give one to each passenger in this section of the dining room, compliments of the house, as an apology for the scene this evening.”