Chapter Fourteen
Phoenix
Not believing a word she said, I tested her as I walked out of the tender garage. “Follow.” One way or another, she’d be secured on board.
Halfway toward the VIP cabin I’d instructed Helios to take her pack to, her voice hit my six, but her tone had lost the attitude. “You know, I didn’t steal anything from you.”
“Implying I stole from you?” I didn’t have time to engage with her, let alone deal with the complication of a hostage brazen enough to go for Ares’s knife.
I’d also never had an intruder on any of my properties avoid the security cameras, show no fear toward a sniper, and not resist capture.
I agreed with Helios. She knew the sniper.
But there was something else she wasn’t admitting to.
A suspicion I hadn’t been able to confirm until I’d restrained her with an arm locked around her waist. The woman had gone slack, and it’d hit me.
Same as I’d smelled her light floral shampoo, same as the hint of saltwater on her skin, I caught the scent of her addiction.
The little trespasser was an adrenaline junkie.
She was also a submissive who’d fit perfectly against my body.
“Well, you did let Helios take my backpack, so if the implication fits….” She trailed off before tossing out a seemingly casual question. “So where’s this boat going to next?”
Striding down the companionway of the wheelhouse deck, I didn’t reply.
Fixating on how much I’d hated hearing her say Helios’s name, I opened the door to the largest guest cabin.
Located two decks above Ares’s and Helios’s quarters and one deck above the owner’s suite, it was the closest cabin to the bridge.
Stepping back, I waited to see if she’d enter on her own.
“Is this your lair?”
“It’s your cabin.” For the time being.
“Where do you sleep?”
I both set a boundary and told her what she needed to know. “Not here.”
She leaned her head in to glance around. “How many women have slept here?”
My gaze dropped to her ass and the two sacral dimples just above her bikini line. “I wouldn’t know.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she frowned. “You own the boat, and you don’t know how many women have slept on it? And don’t feed me a line about chartering it out. I know charters, and this boat definitely isn’t that.”
No, it wasn’t. “I’m not the first owner.”
“You bought a used boat?”
I didn’t buy it. I assumed ownership after it’d been raided by the Feds, and they weren’t expeditious about getting a captain to pilot it back to shore. Tipping my chin at her cabin, I didn’t reply.
She walked in, I followed, and Helios showed up.
Striding through the doorway, he dumped the backpack at her feet. “Why the fuck do you have a bug-out bag?”
“Why the fuck do you think?” Mimicking his tone and attitude, she reached for it. “All self-respecting backpackers have one.”
Grabbing it, I noted the brand. “Backpackers don’t use Eberlestock Freefall tactical packs.
” Military or law enforcement did. Or people like me.
I had their Phantom, Operator, and Terminator models, and I knew how much the tactical loadout packs cost. Minus her Freefall, this woman didn’t look like she had two cents to rub together.
“You military?” She didn’t fit the profile, and my facial rec results didn’t come back with any service records, but I knew firsthand how that didn’t matter.
She almost smiled, like there was an inside joke I was missing. “No. But you are.” She glanced at Helios. “Both of you are.” Her gaze landed back on me. “Bossy SEAL.” She looked at Helios, and her eyes narrowed. “Wannabe Navy SEAL.”
“Fuck Navy,” Helios clipped. “Who the hell was shooting at us?”
“Us?” she mocked before swapping her tone to disinterested confidence. “No one was shooting at me.”
“I can fucking remedy that,” Helios threatened.
“Of course you can,” she taunted. “Just like a good little Army Ranger.”
Helios looked at me and deadpanned, “You want that handled?”
“No. Sitrep,” I ordered, noting how she held her own.
“Fine. Your fucking funeral.” Helios tossed a cell phone and passport at me. “Both scanned.” He threw a glare at the trespasser. “Cell’s wiped. No call history, no contacts, no socials.” He looked back at me. “Cypher’s doing his thing.”
“Scanned for what?” She glanced from Helios to me. “Who’s Cypher?”
We both ignored her.
“Personal effects?” Same as me, Helios would’ve searched her pack. Not same as me, he wouldn’t be invested.
“Here’s a novel idea,” she interjected. “Why don’t you ask me what’s in my backpack? Or is that too civilized for you and the Neanderthal?”
Helios didn’t take the bait on her insult. “No drugs, no photos, no meds—prescription or OTC. A journal with a bunch of fucking inspirational bullshit. Some pens, swimsuits, and a couple bras. No underwear.” He paused a fraction of a second, then he fucked with me. “No condoms, no birth control.”
“Wow.” She drew the word out for effect. “Did you spit on my toothbrush while you were at it?”
“Clothes? Shoes?” Still in her bikini, horripilation covering her arms and legs, she hadn’t asked for something to wear. Or to leave.
“She’s not my fucking capture. You want an itemized list, do it yourself. I don’t get paid enough to dig through that shit.”
He made high eight figures. He got paid plenty. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, survivalist shit. Switchblade, ferro rod, Snugpack, S.O.S. rations. Like I said, bug-out bag. Congratulations, you found your female equivalent, complete with her own personal sniper.” Helios threw her a glare before turning toward the door.
“Keep that mess on a short leash. I’m getting us the fuck out of here before the storm hits. ” He walked out.
Pocketing her cell, I opened the passport I’d already seen.
“That’s my phone, and that guy’s an asshole.”
No physical stamp for France.
I met her gaze. “No recent stamps. No EES intel.”
“What storm?” Her gaze darted to my pocket. “And what’s EES?”
“Entry/Exit System for non-EU nationals traveling in the Schengen Area.” She had no biometric data or documented travel in their system.
“The Schengen Area,” she repeated, suddenly looking around the cabin.
“Twenty-nine European countries.” Including Iceland and Spain, where she’d gotten physical stamps before EES implementation.
“Right.” She fingered the edge of the bed. “How long have you had your boat?”
“Ship.”
She crossed her arms. “How does a Navy SEAL afford a ship, a helicopter, and an estate in Cap d’Antibes?”
“I didn’t say I was a SEAL.”
“You didn’t say you weren’t.” She eyed her pack. “I’m guessing you went private sector.” She looked me up and down. “Or you are the private sector.”
“Who was the sniper?”
“Good question.” She affected a frown. “Should I know who you are? Are you famous or something?”
“No. You haven’t asked to leave.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t think I had a choice.”
“You made the choice to trespass onto my property.”
“We’re back to that now?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “What storm?”
“System to the south of us.”
Her crossed arms shifted as she raised an eyebrow. “And we’re heading for it?”
Reading into what she didn’t ask—how long I was going to detain her, what happened to the sniper, why I was detaining her—I studied her a moment. Then I gave orders. “This is your cabin. You’ll stay here for the duration.”
“Duration of what?”
“Passage” was all I gave her.
“Galley?” she asked.
“You have rations. There’s a mini fridge stocked with drinks in the built-in cabinetry.” I turned to leave.
“I’m hungry, and I need real food. Those S.O.S. bars are all sugar, and they’re for emergencies.”
I glanced back. “This isn’t an emergency for you?”
Expression impenetrable, she stared.
I shut the door and locked it.