Chapter Sixteen
Phoenix
Standing at the helm, Helios glanced at me and shook his head. “What the fuck is your plan?”
“Heading’s set.” Distracted, I watched the security footage from the estate for the third time.
“The Paragon will weather the storm.” The sniper had been as careful as the little trespasser.
I didn’t have a clear shot of either of them on camera.
But I had noticed something else on the security feeds.
Her.
Or footprints of her movements on the estate.
Fruit disappeared from the trees, vegetation moved in opposing directions from the winds, the furniture on the pool terrace shifted.
Every few nights, one of the cabanas would show the faint glow of a small camping light on inside.
Occasionally, a trail of smoke would appear onscreen from the area adjacent to the outdoor kitchen as if the grill was in use.
Then there was the dock, the part captured in the field of view for that dedicated camera that was predominantly angled on the water to catch any approaching watercraft.
The small area of the dock near the ladder that I could see was wet on sunny days, usually in the early morning and late afternoon.
The woman had been living on my property for two months.
Fishing off the dock, sleeping in a cabana, and picking lemons.
“I’m not talking about the goddamn boat,” Helios clipped. “But heading into this shit’s a bad fucking call.”
I glanced out at the still-clear skies. “She’s weathered worse.” I thought about the slight woman currently locked in my VIP cabin who’d said she was hungry, and for a split second, an urge to feed her hit.
Helios threw me look. “A whole fucking hour, and you think you know that crazy chick?”
“Isla,” I corrected. “And I was talking about the Heesen.”
“I saw the passport. I know her damn name. The difference between us is that I don’t fucking care. And I sure as shit wouldn’t have brought her on board.”
An alert on the ship’s internal security system came up.
I glanced at the screen as Ares walked into the chief engineer’s office, then I looked at Helios.
“The difference between us is that I’m wondering how a sniper and a twenty-six-year-old unemployed drifter both evaded the estate’s security system, and avoided being caught on dozens of cameras.
I also want to know why the sniper warned me off instead of taking the shot, and how the hell he evaded you and Ares.
” Then I wanted to hire him because no one evaded Helios.
“Until I get answers, the woman stays on board.”
“I’m not babysitting that shit.”
Another internal security alert hit, but I ignored it. “That shit is a woman who got the jump on Ares.”
Helios smirked as he shook his head. “If you’re so goddamn cock-hard for the crazy chick that you couldn’t tell Ares let it happen because he knew you didn’t want bikini bitch dead, then you’re beyond fucking help. No one touches Ares’s blade and walks away unscathed.”
The security alert pinged again. “Your brother is neither passive nor vengeful.”
Helios snorted. “You got one of those right.” He tipped his chin at the monitors. “Good luck with that.”
I glanced at the security feeds.
Goddamn it.
“You’re first shift,” I ordered. “Stay the course. Alert me if the winds increase on that subtropical cyclone.” Not waiting for confirmation from Helios, I exfilled the bridge and took the stairs to the main deck.
Twenty seconds later, I was walking into my cabin, and I immediately heard it.
My shower.
The woman was in my stateroom, in my shower.
I hit the en suite.
Naked, wet, hair halfway down her back, turned away from me, the little trespasser was singing.
And she’d fucking broken in.
I hadn’t engaged the eye-scan security feature while the crew was gone, but I kept my door locked. Always.
Torn between joining her and wrapping my hand around her throat to interrogate the fuck out of her, I stood there.
What I should’ve done was give her a choice. Her silence or her life. Then, depending on her reaction, either eliminate or dismiss her.
The first option was easy. Miles offshore, the current temperature of the ocean, the number of sharks in these waters—one toss overboard would handle the situation.
The second option was more nuanced. Body language, facial expression, tells—if she had enough sense to be terrified of me and feared for her life, then Ares could tender her to the closest shoreline and dump her.
Or Helios could handle it. He hated flying helos over piloting his own wings, but any excuse to be in the air, and he’d fire up the Sikorsky to transport her off the ship.
Hitting the chorus of a song I vaguely knew, the woman who was a professional lockpick belted out the words. Then she leaned forward, shoved her face under the spray, and the shower swallowed her voice.
Conditioned not to hesitate, I reached out.
My palm landed between her shoulder blades, and I ran my hand down her spine.
I was an assassin by trade.
I was trained in HUMIT, SIGINT, IMINT, recon, espionage, interrogation, coercion, and torture.
I used, threatened, destroyed, or killed everything and everyone I came in contact with.
But that wasn’t why I touched this five-foot-nothing trespasser.
I touched her because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt the length of a woman’s back under my hand.
For a split second, she froze.
Then her head whipped up, she shoved wet hair off her face and started to pivot.
I was already gone.
Exiting the suite, I silently shut the door. Then I shoved the small hair clip I’d grabbed off the bathroom counter into my pocket, and strode down the companionway.