Not children. Not loss of territory. Just our own bloodshed.
So when Blue growls right behind me, as Robert’s hands spread across my back to pull me tight, I turn to look at my dog. He’s still a few steps up so our faces are almost even. Robert nips at my jaw, bending himself to kiss my neck.
Blue looks past me and raises his lip, exposing long sharp canines. Following his gaze, I see a crew member disappearing inside. We stand in the middle of the staircase on the outside of the ship, the top deck above us and what I’m guessing is a living room below. Tinted glass hides the interior, but large French doors lead into it and the entry is off a major passage—so I’m guessing living space rather than bedroom.
“Robert,” I say. He hums against my throat. “How well do you trust the owner of this yacht?”
His lips stop moving and he leans back so he can look into my face. “Enough to count on it as an escape with my pregnant wife. Why?”
“Because Blue just growled at a crew member…who was watching us.”
Robert’s eyes narrow with thought. The fact that he is considering Blue’s opinion widens the opening he’s cracked in my heart. “We should go,” he says.
“To the hotel?” I ask.
Footsteps above draw my attention. Brock appears at the top of the stairs and halts when he sees us—Robert still has his arms around me and our faces are close. We look…busy.
“Sir,” Brock says and then turns as if to leave us.
“Brock, wait,” Robert calls to him.
He releases my body but takes my hand, and I don’t hate it. I don’t hate that he wants to keep touching me…because I want to keep touching him. Shit. This is not good.
We head back up the steps to the top deck where Brock waits. His dark shades are back on and he has a gun case in each hand. My bag is strung across his body. The Hawaiian shirt flutters in the breeze. “We have suspicions about a crew member,” Robert says.
Brock’s brows twitch up in a moment of surprise that he quickly recovers from, returning to his stoic mask. “Which one?”
Robert turns to me for the answer.
“A man; I didn’t see much of him, but Blue growled at him.”
Brock looks at Blue, who stands by my side, then back up to my face. “I see,” he says, apparently taking Blue’s suspicions as seriously as Robert. “But would you recognize this crew member again?”
“No. I saw dark hair and wide shoulders, but that’s it. He disappeared inside.”
“Could Blue have just been warning you?” Robert asks me. “That someone was there. You were not…” he smiles at me and raises one brow, “totally aware of your surroundings.”
“That’s what I have Blue for,” I say. “But he wouldn’t warn me of anyone who I didn’t need warning about. He got a vibe from the guy.”
“Perhaps we should evacuate, sir, leave the area entirely.” Brock says. Robert’s fingers tighten on mine and he shakes his head. The man is not leaving. “We could go to the Palms, then, sir,” Brock suggests. “It’s a new location, they have excellent security. And we have no reservation, so no link. However, I believe the safest course of action is to return home.” Brock stops speaking and the two men stare at each other.
“I just want to get to the part of the party where you tell me about your crypto purchases,” I say, tilting my chin up. “That’s what I came here for.”
Robert squeezes my hand—which he is still holding, and has been since I kissed him on the steps back there. He turns to meet my gaze, his expression turning playful and almost giddy. As if he’s won a tennis match and is hoping to carry on until he wins the trophy.
When I narrow my gaze and stare daggers at him, he laughs. Laughs. And then tugs me forward. I fall against him and he wraps me in a hug, laying a kiss on my hair. “Come, Mrs. Maxim, we will head to the Palms, and I will give you everything you desire.”
I pull back, untangling myself from him and huffing. Somehow he still has my hand though, and Robert starts down the steps again, pulling me behind him. Blue follows and then Brock.
We are halfway down the steps when Blue resumes growling. I stop, my body chilling. Robert turns to look up at me. “Hold on,” I say. Blue growls again. Robert drops my hand and pulls his pistol from his pocket.
I do the same. Brock lays his cases down and unholsters a pistol from his low back.
He pushes past us to take the lead, his jaw tight, and movements practiced. A crew member steps out onto the deck and, spotting us, freezes. He quickly raises his hands, eyes wide, face pale with fear.
Brock doesn’t lower his weapon.
“Can I help?” the crew member asks in accented English.
“Were you alone in there?” Brock asks.
The man looks back at the doorway he just passed through. “No, there are two other crew members inside, sir. We were cleaning the salon. Can I help with something?” His voice is shaking.
He stands in a passage only wide enough for one person with the tinted glass windows on his left and the railing on his right. The black glass hides the interior from our view. But I peer at it anyway, seeing only the reflection of Brock and the crew member. Brock stands on the steps and the crew member still has his hands up.
The window cracks, Brock grunts, and the sound of a gun firing all happen in the same instant.
Robert and I both crouch low, hidden in the stairwell from the windows. The crew member drops to the ground, covering his head with his hands and lets out a scream.
“Brock!” I yell.
“Stay put!” Robert growls at me, blocking me with his arm. He then slides down the steps, still protected by the sides of the stairwell—though if we popped our heads up, we’d be in the line of fire from inside the salon.
The question is…how many of the crew are trying to kill us? Are we in enemy territory? Or is this a rogue actor?
I turn to look up—checking our backs. Blue stands behind me, his focus already on our unprotected rear. A crew member appears. They don’t have a gun, just a confused expression. But I center my weapon on his chest. The man yelps and turns, running away, out of my line of fire.
So not everyone is in on it…
