Take Me Home for Christmas

Do you consider you and your husband to be a happy couple?

Oh, yes. We’ve never been more in love.

Is there anyone, maybe a member of the crew, who might’ve been angry with your husband?

Of course not. Skip is wonderful, well-liked by everyone.

Her muscles had ached with tension, but she dared not tell the truth, especially when she was asked who might want him dead. She was pretty sure she was the only one. Mr. Armstrong’s three mates were new hires. They’d met Skip at the beginning of the voyage so they’d had very little time to get acquainted. And although it was possible the captain, the cook and the maid found him as egotistical and overbearing as she did, without him they wouldn’t have a job. None of them had any reason to push him into the ocean.

So where had he gone? They had no more answers now than before they’d docked. But, thank God, the day was over and she had the night to try to recover.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she went up on deck and gazed out at the city. Rio was lit up like an amusement park, but it was a lonely sight as she sat on the Legacy so far from California, wondering what had happened to her husband.

Her cell phone lay on the table nearby. Today, Carlotta, the maid who cleaned up after them and saw to their personal needs, had helped her make arrangements with her carrier so she’d have service while she was out of the States. No doubt Skip’s phone had had international calling from the beginning but, until now, there’d been no need for Sophia to have it. She rarely spoke to anyone outside Whiskey Creek.

After eyeing it for several minutes—as though it was a snake ready to strike—she picked it up and dialed. She’d tried calling Skip earlier, on the captain’s phone. Then, when the police were here, they’d called together. Skip hadn’t answered, of course, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

“This is Skip DeBussi of DeBussi Worldwide Investments. I’ll be unavailable until October 23rd. My assistant, Kelly Petruzzi, will handle any work-related matters in my absence—”

She hung up before he could recite Kelly’s contact information. She’d checked in with Skip’s assistant several times today. He hadn’t heard from her husband, either, which made no sense. Kelly always knew where to reach him in case there was an emergency.

If Skip was alive, he had to pick up at some point. He never went anywhere without his phone, and it certainly hadn’t been left on the boat.

Determined to put an end to what felt like a bizarre dream, Sophia tried him again. And again and again. If the police checked his phone records, it’d look like she was frantic to speak to him. But, in her heart of her hearts, she knew she was merely trying to confirm that he wasn’t going to answer.

The calls went directly to voice mail. Although she listened to his greeting every time, she left only one message. “Skip? Where are you?”

“Mrs. DeBussi?”

The voice didn’t belong to her husband. Startled in spite of that, she jumped and hit the end button. “Yes, Captain Armstrong?”

The Legacy’s captain came closer, his tall body momentarily blocking the lights of the city behind him. “You didn’t eat much dinner. Can I bring you a plate of cheese and crackers? Or a glass of wine?”

She definitely wanted a drink. Some chardonnay would relax her, help her get through what promised to be a rough night of wondering and waiting. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop at one glass. And she needed a clear head. Her daughter was depending on her for emotional strength and direction. The last thing she wanted to do was let Alexa down or prove Skip right—that she was nothing but a lazy drunk.

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

He seemed disappointed that she’d refused. He didn’t know she’d recently come out of rehab, or he would never have offered her wine. Skip, embarrassed by her addiction, had kept her stint at New Beginnings in Los Angeles a secret from everyone except his parents, who’d watched Alexa so he could work while she was gone.

“You should have some food to keep up your strength,” the captain coaxed.

Sophia wanted to eat for that reason but couldn’t swallow a bite. “I’m okay, really.”

With a nod, he moved toward the stairs. “I’m going to turn in, then.”

It was only nine o’clock, but why shouldn’t he enjoy some private time? There wasn’t much anyone could do to change the situation, except wait and see if Skip returned. Although the police had tried to find him by tracking his cell phone, there’d been no signal. According to them, he hadn’t placed a single call since early last night, when he’d talked to his office.

“Good night, Mr. Armstrong,” she said, “and rest easy. There’s nothing a ship’s captain needs to worry about while we’re docked at the marina.”

“This ship’s captain is worried about you,” he told her.

She glanced up. The light of the moon let her see the sympathy on his ruddy face.

“I’m sorry, you remind me of my daughter,” he said. “I can’t help feeling protective of you.”

Sophia might’ve been surprised, except she had that effect on most men, not just the fatherly types. Her mother used to laugh about it. You’re like a china doll, she’d say. Flawless but fragile. There isn’t a more potent combination for attracting the opposite sex.

Skip, of course, had put a darker spin on it. You’re like Marilyn Monroe. You have the kind of sex appeal that drives men crazy. You’ve constantly got them sniffing around, like dogs after a bitch in heat.

The first time Skip had ever hit her was following a chili cook-off sponsored by his wealthy parents. His own cousin, visiting from Denver, had pulled out a chair for her, and that was all it had taken to set him off—once they got home, of course. He’d accused her of flirting, of making his cousin believe she found him attractive.

“I appreciate your concern,” she said to Armstrong, “but...I—I’ll get through this somehow.”

“And if your husband doesn’t come back? Will you be able to get through that?”

Her life would be far easier than if he did. But she couldn’t admit it. “I’ll do my best for my daughter’s sake.”

“I hope it won’t come to that.”

She didn’t say anything, merely smiled as he left. Then she called Kelly to see if there’d been any news.

“Mrs. DeBussi?”

Her husband’s thirtysomething assistant sounded impatient, upset. At first, Sophia felt guilty, assuming she’d bothered him after hours. It was dark where she was—but then she remembered that Rio was five hours ahead of California. Back home, it was three in the afternoon.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you again,” she began, slightly put off, but he broke in before she could go any further.

“No, I’m glad to hear from you. Relieved. As a matter of fact, I was about to call.”

A tight ball of nerves formed in her belly. He’d never been excited to hear from her before. During their brief encounters, even the ones earlier today, he’d treated her with professional courtesy but that was it. Skip kept his business completely separate from his personal life. He hardly ever talked about what he worked on from day to day, or the places he went—unless it was to brag about some multi-million-dollar deal he’d closed.

“You’ve heard from my husband,” she said.

“Not a peep. But I really need to talk to him. He’s not back yet?”

She might’ve been glad there was still no sign of the man she’d grown to hate, but the anxiety in Kelly’s voice kept her on edge. “No. What’s going on?”

“The FBI is here. They’re looking for him.”

So soon? She’d had no idea the Brazilian police were going to contact the FBI. They hadn’t mentioned it. Did the FBI get involved in every case involving a missing American? Maybe if that American disappeared while out of the country. “That was fast. He’s only been gone fifteen hours or so.”

The tension in his voice rose a notch. “They’re not here for the reason you think. They have a search warrant.”

Sophia got to her feet. “What does that mean?”

“They’re demanding access to the offices, the files, everything.” Kelly’s emotions were obviously escalating toward panic. But other than an occasional speeding ticket—usually when he was driving his Ferrari since he had a chauffeur take him to and from the company offices in San Francisco—Skip had never been in trouble with the law.

“Why?”