Chapter 1 #2
“Little bit,” he murmured. “You make a great fake wife, Viv. Only kind I’ll ever have the pleasure of in this job.”
“Try that again when we're alone. Remember, I’m armed.”
The retort died the moment she saw the boat.
The Windward Lady sagged against the dock, rust bleeding down her sides. The wheelhouse windows were fogged with mildew, and the name barely clung to the peeling paint.
Dan spread his hands like a man presenting a masterpiece. “She’s a fixer-upper, but a young couple like you? You’ll whip her into shape.” He handed Blake a card. “Don’t forget, I’m Dan, and anything you need, I’m your man. I work on the docks—can fix just about anything.”
“Great,” Blake said—far too gleeful for Vivian’s comfort.
Viv leaned in, laid a hand on Blake’s chest, and smiled tightly. “No need. My amazing husband here is incredibly handy. Aren’t you, sweet bear?”
Blake’s grin flashed, wind whipping through his hair. “Aw, love is blind. She fell for me hard. Chased me for months before I agreed to start dating.”
Viv slid an arm behind his back and pinched him—hard.
Not that it mattered. The man had zero body fat and the resilience of a brick wall.
Unfair. He lifted a few weights and looked like a Greek god; she killed herself in the gym just to maintain her figure.
He was infuriating. People flocked to him effortlessly.
She smiled sweetly. “And then you had to give up your playboy ways. Took you over a year to get me to trust you. Thought he’d die from lack of attention.”
He snugged her to his chest and dipped his chin down as if to kiss her. Her body tightened. She refused to react to the way he leaned in. She couldn’t break cover.
“But she was worth it in the end.” He leaned closer, and she closed her eyes, preparing herself for one of Thomas Blake’s infamous kisses that drove ladies to fall in love with him and chase him like he was the only water left in the world.
She focused on the mission, not him. So for the sake of their cover, she’d have to allow it.
But instead of his lips, his nose grazed hers, and he smacked her backside.
“Later, honey. We don’t want to make our new friend uncomfortable. ”
The first snowflake hit her cheek, melting hot against her skin. She’d have clocked him one if Dan the Man wasn’t standing two feet away, grinning like they were a new circus act in town. “I’ll give you two some privacy, but I’m around if you need me.” He scurried away.
Vivian forced a tight smile, teeth clenched. “You really think this boat’s going to get us inside Laurel Tide?”
Blake gave her that infuriating smile—the one that looked like equal parts charm and bad idea. “Sure. She’s got character.”
“Character?” She glanced at the rust streaking down the hull. “She’s got tetanus.”
He leaned in and whispered, “And I’ve already got a way in.”
She quirked a brow at him. “How?”
He handed her the business card Dan gave him, and in the upper right corner was a symbol of a laurel with a wave around it.
How did he do it? Thomas Blake could just stand somewhere, and opportunities were thrown at him?
He was a magnet to women, leads, and success.
He never had to work for anything in life.
Vivian walked up the rickety step ladder leading to a door to the boat, muttering under her breath. The wind whipped through her hair, snow giving way to sleet, tapping a cold rhythm against the deck. She reached for the metal rail to steady herself, and pain seared up her arm.
The jolt hit hard enough to make her stumble. She bit out a curse, jerking her hand back, palm stinging. A faint wisp of smoke curled from the spot where her glove had torn.
A violent tremor seized her forearm, locking her elbow before she forced it down. Her fingers tingled hard, refusing to close fully around anything as she tried to steady her breath.
Blake was there in an instant, hand catching her elbow. “You all right?”
His hands closed around her arms to keep her upright, firm but careful—too careful.
That gentleness shook her more than the jolt had. She yanked back on instinct, pulse skittering from the shock—not from him.
If she didn’t know better, the look in his eyes was worry for her, genuine compassion. But Blake didn’t know what that was.
Fine,” she managed, though her voice wavered. “Except for the part where your boat nearly killed me.”
He crouched beside the rail, fingers brushing the wire running along its base. A tiny arc flared in the mist—blue-white, hissing.
“Deck light,” he muttered. “Wiring’s shot.”
She knelt beside him, ignoring the sting in her palm. The copper was exposed, the insulation stripped clean. Too clean.
Vivian met his eyes, pulse still hammering.
His gaze swept over her, checking for injuries. The thoroughness steadied her more than she liked. Still, something warm flickered beneath the concern, subtle enough she almost missed it. Almost.
“That doesn’t look like wear.”
Blake shook his head. “No. It looks deliberate.”
Sleet drifted harder now, slanting through the beam of the dock light. Somewhere out in the bay, a buoy clanged like a warning.
Vivian swallowed, tasting metal. “You think someone didn’t want us boarding?”
He didn’t answer—just glanced toward the dark marina, eyes narrowing into the fog.
The cold crept deeper into her bones. Maybe the safehouse wasn’t the only thing that felt wrong. As much as she wanted to take down Laurel Tide, she’d find another way that didn’t involve small quarters with Thomas Blake. “Cover blown?”
He shook his head. “No, Laurel is known for not wanting anyone around their place. I’m surprised we even got this boat. But told the broker I was buying it, fixing it up to leave.”
Another flare of blue light sparked from the wire. “Maybe, or they already know who we are, and this boat is wired to kill.
Blake crouched, the acrid scent of scorched insulation mixing with salt air. The faint blue arc sizzled again, snapping through the mist like a warning.
But that wouldn’t scare him off; despite Viv’s constant questioning and trying to kill the op, he wouldn’t be chased away.
Jenson had confirmed this was a main coastal hub for Laurel Tide.
And that intel had cost too much to walk away.
After seven years of taking them down one piece at a time, this clue was the closest he’d come to the heart of the operation.
This could be the op that ended this organization for good.
He rose, scanning the deck. Every creak of wood and slap of water against the hull tugged at his instincts. The Windward Lady might’ve been a rotted heap, but she wasn’t just neglected. She was tampered with.
Vivian moved past him, checking the aft door.
Her flashlight beam cut through the fog, slicing shadows into shape.
She moved like she always did—controlled, precise, every motion measured.
Except for the way the wet fabric of her jacket clung to her waist, the faint tremor still running through her hand.
He shouldn’t notice things like that. But he did. Always had. Vivian was the one woman he’d wanted to notice him but the only one who never did, despite the close-quarter ops and long nights.
They cleared the wheelhouse. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, the hinges whining.
Inside, the air was thick with mildew and engine oil.
Charts were scattered across the console, warped from damp sea air.
He checked behind the storage bench, under the dash—nothing but cobwebs and a few loose bolts.
Vivian moved silently beside him, sweeping the corners. They didn’t need words to work together. Years undercover had built their own rhythm. Still, her nearness made the air hum. Every time her shoulder brushed his arm, something in him tightened.
They worked their way through the galley, the cramped space forcing them close. He opened each cabinet, checking for hidden compartments, weapons, or anything out of place. Just old mugs, a cracked plate, and a can of beans past its expiration date.
“So, hon, what do you think?” He pointed over his head and around the room. Viv went to work, searching for bugs.
“I think I married a man who’s suffering from Peter Pan syndrome.”
Blake chuckled. “How you figure that?”
She scanned the salon, then climbed over old gear and parts to the master. “Please, look around. This is your pirate ship. I’m just not sure if you’re trying to be Peter Pan or Captain Hook.”
Was that a joke? Did Vivian Durand make a joke?
For a fraction of a second, something lighter eased between them. But vanished as quickly as it came. The silence that followed carried more weight than the banter could mask. The air felt tighter here, the boat smaller. The creak of the hull made it sound like someone was on deck.
Vivian turned to the aft door. “Engine room next.”
He moved in to her side. “Stay close.”
“I can handle myself.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s why I need you close. To save me from myself.” He leaned in close and whispered, “That’s what Maddox told you to do, right?”
She stepped away with a glare sharp enough to cut through the hull of the boat. “You planning to help or just run your mouth?”
Her defensiveness answered his question affirmatively. But he wouldn’t get into that now. He grinned. “Multitasking’s kind of my thing.”
He ducked down the narrow stairs. The fiberglass steps creaked under his weight. The air grew colder, heavy with salt and the faint tang of diesel.
The engine room was a mess of corrosion and cables. He shined his light along the bulkhead. Something caught his attention—a faint scorch mark near the battery housing. Not fresh, but not old either. He ran his thumb across it. The soot came away oily.
Someone had been here recently.
“Viv,” he called up softly and rotated his finger around the space. She hopped down and swept for bugs, then nodded.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I’m not sure this boat’s been sitting empty.”