Chương 6
I pictured my father standing in his study, moving papers around while ordering half an ocean to rearrange itself.
“How far away?”
“Too far to rely on as the first option.”
Again, no false comfort.
I leaned my head against the bed frame.
“What time?”
“Eight forty-six.”
Less than three hours.
The bedroom door opened in my imagination.
Flynn smiling.
Flynn carrying pills.
Flynn touching my forehead.
I looked at the jewelry pouch holding the tablets.
“What if I pretend to take them?”
“That may be necessary.”
“What if he checks my mouth?”
“Has he before?”
“No.”
“Then don’t assume he will.”
I thought of the calendar alert.
Fresh air with Evie.
He had scheduled my death like a dinner reservation.
An idea formed slowly.
“I could go with him.”
Daniel answered immediately.
“No.”
“Hear me out.”
“No.”
“If he thinks I’m drugged, he’ll follow the plan.”
“That plan involves throwing you into the ocean.”
“I know what it involves.”
“Then you understand why the answer is no.”
“I also understand that if he gets nervous, he could change everything.”
Daniel’s voice hardened.
“You are not bait.”
“I’m already bait.”
“That doesn’t mean we use you that way.”
I stood and paced once across the room.
The movement helped clear my head.
“What if I control where I go?”
“You cannot control a physically stronger person while sedated.”
“I’m not asking to fight him.”
“What are you asking?”
“To let him believe I’m still helpless.”
Silence.
I continued before he could reject it.
“If Captain Mercer confronts Flynn too soon, Flynn destroys evidence or improvises.”
“Yes.”
“If I stay locked in here, Flynn knows something changed.”
“Possibly.”
“He already told me not to lock both locks.”
Daniel said nothing.
“He’ll come back.”
“Yes.”
“He’ll expect me to have taken the pills.”
“Yes.”
“So I pretend.”
“And then?”
“I make him talk.”
“That is not a plan.”
“Maybe not.”
I hated how much I sounded like my father when cornered.
“But he likes explaining himself.”
Daniel’s response came quickly.
“Based on the recordings, he actually doesn’t.”
That landed.
I reconsidered.
Flynn had never boasted.
Not really.
He let other people think he was effortless.
He liked appearing calm more than appearing powerful.
He avoided details in public and made other people deliver unpleasant news.
Even at our wedding, when the florist doubled the price at the last minute, Flynn had smiled and told me not to worry while Kara dealt with it in the hallway.
“He delegates.”
“Yes.”
“So who’s doing the real work?”
Daniel hesitated.
“That is one of the questions we’re examining.”
A chill moved across my shoulders.
“Flynn planned my death.”
“According to what you heard, yes.”
“But the crew changes, the bridge permissions, the fingerprint access, my parents’ car.”
I looked toward the door.
“He didn’t do all of that alone.”
“No.”
“His parents?”
“Possibly involved beyond what you overheard.”
“Kara?”
“Unknown.”
“The replacement crew?”
“Likely involved at some level, but we don’t yet know what they were told.”
I remembered Marcus smoking by the rail, looking bored.
“What if they think they’re doing something else?”
“Exactly.”
The conspiracy became more frightening as it became less simple.
Not six villains in a room.
People with different jobs.
Different information.
Different excuses.
Someone might think they were disabling cameras for privacy.
Someone might think they were changing a route for a surprise destination.
Someone might have been paid not to ask questions.
Flynn had always been good at making people feel that the piece he gave them was the whole thing.
A knock sounded again.
My body reacted before my mind did.
I stumbled backward.
“Evelyn?”
Fiona.
I looked at the clock.
Eight fifty-three.
“Daniel.”
“Answer normally.”
I closed the panel.
“Come in,” I called before remembering the locks.
Fiona tried the handle.
“It’s locked, darling.”
Of course it was.
I crossed the room and opened only the main lock, leaving the secondary latch engaged.
The door opened three inches.
Fiona looked through the gap.
She was wearing cream silk and pearl earrings.
Her lipstick was perfect.
“Good heavens.”
She frowned at me.
“You look dreadful.”
“Thanks, Fiona.”
“I mean ill.”
“I gathered.”
Her gaze dropped to the latch.
“Why is that on?”
“I was sleeping.”
“Flynn said you were anxious.”
That was new.
“I’m nauseous.”
“He said anxious.”
I shrugged.
“Maybe he’s decided to diversify.”
She did not laugh.
Fiona’s eyes moved over my face.
For years, I had considered her slightly vain, slightly invasive, and deeply invested in appearing gracious.
Now every small expression felt like a coded signal.
“I brought you some broth.”
She lifted a covered bowl.
“No, thank you.”
“You should eat.”
“I have crackers.”
“Crackers aren’t dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Her smile tightened.
“Evelyn, don’t be difficult.”
There it was.
The phrase she used when people resisted her version of kindness.
She had used it with the wedding planner, a hotel receptionist, and once with a crying child at a charity brunch.
“I’m not being difficult.”
“Then open the door.”
My hand remained on the latch.
“Why?”
“So I can give you the broth.”
“Leave it outside.”
For one second, her face emptied.
Not anger.
Calculation.
Then concern returned.
“You really are frightened.”
I said nothing.
“Did Flynn upset you?”
The question came too smoothly.
My heart kicked.
“What makes you ask that?”
“He said you had a strange mood this afternoon.”
“What kind of strange mood?”
“Quiet.”
I almost laughed.
“I’m seasick.”
“Evelyn.”
She leaned closer to the gap.
“You can tell me if something happened.”
There was something almost believable in her voice.
That hurt more than open cruelty would have.
I thought of her downstairs asking what about her parents as casually as someone discussing luggage.
“What would have happened?” I asked.
Fiona blinked.
“Between you and Flynn.”
“Oh.”
She adjusted the bowl in her hands.
“Marriage is difficult in the beginning.”
“We’ve been married six days.”
May you like
“Exactly.”
The absurdity of the answer nearly knocked the fear loose from me.
