“We’re letting our men know the location of the boat so that they can be handled.”
“So where are we going now, then?”
“Back to the yacht, though we’ll track the boat until our men show up.”
“I’m so confused. I thought we had to evacuate the whole area.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary now that we’ve located them. We will eliminate the threat and then continue our vacation.”
“We?” I question.
Robert shakes his head. “You won’t have to kill anyone, baby.”
“I’m deadly serious about that endearment, Robert. Do not call me baby.”
He grins, taking off his sunglasses so I can see the playfulness in his gaze. Robert raises one brow and my lips tighten to suppress the smile trying to escape my stern expression. “Darling?”
“No,” I answer quickly.
“Honey?”
“I am not sweet.”
“But you didn’t mind sweetheart?”
“I do. And I did. But you’re exhausting.”
“So you’ll accept sweetheart?”
“No.”
“Buttercup?”
I cough out another laugh against my will. Robert’s smile grows into something almost boyish. “How about love?” His voice drops an octave into something more serious, not so much teasing as testing. “My love.”
Our gazes meet and there is no humor in his now. The crinkles around his eyes settle and the dangerous blue-green depth of them seems to call to me. Begging me to see him…or to admit, finally, that I can see him. And that he…sees me.
My head shakes a no, my body answering for me. I’m not ready for that. Because that would mean…I couldn’t keep pushing him away if we saw each other. If we were no longer playing chess and instead were actually trying to be together. That…wouldn’t work for me.
My son shifts inside of me, reminding me in his own subtle way that what’s worked in the past won’t work in the future. I drop my eyes, the coward in me pulling my gaze to Blue’s head in my lap.
“Sir,” Brock’s voice comes back online. “Our team is en route.”
“Excellent,” Robert says. “My wife and I are eager to return to our vacation.”
I glance up to see Brock’s jaw tighten—I wonder how he feels about this romantic, tropical idyll while there are mercenaries afoot.
The helicopter banks hard and I tip against Robert. His hands come around my waist to steady me. All I can see out the window next to Robert is the too-close sea.
I force myself to take a slow, deep breath. We are not crashing. This is just how Brock flies helicopters. Badly. But then I see the black speedboat and I realize why Brock pulled that stunt. The fuckers are shooting at us. I can’t hear the discharge of weapons because of the ear protection, noise of the helicopter, and distance, but I know what it looks like when a giant freaking machine gun is mounted on a speedboat and aimed at me.
The helicopter climbs, gaining altitude and distance from the mercenaries. We pass through a cloud and are surrounded in wispy white. “Our men have engaged them,” Brock says in my headset.
“Let’s return to The Sensation,” Robert says.
“The what?” I ask.
“It’s the name of the yacht,” Robert explains. Of course it is.
We pass through the cloud and the sea is visible far below us again. Two little black boats spit fire at each other. Men are dying—fighting a war they have no stake in beyond a paycheck. Yet lives will be lost because of it.
If that isn’t fucked up, I don’t know what is.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Sensation comes back into view. “That thing is obscenely big,” I say.
Robert, engrossed in his phone again, makes no comment. We land, steadily, because Brock is not actually a terrible helicopter pilot. A uniformed crew member rushes to open my door. “Thank you,” I say, accepting the offered hand to climb down.
Blue leaps out after me. The blades still spin above my head so I stay low as I move away from the helicopter. Robert joins me at the edge of the pad and puts his arm around my waist. “They are dead,” he says close to my ear, sending a shiver over my skin.
“How many?” I ask.
“All four of them.”
“Did any of your men die?”
