Chapter Four The Crossing
Chapter Four
The Crossing
Edinburgh greeted them with wind sharp enough to steal the warmth from Naomi’s face.
She stepped from the secured vehicle and pulled her coat tighter around her body as the old stone city rose around them beneath a sky layered in gray.
The route north had taken hours longer than necessary because Commander Ross refused to trust anything direct.
They had changed vehicles twice, crossed into Scotland under different names, and spent the final forty miles with two decoy cars traveling in opposite directions.
By the time they reached Leith, Naomi was exhausted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
The DNA results had given her one piece of relief and replaced it with another impossible truth.
Hudson was not her biological father.
Lucas was not related to her.
But Mateo Serrano likely was.
Naomi still could not make herself think of him as her father.
Joseph James had earned that word.
Mateo Serrano had not.
Blood could explain where part of her came from.
It could not tell her who had raised her, protected her, encouraged her, sat beside her hospital bed when she was sick, or helped pay for school when money became tight.
Joseph had done those things.
Joseph had been her father.
And if Mateo Serrano believed biology gave him the right to claim her now, he was about to learn how little Naomi cared about inherited entitlement.
Lucas stepped out beside her.
“You’re doing the face again.”
Naomi looked toward him.
“What face?”
“The one that usually comes right before someone regrets underestimating you.”
“I don’t have a face.”
“You absolutely have a face.”
Anthony exited the vehicle behind them.
“She does.”
Naomi turned.
“You are not part of this conversation.”
Anthony buttoned his coat.
“I have been part of conversations I wasn’t invited into since birth.”
Lucas smiled.
“That explains a lot.”
Commander Ross walked toward the harbor without acknowledging any of them.
“Move.”
Naomi glanced toward Lucas.
“She’s getting bossier.”
“She likes Scotland.”
Ross looked over her shoulder.
“I heard that.”
Naomi smiled faintly.
For the first time since learning about Amara, she felt something close to normal.
It lasted perhaps thirty seconds.
Then she saw the ship.
The Blue Heron sat beyond a line of commercial vessels, larger than Naomi expected but small enough not to attract the attention of anyone looking for royal transportation.
Its dark hull carried no obvious markings beyond the vessel name painted in understated lettering near the stern.
Cranes, winches, and research equipment occupied the deck, making it look like exactly what Anthony claimed it was—a marine archaeology vessel preparing for another anonymous expedition.
No press.
No luxury convoy.
No Taylor logos.
Naomi liked it immediately.
Anthony followed her gaze.
“Try not to look impressed.”
“I’m not.”
“A painful lie.”
“You own a research vessel?”
“The foundation owns it.”
“That means yes.”
“It means taxpayers aren’t paying for my strange hobbies.”
Lucas looked toward him.
“That is not as comforting as you think.”
Two crew members approached.
One was a woman in her forties wearing weatherproof trousers and a navy fleece. Her hair had been cut short enough that the wind barely moved it.
“Commander.”
Ross shook her hand.
“Dr. Helena Ward.”
Naomi glanced at Anthony.
“Another Ward?”
Anthony understood the question.
“No connection to Felix.”
Helena smiled.
“I get that reaction increasingly often.”
Ross began introductions.
“Naomi James. Lucas Taylor. Anthony.”
Helena looked at him.
“I know who Anthony is.”
He placed a hand over his chest.
“Recognition at last.”
She ignored him.
“Our cabins are ready. We depart in forty minutes.”
Lucas frowned.
“I thought departure was tonight.”
“Schedule changed.”
Ross immediately became alert.
“Why?”
“Port authority inspection moved to six. I’d rather be halfway into the North Sea before officials begin asking why my guest manifest contains three people who officially aren’t here.”
Naomi looked toward Ross.
“Problem?”
“Potentially.”
Helena lowered her voice.
“Someone accessed the harbor records this morning.”
“Who?”
“We traced the request through an environmental consultancy in Denmark.”
Anthony’s expression changed.
“Mercer.”
Helena nodded.
“The same shell company used to purchase preservation equipment from the National Gallery.”
Naomi looked toward the ship.
“So they know we’re here.”
“Not necessarily,” Ross said. “They know the vessel may be moving.”
Lucas looked at her.
“That sounds like a distinction you don’t believe.”
“I believe in assuming the worst until evidence becomes less irritating.”
Naomi touched Lucas’s arm.
“That sounds exhausting.”
Ross continued walking.
“It keeps people alive.”
They boarded.
The Blue Heron smelled of saltwater, metal, old coffee, and something mechanical Naomi could not identify.
The interior was far more comfortable than the industrial deck suggested, but no part of it resembled a luxury yacht. Narrow corridors connected simple cabins, research rooms, a compact galley, and a large operations space equipped with sonar screens and marine maps.
Naomi’s assigned cabin contained one bed.
Lucas stopped in the doorway.
Then looked toward Commander Ross.
She continued walking.
Naomi glanced inside.
Then at Lucas.
“You seem surprised.”
“I was expecting separate rooms.”
Naomi raised an eyebrow.
“Were you?”
Lucas tried to look innocent.
“I respect operational boundaries.”
“Interesting.”
He leaned against the doorframe.
“Also, I wasn’t sure how Commander Ross feels about engaged couples sharing cabins during international intelligence operations.”
Ross’s voice came from down the corridor.
“I don’t care where you sleep as long as you follow evacuation instructions.”
Naomi covered her laugh.
Lucas whispered, “Terrifying woman.”
“She heard that too.”
“I know.”
Naomi entered the cabin.
A small round window looked toward the harbor. Two duffel bags had already been placed beneath a narrow storage cabinet.
Lucas came in behind her and closed the door.
For the first time since leaving London, they were alone.
Naomi sat on the edge of the bed.
The ship shifted gently beneath her.
Lucas removed his coat.
“You okay?”
She nodded automatically.
He waited.
Naomi sighed.
“No.”
Lucas sat beside her.
She looked toward the porthole.
“I keep imagining meeting Serrano.”
“You might not.”
“I will.”
The certainty in her voice surprised even her.
Lucas did not challenge it.
“What do you imagine?”
Naomi considered the question.
“I don’t know.”
She rubbed her palms together.
“I want to look at him and feel nothing.”
“But?”
“I’m afraid I’ll see something familiar.”
Lucas stayed quiet.
Naomi continued.
“The way he stands. A gesture. Maybe something in his face.”
She turned toward him.
“What if I look like him?”
“You might.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Lucas took her hand.
“Because a face is not character.”
Naomi stared at him.
“You say that easily.”
“I mean it easily.”
He touched her cheek.
“If you have his eyes, they still belong to you.”
Her throat tightened.
“If you inherited his intelligence?”
“Then you use it differently.”
“His stubbornness?”
Lucas smiled.
“I assumed that came directly from you.”
She slapped his arm.
He laughed.
The sound loosened something inside her.
Naomi leaned against him.
Lucas wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
“Do you know what scares me more than Serrano being my father?”
“What?”
“That part of me wants to know why.”
“Why he let Joseph raise you?”
“Yes.”
“Why he never came?”
“Yes.”
“Why he hunted you?”
“Yes.”
Naomi looked down.
“And I hate that I care.”
Lucas kissed her temple.
“Wanting answers doesn’t mean you want him.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Naomi thought about it.
Then nodded.
“I’m trying.”
The ship departed under fading afternoon light.
Edinburgh disappeared slowly behind them as the Blue Heron moved beyond the harbor and into open water.
Naomi stood at the rail despite the cold.
The sea stretched endlessly ahead, dark blue beneath a heavy sky. Gulls followed for several miles before turning back toward land.
Lucas came beside her carrying two steaming mugs.
“What is it?”
“Coffee.”
She accepted one cautiously.
“You made it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He looked offended.
“My coffee is excellent.”
“You burned French toast yesterday.”
“That was unrelated.”
Naomi lifted the mug toward him.
“To professional crew.”
Lucas tapped his against hers.
“To being deeply unappreciated.”
They drank.
For a few moments, neither spoke.
Then Naomi noticed something strange.
Lucas was smiling.
Not at her.
At the horizon.
“What?”
He looked toward her.
“What?”
“You’re smiling.”
“I do that.”
“Not like this.”
He turned back toward the ocean.
“My grandfather used to take me sailing.”
“Edmund?”
“No. Arthur.”
Naomi leaned against the rail.
“You never talk about him as a grandfather.”
“Mostly because everything we discovered turned him into evidence.”
That sentence carried more sadness than bitterness.
“What was he like with you?”
Lucas thought.
“Patient.”
Naomi looked surprised.
“Arthur Taylor?”
“Yes.”
“The criminal empire, hidden-child, Bluebird-secret Arthur Taylor?”
“The same.”
Lucas smiled faintly.
“He taught me how to tie knots. How to read a compass. How to navigate by stars.”
“Useful childhood.”
“He also taught me chess badly because he cheated whenever he was losing.”
Naomi laughed.
“I’m starting to understand your family.”
“He kept peppermints in every coat pocket.”
“That feels strangely wholesome.”
“He was complicated.”
Naomi looked at him.
“People usually are.”
Lucas nodded.
“I used to think discovering the worst thing someone had done should erase every good memory.”
“And now?”
“I think both can be true.”
He looked toward the water.
“I can love what Arthur gave me and still refuse what he did to others.”
Naomi understood.
The same conflict waited for her with Joseph.
Her father had lied.
He had hidden Amara.
Hidden Elias.
Prepared Naomi for a role without asking.
Yet he had also loved her completely.
Truth did not require erasing either side.