Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
Natalie’s hands continued to shake against the steering wheel as she kept following Timothy into the darkness, into the unknown.
She couldn’t think of one single reason why he’d head this way.
Unless . . . what if he was meeting another woman?
The thought caused a knot to lodge in her throat.
Hudson wasn’t the type to cheat.
Right?
Her gut told her he wasn’t that kind of guy.
Still, doubt twisted in her chest. She’d been wrong so many times before in previous relationships. Why not now also?
Maybe her father was right.
Maybe Timothy wasn’t who he claimed to be.
Then again, her father had secrets too. She’d noticed the phone calls that ended abruptly when she entered the room, business trips that didn’t quite add up, and associates who looked more like security than corporate executives.
She loved her father, but she’d learned not to ask too many questions about his work. He claimed he didn’t like to talk about certain things, and she’d brushed those moments off as simply business.
She wasn’t made to be cutthroat like her father—like a person leading an international business. That was why she simply preferred to work in communications and not know the fine details of her father’s operations.
Apparently, working in shipping could make you a lot of enemies—and a lot of money.
Natalie’s mom had died fifteen years ago—cancer—and Natalie had been their only child.
She knew that was part of the reason her dad was so protective of her. But still, she had her limits.
Following Timothy’s car through the darkness, Natalie wondered if she was making a huge mistake. Yet she wasn’t ready to turn back yet.
She had to know the truth, and she prayed when she discovered that truth her fears would be eased and she’d have a good laugh about this. She prayed this was all a misunderstanding.
After all, she and Timothy had bonded over their faith. She’d told him on their first official date how important God and church was to her. She hadn’t grown up with either, but after her mom died, one of her nannies had talked to her about God.
It had been a long process, but she’d finally become a believer.
Her faith was the only thing that sustained her at times.
Finally, Timothy’s car slowed and turned toward the water.
The water?
There was nothing else out here. But why would he head this way?
Through her windshield, a small marina materialized from the shadows.
There appeared to be a weathered dock with maybe a dozen boat slips, all but three of them empty.
A single security light flickered near what looked like a locked equipment shed, casting long shadows across the warped wooden planks.
The place appeared closed for the season, abandoned even, with a chain-link gate hanging partially open as if someone had forgotten to secure it properly.
The October breeze carried the smell of brackish water and decaying seaweed through her barely cracked window.
Spanish moss swayed from the live oaks surrounding the property, their branches creating an eerie canopy that blocked out most of the moonlight.
This wasn’t the kind of place you came for a romantic evening sail.
This was the kind of place people came when they didn’t want to be seen.
Her stomach churned.
What if Timothy really was meeting another woman here?
It would explain so much—the vague answers about his schedule, the apartment she’d never seen, the phone calls he always took in another room.
Maybe her father’s warning had nothing to do with danger and everything to do with infidelity.
Maybe Timothy wasn’t different from her past boyfriends after all.
Her heart sagged at the thought.
She had seconds to decide what to do.
Drive away and preserve whatever illusions she had left? Or follow him and face whatever truth waited at that decrepit marina?
Her heart hammered as she parked her car behind a cluster of trees, trying to stay as far from Timothy’s vehicle as possible.
The sensible part of her brain screamed that this was foolish, that she should turn around and go home.
But the curious side of her, the side that demanded answers—the truth—caused her to reach for the door handle.
There would be time for common sense later.
Hudson had led the sedan—the one that had been maintaining a careful distance behind him since he’d left Natalie’s neighborhood—exactly where he’d wanted.
The driver appeared professional enough to stay hidden behind him, but not professional enough to avoid detection by someone with his training.
Sigma had finally made their move, hadn’t they?
He pulled into the small marina off Back Bay, gravel crunching under his tires as he parked near the equipment shed.
The night air carried the briny smell of brackish water along with diesel fuel and rotting wood. Somewhere in the darkness, a loose halyard clinked rhythmically against a mast, the sound echoing across the empty slips like a broken metronome.
Hudson cut his engine and lights, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The flickering security light provided just enough illumination to see—and just enough shadow to hide in.
Through his rearview mirror, he watched the vehicle following him as it slowed on the access road.
His tail had arrived.
The driver would most likely park and approach on foot. Standard surveillance protocol.
He slipped out of his Lexus—not his normal vehicle, but one that fit his consulting job persona—and moved silently toward a stack of overturned dinghies near the dock. The wood was slick with moisture and smelled of brine and mildew, familiar scents from his days as a Navy SEAL.
He crouched behind them and reached for his gun.
From this position, he had a clear view of the parking area and could control the confrontation.
The breeze picked up, rustling through the Spanish moss overhead and carrying voices from the water—probably late-season fishermen anchored in the bay.
But here at the marina, everything was still.
Waiting.
Hudson’s muscles coiled as the soft crunch of footsteps on gravel hit his ears.
Whoever was following him was trying to be quiet but lacked the training to move in true silence.
He could track their approach by sound alone—hesitant steps, pausing every few feet, the nervous breathing of someone out of their element.
He narrowed his eyes.
Sigma would be better than this. Their operatives moved like ghosts.
The footsteps grew closer, and Hudson prepared to spring. He already ran through the interrogation in his mind—who sent you, what does Sigma know, how much danger is Natalie in?
A shadow detached itself from the tree line, moving toward his Lexus with careful, uncertain steps.
Hudson waited until the person following him was past his position, back to him before he moved.
In three silent strides, he was behind his pursuer. One hand reached to grab the person’s shoulder and spin them around while the other moved to control any potential weapon.
“Don’t move,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous.
The figure gasped and stumbled backward, hands flying up in startled surrender.
In the weak glow of the security light, Hudson saw delicate features, wide brown eyes, dark hair falling loose around slim shoulders.
His world tilted on its axis.
He had to be seeing things.
But he wasn’t. It was . . .
“Natalie?”