If Tomorrow Comes Read online

  She, unpacked and then wandered along the corridor. In almost every cabin there were farewell parties going on, with laughter and champagne and conversation. She felt a sudden ache of loneliness. There was no one to see her off, no one for her to care about, no one who cared about her. That's not true, Tracy told herself. Big Bertha wants me. And she laughed aloud.

  She made her way up to the Boat Deck and had no idea of the admiring glances of the men and the envious stares of the women cast her way.

  Tracy heard the sound of a deep-throated boat whistle and calls of "All ashore who's going ashore," and she was filled with a sudden excitement. She was sailing into a completely unknown future. She felt the huge ship shudder as the tugs started to pull it out of the harbor, and she stood among the passengers on the Boat Deck, watching the Statue of Liberty slide out of sight, and then she went exploring.

  The QE II was a city, more than nine hundred feet long and thirteen stories high. It had four restaurants, six bars, two ballrooms, two nightclubs, and a "Golden Door Spa at Sea." There were scores of shops, four swimming pools, a gymnasium, a golf driving range, a jogging track. I may never want to leave the ship, Tracy marveled.

  She had reserved a table upstairs in the Princess Grill, which was smaller and more elegant than the main dining room. She barely had been seated when a familiar voice said, "Well, hello there!"

  She looked up, and there stood Tom Bowers, the bogus FBI man. Oh, no. I don't deserve this, Tracy thought.

  "What a pleasant surprise. Do you mind if I join you?"

  "Very much."

  He slid into the chair across from her and gave her an engaging smile. "We might as well be friends. After all, we're both here for the same reason, aren't we?"

  Tracy had no idea what he was talking about. "Look, Mr. Bowers--"

  "Stevens," he said easily. "Jeff Stevens."

  "Whatever." Tracy started to rise.

  "Wait. I'd like to explain about the last time we met."

  "There's nothing to explain," Tracy assured him. "An idiot child could have figured it out--and did."

  "I owed Conrad Morgan a favor." He grinned ruefully. "I'm afraid he wasn't too happy with me."

  There was that same easy, boyish charm that had completely taken her in before. For God's sake, Dennis, it isn't necessary to put cuffs on her. She's not going to run away...

  She said hostilely, "I'm not too happy with you, either. What are you doing aboard this ship? Shouldn't you be on a riverboat?"

  He laughed. "With Maximilian Pierpont on board, this is a riverboat."

  "Who?"

  He looked at her in surprise. "Come on. You mean you really don't know?"

  "Know what?"

  "Max Pierpont is one of the richest men in the world. His hobby is forcing competitive companies out of business. He loves slow horses and fast women, and he owns a lot of both. He's the last of the big-time spenders."

  "And you intend to relieve him of some of his excess wealth."

  "Quite a lot of it, as a matter of fact." He was eyeing her speculatively. "Do you know what you and I should do?"

  "I certainly do, Mr. Stevens. We should say good-bye."

  And he sat there watching as Tracy got up and walked out of the dining room.

  She had dinner in her cabin. As she ate, she wondered what ill fate had placed Jeff Stevens in her path again. She wanted to forget the fear she had felt on that train when she thought she was under arrest. Well, I'm not going to let him spoil this trip. I'll simply ignore him.

  After dinner Tracy went up on deck. It was a fantastic night, with a magic canopy of stars sprayed against a velvet sky. She was standing at the rail in the moonlight, watching the soft phosphorescence of the waves and listening to the sounds of the night wind, when he moved up beside her.

  "You have no idea how beautiful you look standing there. Do you believe in shipboard romances?"

  "Definitely. What I don't believe in is you." She started to walk away.

  "Wait. I have some news for you. I just found out that Max Pierpont isn't on board, after all. He canceled at the last minute."

  "Oh, what a shame. You wasted your fare."

  "Not necessarily." He eyed her speculatively. "How would you like to pick up a small fortune on this voyage?"

  The man is unbelievable. "Unless you have a submarine or a helicopter in your pocket, I don't think you'll get away with robbing anyone on this ship."

  "Who said anything about robbing anyone? Have you ever heard of Boris Melnikov or Pietr Negulesco?"

  "What if I have?"

  "Melnikov and Negulesco are on their way to Russia for a championship match. If I can arrange for you to play the two of them," Jeff said earnestly, "we can win a lot of money. It's a perfect setup."

  Tracy was looking at him incredulously. "If you can arrange for me to play the two of them? That's your perfect setup?"

  "Uh-huh. How do you like it?"

  "I love it. There's just one tiny hitch."

  "What's that?"

  "I don't play chess."

  He smiled benignly. "No problem. I'll teach you."

  "You're insane," Tracy said. "If you want some advice, you'll find yourself a good psychiatrist. Good night."

  The following morning Tracy literally bumped into Boris Melnikov. He was jogging on the Boat Deck, and as Tracy rounded a corner, he ran into her, knocking her off her feet.

  "Watch where you're going," he growled. And he kept running.

  Tracy sat on the deck, looking after him. "Of all the rude--!" She stood up and brushed herself off.

  A steward approached. "Are you hurt, miss? I saw him--"

  "No, I'm fine, thank you."

  Nobody was going to spoil this trip.

  When Tracy returned to her cabin, there were six messages to call Mr. Jeff Stevens. She ignored them. In the afternoon she swam and read and had a massage, and by the time she went into the bar that evening to have a cocktail before dinner, she was feeling wonderful. Her euphoria was short-lived. Pietr Negulesco, the Romanian, was seated at the bar. When he saw Tracy, he stood up and said, "May I buy you a drink, beautiful lady?"

  Tracy hesitated, then smiled. "Why, yes, thank you."

  "What would you like?"

  "A vodka and tonic, please."

  Negulesco gave the order to the barman and turned back to Tracy. "I'm Pietr Negulesco."

  "I know."

  "Of course. Everyone knows me. I am the greatest chess player in the world. In my country, I am a national hero." He leaned close to Tracy, put a hand on her knee, and said, "I am also a great fuck."

  Tracy thought she had misunderstood him. "What?"

  "I am a great fuck."

  Her first reaction was to throw her drink in his face, but she controlled herself. She had a better idea. "Excuse me," she said, "I have to meet a friend."

  She went to look for Jeff Stevens. She found him in the Princess Grill, but as Tracy started toward his table, she saw that he was dining with a lovely-looking blonde with a spectacular figure, dressed in an evening gown that looked as if it had been painted on. I should have known better, Tracy thought. She turned and headed down the corridor. A moment later Jeff was at her side.

  "Tracy...did you want to see me?"

  "I don't want to take you away from your...dinner."

  "She's dessert," Jeff said lightly. "What can I do for you?"

  "Were you serious about Melnikov and Negulesco?"

  "Absolutely. Why?"

  "I think they both need a lesson in manners."

  "So do I. And we'll make money while we teach them."

  "Good. What's your plan?"

  "You're going to beat them at chess."

  "I'm serious."

  "So am I."

  "I told you, I don't play chess. I don't know a pawn from a king. I--"

  "Don't worry," Jeff promised her. "A couple of lessons from me, and you'll slaughter them both."

  "Both?"

  "Oh, didn't I tell you? Yo
u're going to play them simultaneously."

  Jeff was seated next to Boris Melnikov in the Double Down Piano Bar.

  "The woman is a fantastic chess player," Jeff confided to Melnikov. "She's traveling incognito."

  The Russian grunted. "Women know nothing about chess. They cannot think."

  "This one does. She says she could beat you easily."

  Boris Melnikov laughed aloud. "Nobody beats me--easily or not."

  "She's willing to bet you ten thousand dollars that she can play you and Pietr Negulesco at the same time and get a draw with at least one of you."

  Boris Melnikov choked on his drink. "What! That's--that's ridiculous! Play two of us at the same time? This--this female amateur?"

  "That's right. For ten thousand dollars each."

  "I should do it just to teach the stupid idiot a lesson."

  "If you win, the money will be deposited in any country you choose."

  A covetous expression flitted across the Russian's face. "I've never even heard of this person. And to play the two of us! My God, she must be insane."

  "She has the twenty thousand dollars in cash."

  'What nationality is she?"

  'American."

  'Ah, that explains it. All rich Americans are crazy, especially their women."

  Jeff started to rise. "Well, I guess she'll just have to play Pietr Negulesco alone."

  "Negulesco is going to play her?"

  "Yes, didn't I tell you? She wanted to play the two of you, but if you're afraid..."

  "Afraid! Boris Melnikov afraid?" His voice was a roar. "I will destroy her. When is this ridiculous match to take place?"

  "She thought perhaps Friday night. The last night out."

  Boris Melnikov was thinking hard. "The best two out of three?"

  "No. Only one game."

  "For ten thousand dollars?"

  "That is correct."

  The Russian sighed. "I do not have that much cash with me."

  "No problem," Jeff assured him. "All Miss Whitney really wants is the glory of playing the great Boris Melnikov. If you lose, you give her a personally autographed picture If you win, you get ten thousand dollars."

  "Who holds the stakes?" There was a sharp note of suspicion in his voice.

  "The ship's purser."

  "Very well," Melnikov decided. "Friday night We will start at ten o'clock, promptly."

  "She'll be so pleased," Jeff assured him.

  The following morning Jeff was talking to Pietr Negulesco in the gymnasium, where the two men were working out.

  "She's an American?" Pietr Negulesco said. "I should have known. All Americans are cuckoo."

  "She's a great chess player."

  Pietr Negulesco made a gesture of contempt. "Great is not good enough. Best is what counts. And I am the best."

  "That's why she's so eager to play against you. If you lose, you give her an autographed picture. If you win, you get ten thousand dollars in cash..."

  "Negulesco does not play amateurs."

  "...deposited in any country you like."

  "Out of the question."

  "Well, then, I guess she'll have to play only Boris Melnikov."

  "What? Are you saying Melnikov has agreed to play against this woman?"

  "Of course. But she was hoping to play you both at once."

  "I've never heard of anything so--so--" Negulesco sputtered, at a loss for words. "The arrogance! Who is she that she thinks she can defeat the two top chess masters in the world? She must have escaped from some lunatic asylum."

  "She's a little erratic," Jeff confessed, "but her money is good. All cash."

  "You said ten thousand dollars for defeating her?"

  "That's right."

  "And Boris Melnikov gets the same amount?"

  "If he defeats her."

  Pietr Negulesco grinned. "Oh, he will defeat her. And so will I."

  "Just between us, I wouldn't be a bit surprised."

  "Who will hold the stakes?"

  "The ship's purser."

  Why should Melnikov be the only one to take money from this woman? thought Pietr Negulesco.

  "My friend, you have a deal. Where and when?"

  "Friday night. Ten o'clock. The Queen's Room."

  Pietr Negulesco smiled wolfishly. "I will be there."

  "You mean they agreed?" Tracy cried.

  "That's right."

  "I'm going to be sick."

  "I'll get you a cold towel."

  Jeff hurried into the bathroom of Tracy's suite, ran cold water on a towel, and brought it back to her. She was lying on the chaise longue. He placed the towel on her forehead. "How does that feel?"

  "Terrible. I think I have a migraine."

  "Have you ever had a migraine before?"

  "No."

  "Then you don't have one now. Listen to me, Tracy, it's perfectly natural to be nervous before something like this."

  She leapt up and flung down the towel. "Something like this? There's never been anything like this! I'm playing two international master chess players with one chess lesson from you and--"

  "Two," Jeff corrected her. "You have a natural talent for chess."

  "My God, why did I ever let you talk me into this?"

  "Because we're going to make a lot of money."

  "I don't want to make a lot of money," Tracy wailed. "I want this boat to sink. Why couldn't this be the Titanic?"

  "Now, just stay calm," Jeff said soothingly. "It's going to be--"

  "It's going to be a disaster! Everyone on this ship is going to be watching."

  "That's exactly the point, isn't it?" Jeff beamed.

  Jeff had made all the arrangements with the ship's purser. He had given the purser the stakes to hold--$20,000 in traveler's checks--and asked him to set up two chess tables for Friday evening. The word spread rapidly throughout the ship, and passengers kept approaching Jeff to ask if the matches were actually going to take place.

  "Absolutely," Jeff assured all who inquired. "It's incredible. Poor Miss Whitney believes she can win. In fact. she's betting on it."

  "I wonder," a passenger asked, "If I might place a small bet?"

  "Certainly. As much money as you like. Miss Whitney is asking only ten-to-one odds."

  A million-to-one odds would have made more sense. From the moment the first bet was accepted, the floodgates opened. It seemed that everyone on board, including the engine-room crew and the ship's officers, wanted to place bets on the game. The amounts varied from five dollars to five thousand dollars and every single bet was on the Russian and the Romanian.

  The suspicious purser reported to the captain. "I've never seen anything like it, sir. It's a stampede. Nearly all the passengers have placed wagers. I must be holding two hundred thousand dollars in bets."

  The captain studied him thoughtfully. "You say Miss Whitney is going to play Melnikov and Negulesco at the same time?"

  "Yes, Captain."

  "Have you verified that the two men are really Pietr Negulesco and Boris Melnikov?"

  "Oh, yes, of course, sir."

  "There's no chance they would deliberately throw the chess game, is there?"

  "Not with their egos. I think they'd rather die first. And if they lost to this woman, that's probably exactly what would happen to them when they got home."

  The captain ran his fingers through his hair, a puzzled frown on his face. "Do you know anything about Miss Whitney or this Mr. Stevens?"

  "Not a thing, sir. As far as I can determine, they're traveling separately."

  The captain made his decision. "It smells like some kind of con game, and ordinarily I would put a stop to it. However, I happen to be a bit of an expert myself, and if there was one thing I'd stake my life on, it's the fact that there is no way to cheat at chess. Let the match go on." He walked over to his desk and withdrew a black leather wallet. "Put down fifty pounds for me. On the masters."

  By 9:00 Friday evening the Queen's Room was packed with passengers from fir
st class, those who had sneaked in from second and third class, and the ship's officers and members of the crew who were off duty. At Jeff Stevens's request, two rooms had been set up for the tournament. One table was in the center of the Queen's Room, and the other table was in the adjoining salon. Curtains had been drawn to separate the two rooms.

  "So that the players aren't distracted by each other," Jeff explained. "And we would like the spectators to remain in whichever room they choose."

  Velvet ropes had been placed around the two tables to keep the crowds back. The spectators were about to witness something they were sure they would never see again. They knew nothing about the beautiful young American woman, except that it would be impossible for her--or anyone else--to play the great Negulesco and Melnikov simultaneously and obtain a draw with either of them.

  Jeff introduced Tracy to the two grand masters shortly before the game was to begin. Tracy looked like a Grecian painting in a muted green chiffon Galanos gown which left one shoulder bare. Her eyes seemed tremendous in her pale face.

  Pietr Negulesco looked her over carefully. "Have you won all the national tournaments you have played in?" he asked.

  "Yes," Tracy replied truthfully.

  He shrugged. "I have never heard of you."

  Boris Melnikov was equally rude. "You Americans do not know what to do with your money," he said. "I wish to thank you in advance. My winnings will make my family very happy."

  Tracy's eyes were green jade. "You haven't won, yet, Mr. Melnikov."

  Melnikov's laugh boomed out through the room. "My dear lady, I don't know who you are, but I know who I am. I am the great Boris Melnikov."

  It was 10:00. Jeff looked around and saw that both salons had filled up with spectators. "It's time for the match to start."

  Tracy sat down across the table from Melnikov and wondered for the hundredth time how she had gotten herself into this.