Her Cruise Ship Surprise | ✔

Chapter Twenty-Three

*unedited*

"Did you want to wait for her at your table?" the hostess asked.

Logan checked his watch. Tamara was already five minutes late and that was not like her. He disliked the fact that he couldn't contact her on the phone. They never set up the onboard messaging system and he had no idea how to use it.

"Okay, sure." He responded, allowing the brown-haired lady to lead him through the restaurant.

"Your waiter should be with you shortly." She smiled at him once again and then returned to her post.

If she didn't arrive in the next ten minutes, he was going to send a search party for her. Being a cop herself, she had a certain work ethic that didn't allow her to be late for anything. If she wasn't here and she wasn't in their room, where was she?

"Hi sir, I'm Oliver. I'll be your waiter tonight." He handed Logan a menu. "Can I start you off with a drink?"

"A Kokanee beer, please."

"Sounds good." The short, mossy brown haired waiter tipped his head at Logan before leaving the table.

His beer arrived before Tamara did. He stared at the foaming liquid gold in the glass cup. Lifting it to his lips, he paused. If something was going down, he'd need a clear head and alcohol would be anything but clearing. He mumbled a few curse words under his breath and placed the drink back down on the table.

He itched to go look for her but had no idea where to start looking. The boat was massive and there were tons of nooks and crannies that someone could hide in. He clenched and unclenched his fingers. Something was wrong. He felt it in his bones. There was no way she'd miss their meal.

Flagging down his waiter, the man walked over to him. "I'm going to go see if I can try to find my wife. If she comes while I'm gone, please don't let her go anywhere. I'll be back in 10 to 15 minutes."

"I'll do what I can," he said with a nod before running off to another table that was seeking his attention.

Itching to drink his beer, he shoved his chair back before he made the wrong choice and turned away from the table. Marching to the entrance, he gave similar instructions to the hostess. He stood in the wide hallway, glancing to the left and to the right, scratching his head. Where the hell was he supposed to start?

He knew she wasn't the type that would just bail on him. They had too good of a thing going for her to stand him up. That meant she was either hurt or something else had happened. "Medical clinic," he said, slapping his hand on his thigh.

With a new mission he marched his way down the hall, his eyes glancing to a man who was leaning against the window watching him. A chill rippled through Logan. Something felt wrong. Very wrong. Picking up his pace, he rushed to the lower deck of the ship and slammed open the door to the medical clinic.

The triage nurse sitting at the desk jumped. "Are you okay, sir?"

He glanced around at the empty chairs in the waiting room. The only living entities were the plants nestled neatly in the corner, and the nurse who looked ready to call 911.

"Sorry, madam," he said, "I didn't mean to startle you. Did a woman named Tamara stop by?"

Taking a moment, the nurse glanced at the sign-in sheet. "I'm afraid not."

"Crap!" he said, slapping his hand on the countertop. She jumped and leaned back in her chair, bringing her hands up to her face. Logan stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry. My wife missed our dinner date and I'm worried that something is wrong. She would never be late willingly. It just isn't like her."