“I’ll stay,” Robert says. “She will go.”
Brock nods. “Follow me.”
We swim under the dock to the speedboat, Blue staying right by my side. There are two men on board, their faces painted in green and black camouflage paint, their bodies thickened by armor. They wear helmets and submachine guns hang from straps off their arms. They look like a nightmare—and they are our protection.
One of them reaches out a hand to help me aboard. I take it—my wet skin is slippery, but he grabs my wrist with his other hand and hauls me up like I weigh nothing. “Thanks,” I say.
He nods, his gaze traveling down my body, then quickly darting away. Dripping wet in my underpants and bra, I shiver as the breeze touches my exposed skin.
I glance around the boat hoping to spot a towel. It’s about twenty-four feet long with a rigid inflatable exterior—the better for ramming into things. There is a center console for steering and seats in the front and back. Metal equipment boxes are secured to the inner sides.
Brock, dripping wet, his latest Hawaiian shirt soaking and stuck to his body, moves past me and opens one of the cases. Pulling out a pistol, he turns back to me and holds it out. How thoughtful.
I take it and smile. “Got a towel?” I ask.
His eyes flicker over my body and then race back to my face. “Yeah,” he says. “Let me find one.” He turns to the two armored men. “Jacobs.” The one who helped me out turns to him while the other works with Robert to get Blue on board.
He’s got his paw over the side and Robert is pushing from the water while the other guy hauls him up. Blue scrambles over the black rubber and lands in the boat. He straightens himself and then shakes, spraying us all down.
“Fuck,” Jacobs says eloquently as he pulls a stack of towels out from under one of the seats. “That dog is huge.”
Robert hauls himself up on the rubbery gunwale, his white shirt slicked to his body. My mouth goes dry and I look away—when trying to avoid sleeping with my husband, it’s a good idea not to watch him pull himself from the water in a white shirt all Mr.-Darcy-after-a-swim-in the-pond style.
Jacobs hands me a towel and I wrap it around my shoulders, burrowing into it for a moment to warm up. Blue moves to my side. He looks so much smaller wet. He’s got an over-loved stuffed animal look to him. I smile down at him. His tongue flops out of his mouth as he smiles back.
“Sydney,” Robert says, his hand landing on my back. “Sit down, we need to keep moving.”
I wrap the towel around my body, freeing my arms, and, still holding the gun Brock gave me, take one of the seats in the front. Robert sits next to me and Blue settles at my feet, his wet chin landing on my foot.
“The sandals stayed on,” I say, impressed with Robert’s knot tying.
“But the dress did not,” Robert notes. “That was a part of my plan for the evening, but I didn’t envision it happening like this.”
I pause a beat, recalibrating, and then respond. “Well, the night’s not over yet.” I use the same neutral tone he did, as if I didn’t just suggest that I might go along with his “me naked except my sandals” plan.
Robert turns to me, his gaze on the side of my face as I keep my focus forward. The engines move from idle into drive and the sound ramps up. Robert doesn’t say anything, he just keeps staring at me. I resist the urge to meet his gaze. Two can play this game.
The boat moves away from the dock and speeds up so that the wind forces my wet hair to fly out behind me. I shudder from the chill.
Robert moves closer, his arm coming around my shoulders and pulling me into him. It’s warmer with our bodies touching so I don’t pull away. I settle more fully into the side of him. For the warmth.
His lips brush the top of my head in a gentle kiss. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, but close enough that I can hear it over the roar of the engines and wind.
“For what?” I ask. “Being such an asshole that your own kid is trying to kill you?”
Robert breathes out a soft laugh. “No, for not getting you fed.”
I sit back, looking into his face. Away from his body the wind tugs at me, throwing my hair around my face and whipping it into my eyes. Robert smiles at me, his arm still around me, though the hold is loose. As if he is patiently waiting for me to come close again.
I swallow sudden emotion and blink quickly.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing,” I say it again, trying to convince myself it is nothing. That this is just a game. A game I can win.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I’m on another plane. It’s a one-engine Cessna, not as luxurious as the helicopter from Robert’s friend’s yacht—in fact it smells kind of like french fries. The pilot, Bill, is only an arm’s length away. I could reach over his seat and tickle his ears. He owns this little thing. It’s not tall enough to stand up in and barely wide enough for Blue and me to sit side by side. But it was all we could get on such short notice. And I like it. I like the scent, the sound, and the pilot.
“How you doing back there?” he asks me.
“Great!” I yell over the drone of the propeller.
It’s practically morning now. Robert and I waited in our suite while his team cleared the island. He spent most of that time on his phone, texting and occasionally taking calls in foreign languages while I changed back into my own clothing and demolished the non-alcoholic half of the mini-bar.
Blue enjoyed the beef jerky, but we are both still hungry. “How much longer?” I ask, glancing at my phone. It’s almost out of battery.
“Only about forty-five minutes,” Bill says, turning his head slightly to address me.
Probably in his sixties, Bill has a ring of gray hair and a full beard in salt and pepper. His belly extends almost to his controls but at about an inch shorter than me he fits in the small craft perfectly.
He’s taking me to the Cook Islands where a Joyful Justice member will meet me and take me to the island. I’m exhausted and starving. “Think I’ll be able to get anything to eat there?”
“Sorry, not at this hour.”
“Fair enough,” I say, sitting back into my seat and letting my gaze wander out the window at the sea not all that far below us.
