Sinners and Saints (Outlast Her #4)

Chapter One

Valerie Lang was disciplined in most areas of her life.

Food, however, was not one of those areas.

Which made life aboard The Valentine—a sleek, three-deck, one-hundred-and-fifteen-foot displacement yacht currently docked in the turquoise waters of Porto Cervo—deeply inconvenient.

She had to cut straight through the galley to reach her cabin.

Most evenings, there was the heady smell of garlic confit and reduction sauces.

In the mornings, it was a yeasty haze of proofing dough and roasted espresso.

This time, however, there was a platter of canapés sitting unguarded on the veined Carrara marble island.

Valerie’s mouth literally watered.

She hovered a finger over the miniature puff pastry squares topped with caramelized onion and goat cheese.

Then she looked over the cucumber rounds piped with dill crème fra?che before she decided a skewer of prawns wrapped in thin strips of Serrano ham would do.

Nope. She was wrong. Those golden risotto-stuffed balls were calling her name.

Valerie was just about to pop one into her mouth when a voice suddenly said, “Don’t you dare eat that. ”

Valerie spotted Jess out of the corner of her eye.

She was dressed in chef whites with just a peek of a lavender silk scarf sticking through her collar. Her curls were a bright shade of red, which she had pulled back into a claw clip. Most of them, at least. The rest spilled over her temples.

On any other day, Valerie would’ve popped the ball into her mouth, winked, and then made a run for the engine room. But today wasn’t any other day. The air was thick with pre-charter nerves that always preceded a Vale family arrival.

Fine, she thought, setting it down. She wasn’t that hungry anyway.

She turned to face Jess and leaned her hip against the counter. “Is it true Elisabet and Dixon aren’t coming this weekend? Luke said something about them being stuck in Valencia.”

“Yes,” Jess said, sliding back behind the island.

Sometimes Valerie found that speaking to Jess felt like pulling a stubborn tooth. She never gave more than she needed to, which meant Valerie had to get all her gossip from Maggie and Martha, the stewardesses, and once they started talking, the problem was to get them to stop.

“So it’s just the kids then?” Valerie asked.

Though you could hardly call them kids. Adrienne Vale was thirty-five and a third-generation heiress to the Vale Hotel empire that stretched from Tokyo to Zurich.

Kyle wasn’t much younger. In the eighteen months Valerie had worked as chief engineer aboard The Valentine, she’d mostly been assigned to charters involving Elisabet, Dixon, and their highest-profile guests.

When Adrienne or Kyle used the yacht for casual weekends with friends, Valerie was usually off rotation, with a relief engineer brought on in her place.

Adrienne Vale was someone Valerie heard about constantly from Maggie and Martha, but until today, they had never actually crossed paths.

As far as Valerie could tell, Adrienne had very little to do with the business and had instead spent the better part of her life curating a following on social media.

Apparently, she had over fifteen million followers.

Kyle, on the other hand, seemed to follow in his father’s footsteps.

Though his feet seemed to be heading in other directions.

Martha had mentioned a failed sneaker startup.

“And two of their friends,” Jess said, picking up a cloth to wipe the already squeaky-clean countertops. She kept the kitchen in pristine condition.

“Do you know who they are?”

Jess buffed a stray fingerprint off the espresso machine’s chrome finish. “Apparently they’re some or other influencers,” she said. “Luke seems to think we’ll know who they are.”

Doubtful. Valerie didn’t have social media.

She’d deleted her Instagram account, her Twitter account, and even Facebook two years ago after being perpetually accosted by Outlast Her fans who accused her of nonchalantly quitting that final challenge.

There were only so many comments about how she’d quit, how close she’d been, and how she’d thrown away a sure win before she started fantasizing about launching her phone into the nearest body of water.

And frankly, the break from social media was quite refreshing.

“Well, I hope they behave themselves,” Valerie said, leaning forward until her elbows rested on the countertop. “I don’t want anything exploding, flooding, or short-circuiting this weekend.”

As the chief engineer aboard The Valentine, Valerie’s days mostly included monitoring the twin MTU engines and ensuring the stabilizers kept the guests’ martinis from sloshing.

But it also meant that more often than not she had to fix blocked toilets and every now and then help the guests with their personal items. Last time Elisabet and Dixon were on board, Valerie had spent a good portion of the day repairing Dixon’s MacBook after he’d knocked a full glass of vintage Krug on the keyboard.

“You sound like an old curmudgeon,” Jess said.

Valerie rolled her eyes. She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, but alas, since cutting it into a blunt bob, they never remained tucked.

“I’m just not in the mood for wild guests.

You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?

They’ll end up drunk by lunch, someone will try to launch the jet skis after midnight and who knows, maybe Adrienne’s tennis bracelet will end up flushed down the toilet. ”

“I doubt Adrienne wears a tennis bracelet.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Maybe they’ll surprise us,” Jess said, though she was smiling like she was joking.

“And maybe mermaids exist.”

“They do exist,” Luke said, walking into the kitchen.

He looked nothing like the captain of a superyacht and everything like a man who had just rolled out of a hammock.

His linen shirt was unbuttoned just a bit too far, his tan was deep honey gold, and his blonde hair was beginning to silver at the ears.

“I’ve seen them with my own eyes. Usually around the second bottle of tequila.

” Then he laughed at his own joke and pointed a thumb toward the sliding doors.

“Guests arriving in five. The car just pulled onto the pier. They want us to greet them out on deck. Please see to it that you’re both presentable. ”

Valerie was always presentable. Yet she smoothed her navy-blue polo shirt and caught her reflection in the refrigerator’s stainless-steel doors. Apart from the faint coat of mascara on her lashes, she didn’t have any makeup on. She didn’t need to. There was no one she wanted to impress.

A minute later, Valerie was lined up beside Maggie and Martha.

Every time the Vales boarded, she felt a strange twinge of pride, as if it were her yacht, as if she’d built it with her own two hands and was about to hand it over like a gift.

It was no surprise that she felt this way.

The Valentine had been her home for the last eighteen months and was probably the most glamorous boat she’d ever stepped foot on.

There was so much creamy leather and gleaming mahogany.

Gold-leaf accents traced the ceiling coves, and the custom hand-tufted silk rugs made walking feel more like floating.

Five bedrooms took up the lower deck, each with an en-suite and decorated with navy blue velvets, crisp white linens, and art of frothy waves on the walls.

Then at the bow of the ship, tucked behind a hidden bulkhead door, were the staff quarters where single beds were squished into half-sized rooms. Valerie was lucky enough to have her own quarters.

She even had access to a private bathroom.

Those were the perks of being the only engineer aboard The Valentine.

“I always hate this part,” Jess muttered under her breath. “I feel like a court jester about to be told to juggle flaming torches.”

Valerie chuckled, then zipped her lips when a man in his late twenties stepped off the gangway.

He wore expensive Prada glasses and a salmon-pink linen shirt, unbuttoned just enough to show steely pecs.

He barely looked at anyone as he stepped onto the deck and was talking over his shoulder to another guy, who looked like just another pompous version of Kyle.

“We can take the jet skis to the party tonight, and if the Amalfi guys show up, we’re absolutely not losing to them this time. ”

“Welcome,” Luke said, walking toward Kyle to greet him. He stuck his hand out, which Kyle seemed to take reluctantly. “It’s a pleasure to have you on board.”

“My sister is on her way,” Kyle said. “She likes to make an entrance.”

Valerie imagined a woman with glossy brown hair stepping out of a limousine in slow motion, a Montecristi straw hat clutched in one hand, while a Hermès Birkin sat at the crease of her arm.

Then a hand to help her up the gangway, because a woman like Adrienne couldn’t possibly be expected to navigate a slight incline on her own.

She nearly rolled her eyes at the thought.

“Here she comes,” Jess murmured out of the corner of her mouth, so softly that only Valerie could hear. “Miss Royalty herself. I won’t be surprised if she asks us to curtsey.”

“I’ll flat-out refuse,” Valerie muttered under her breath.

“You can’t. Adrienne’s probably never heard the word no in her life. She might fire you, and don’t you need this job?” Jess asked.

Valerie inwardly groaned. Jess knew all about Valerie’s plan to save every cent of her offshore salary to build a home in Sitka.

And not just any house, but one on the water.

The architectural plans lived permanently in her head.

Her house would have a steep-pitched roof, wide floor-to-ceiling windows to drink in the endless grey light, and a wraparound deck.

And it wasn’t just for her. She’d also planned a single-story cottage with wide doorways and heated floors tucked into the spruce trees at the back of the lot where her parents, Mick and Hattie, and her mother’s full-time nurse, Beatrice, would live.

“How cute,” Adrienne said when she stepped aboard.

Luke introduced each one of them, and Valerie, who had her gaze on her feet, couldn’t help herself.

Her eyes were drawn up to the woman’s cheekbones, then to her long, slender neck, then they flicked down to her long legs, which were gorgeously framed by a micro-mini shift dress the color of the sun.

“Everyone’s standing there to greet us,” Adrienne added, smiling like she was addressing a cute puppy, which felt patronizing enough for Valerie to snap her gaze away.

Then she snapped back to Adrienne, because she really couldn’t help it.

Adrienne then sauntered across the deck to where Kyle and the two influencers were already making themselves at home on the oversized ivory-colored modular sofa that Martha had scattered earlier with a dozen silk throw pillows.

“When do we depart?” Adrienne asked, glancing toward Luke.

Luke stepped forward and clapped his hands together. His smile was so goofy Valerie wondered if he was drunk. “We’ll be casting off as soon as the harbor captain clears our departure window, which should be in the next ten minutes, Miss Vale.”

“Great,” Adrienne said, smiling. She looked so dazzling Valerie averted her eyes the same way she would if she stared up at the sun for too long. “I’ll be in my room for a quick outfit change.” She turned and headed toward the rooms.

Valerie didn’t think about it twice; she followed her.

The introductions were done, and she had a few more maintenance histories to document in the PMS before the boat departed.

Her interaction with the guests was thankfully limited to mechanical emergencies and tech support.

If Adrienne needed the Wi-Fi reset or her room AC dropped by two degrees, Valerie was the one to call.

Guests never did these things themselves.

But she sure as hell didn’t have to pour champagne or offer to unpack their bags. That was Maggie and Martha’s territory.

The next moment, Valerie’s foot caught on the lip of the deck seam, and suddenly her world was tipping. Her hands flew out automatically to catch the teak when a flash of yellow blurred in her peripheral vision.

“Watch where you’re going!” Adrienne said sharply. Her fingers locked around Valerie’s elbow with an iron grip and hauled Valerie back upright.

Phew! Valerie was still standing, but it felt like she’d been knocked sideways.

She refused to imagine the humiliation if she had gone toppling forward.

Maybe she had lost her senses because Adrienne was wearing a perfume so floral it smelled like an overgrown English garden in mid-July.

And now she was about to hyperventilate, but that was probably because Adrienne’s hand skimmed Valerie’s backside once she let go of her elbow. Or had she imagined that?

“It’s probably best if we don’t lose our engineer to a fall, don’t you think?” Adrienne added. Her words sounded kind of empathetic, but that tone—fuck, that tone grated on Valerie’s skin like coarse sandpaper. “You don’t want to ruin the weekend for us, do you?”

Valerie shook her head as if she’d done something wrong.

But accidentally tripping over a seam she’d stepped over a million times just because her head was a little in the clouds was not an act of wrongdoing.

Adrienne didn’t seem to think so. “No,” she said, then forced a smile that hurt her cheeks.

“The last thing I want is to ruin your weekend.”