Chương 7
“You think six days is enough time for problems?”
“I think six hours is enough time for problems if two people are married.”
That sounded like something Fiona might genuinely believe.
I wondered whether she had once said it before any of this existed.
“You and Aidan have been married thirty-four years.”
“Thirty-six.”
“Sorry.”
“He says thirty-five because he forgets the year.”
For a moment, we were just two women standing at a half-open door.
Then I remembered she planned to kill me.
The normality became unbearable.
“I’m tired.”
Fiona’s eyes lowered to the secondary latch again.
“Take the medicine Flynn gave you.”
“Promise?”
My skin prickled.
“Why does everyone care so much about those pills?”
The question escaped before I could stop it.
Fiona did not move.
Neither did I.
Then she smiled.
“Because we care about you.”
The lie was so ordinary that I almost admired it.
“Good night, Fiona.”
I began closing the door.
Her hand shot into the gap.
Not violently.
Just fast.
The bowl tilted.
Broth spilled over her wrist.
She hissed.
I froze.
For half a second, neither of us moved.
Then Fiona withdrew her hand.
A red patch spread across her skin.
“Oh, damn it.”
The curse sounded more human than anything she had said.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered automatically.
She stared at me.
Something passed between us then.
Not certainty.
Not yet.
But suspicion.
She knew I was no longer behaving as expected.
And I knew she knew.
Fiona looked down at the spilled broth.
When she raised her eyes again, all warmth was gone.
“Take your medicine, Evelyn.”
Then she walked away.
I shut the door and locked both locks.
My hands were shaking so hard I missed the hidden panel twice.
“Daniel.”
“I heard.”
“She knows.”
“She suspects something.”
“She knows.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I saw her face.”
“That matters, but don’t turn suspicion into certainty.”
I pressed my palm against my forehead.
“She’ll tell Flynn.”
“Probably.”
“What do I do?”
Before Daniel answered, the yacht’s engines changed pitch.
The floor vibrated beneath my bare feet.
A second later, every light in the room went out.
For half a second, I thought I had gone blind.
Then emergency strips along the floor flickered red.
“Daniel?”
Static answered.
The hidden speaker had died with the lights.
I opened and closed the panel twice as if that could change anything.
Nothing.
The engines dropped to a lower hum.
Somewhere beyond the bedroom, a door slammed.
Then came hurried footsteps.
Not one person.
Several.
I backed away from the wall.
My phone was gone.
The speaker was dead.
Lila was somewhere outside.
Captain Mercer was somewhere above me.
And Flynn knew I had started asking questions.
The darkness made every familiar object look hostile.
I found the sealed bottle Lila had brought and shoved it into my suitcase, then took it back out because hiding water suddenly felt idiotic.
A heavy knock hit the door.
“Evelyn.”
Flynn.
I said nothing.
Another knock came, harder.
“Open the door.”
I looked toward the black windows.
The red emergency lights painted the room in thin horizontal bands.
“Evelyn, the power’s out.”
“I noticed.”
“Open up.”
“Why?”
A pause.
“Because I don’t want you alone in there if the emergency systems are failing.”
That almost sounded reasonable.
Then the handle moved.
He tried it once.
Twice.
The secondary latch held.
“Take the lock off.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I’m sick.”
His palm struck the door.
Not a punch.
Not yet.
Just impatience stripped of disguise.
“Evelyn.”
My name sounded different in his mouth now.
I stepped backward.
“If you’re worried about me, go get Captain Mercer.”
Silence.
I waited.
Flynn said, “Ben is busy.”
“Then get Lila.”
Another silence.
Longer.
“Why Lila?”
The question was too quick.
My mouth went dry.
“Because she was here earlier.”
I regretted saying it immediately.
“Was she?”
“Yes.”
“What did she want?”
“Towels.”
The corridor stayed quiet.
Then Flynn laughed softly.
“Right.”
I heard him walk away.
The absence of sound was worse than the pounding.
I crossed to the door and pressed my ear against it.
Nothing.
A minute passed.
Maybe less.
Without the clock, time had become unreliable.
Then a metallic sound came from the lock.
Someone was using a key.
I jumped back.
The main lock turned.
The secondary latch stopped the door after three inches.
Flynn’s face appeared in the gap.
The red light from the corridor cut across one eye.
“Open it.”
“No.”
His expression barely changed.
“Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make a bad night worse.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened to the power?”
“Generator problem.”
“What happened to the bridge?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why did we change course?”
There.
The question escaped before caution could catch it.
Flynn stopped breathing for a fraction of a second.
I saw it.
His eyes sharpened.
“Who told you that?”
“No one.”
“You don’t know anything about navigation.”
“I can feel when a boat turns.”
It was a terrible lie.
Flynn knew it.
I knew he knew it.
His hand appeared through the gap and gripped the doorframe.
“Who have you been talking to?”
“No one.”
“Evelyn.”
“Why did we change course?”
He looked at me for a long time.
Then his face softened.
That terrified me more than anger.
“You’re confused.”
“I’m not.”
“The medication can do that.”
“What medication?”
“The seasickness pills.”
“Whose prescription were they?”
His jaw tightened.
I had asked that already.
Now the repetition became accusation.
“You need to open this door.”
“I need you to answer me.”
“Fine.”
He glanced down the corridor before looking back.
“We altered course because there’s weather north of us.”
“There was weather after midnight.”
His eyes changed.
Only slightly.
But the mask slipped.
“You were listening.”
My heart slammed once.
I said nothing.
Flynn closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the performance was gone.
Not rage.
Not madness.
Just exhaustion.
“You always had terrible timing.”
May you like
I stepped farther back.
He pushed the door.
