Chapter 2 #2
The jab slid under Blake’s skin. His jaw flexed. He shifted subtly so Vivian was behind his shoulder. She didn’t flinch, didn’t back off—just angled her chin, watching the stranger with that cool, assessing gaze that used to make suspects confess without her saying one word.
“What do you mean, not safe?” she asked, voice sounding shaky, vulnerable, which Blake knew was all an act.
The man’s attention lingered on her, too long, too casual. Blake felt his fingers twitch toward the Sig at his hip.
“And how did you know she was my wife?”
The man tilted his hat lower as if keeping the sleet from his eyes. “I confess. I did know you bought the boat, but I was hoping to make an offer to take her off your hands. There was a mistake with the sale of this boat. I have an insistent client who didn’t like that it sold out from under him.”
The way the man enunciated ‘insistent’ made the message clear. “I don’t know. We just boarded; can you give us some time to think about it? I’ll admit, the pictures we received didn’t do this justice. Yes, she’s got potential, and all the woodwork is beautiful, but my wife isn’t a fan yet.”
“She’s wise; you should listen to her,” the man murmured. “Some people who bought her before didn’t walk away from the experience.” He tilted his head, eyes cutting back to Blake. “Wouldn’t want to see history repeat itself.”
Viv gave a gasp that was Academy Award-winning. “Oh, no. What happened?”
“I only know that the last man who owned this boat died. Some sort of carbon monoxide poisoning. Lots of dangerous things like black mold, rust, and even things you can’t see that can take you in the night.”
Blake forced a dry laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Appreciate the warning. We’ll make sure to be careful. And I’ll let you know if we want to sell. Do you want to leave your number?”
“I’ll be around. The man took one more step down, the deck creaking beneath him. Up close, Blake caught the smell of salt and machine oil.
“Is there something else I can do for you?” Blake asked, voice low.
The man’s mouth curved. “Just remember, some risks don’t give you a choice.” His tone softened, almost kind. “Just… watch your lines and currents. They’ll drag you places you don’t mean to go.”
He turned, boots thudding away.
Blake stood there, heartbeat pulsing against his ribs. Vivian exhaled behind him, slow and controlled.
“Consider us warned,” she said.
“Yep,” Blake muttered, scanning the hatch like he could still see the man’s outline through the mist. “He was here to remind us we’re not alone out here.”
She moved closer. “Laurel Tide. At least we know our intel’s right. Wouldn’t be so quick to try to scare us off if we weren’t in the heart of everything. But how did we get the boat if they didn’t want it sold?”
He nodded once, tight. “I’d like to know that, too. Now they decide if they’ll let us stay or if we’ll meet with an accident. Hoping Dan blabs about us working to get out of here. It should buy us some time.”
“So you think we’re in the clear for tonight?”
He almost smiled. “I’m choosing not to die in a bed that smells like mildew.” He glanced at the window. The fog pressed close, listening. “We rotate watches. Two hours on, two off. We don’t touch the conduit again until first light. And we secure all hatches.”
“Agreed.”
“And we don’t transmit,” Blake said, knowing she’d fight him on this.
Her eyebrow kicked up. “You think it’ll blow us?”
“I think the safest conversation is the one you don’t have.” He moved to the tiny galley, killing the lantern so only the low blue from the fogged windows remained.
“You first watch?” she asked.
He nodded.
Vivian paused at the cabin door, silhouette sharp against the gray. “Blake, don’t be reckless. Not tonight.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He listened to her settle onto the berth, the soft rasp of jacket against blanket. The hull ticked as the temperature dropped.
Blake set his back to the bulkhead and let his eyes adjust to the dark, counting creaks, cataloging the boat like a body he had to learn from the inside out. The air tasted like salt and machine oil. Familiar. Safe enough to make his instincts itch.
Somewhere outside, a gull screamed once and fell silent. He didn’t blink.
When his eyelids grew heavy, he pushed up and paced back to the bedroom to check on Vivian.
She slept curled on her side, one hand resting inches from her weapon, her breathing slow but never deep. Even in sleep, she was sharp edges and restraint. Most people let their guard down; she never did. He respected that about her, and resented what it said about the world they lived in.
She’d always been like that. Controlled. Careful. Beautiful in the way storms are beautiful—something you admire even when you know you should keep your distance. He told himself it didn’t still get to him. Lies were easier in the dark.
He decided to let her sleep longer, so he went and lit the gas stove with a lighter and brewed some coffee.
Once done, he woke Vivian with a nudge to her shoulder.
She came awake on the first breath, eyes open, hand shifting to her gun.
That cool, assessing awareness flickered across her face before she recognized him. The tension eased from her face.
Blake withdrew his hand, pulse settling into the rhythm he trusted—measured, ready. He told himself he was only watching her to gauge reaction time. But he knew better.
“Your turn,” he whispered.
She sat up, hair escaping its braid in waves, and took the thermos of coffee he offered. “See anything?”
“Nothing solid.” He kept his voice low. “Two passes down the main pier, engines running, no lights in the fog, shallow gears. I didn’t step out to get a look. No point inviting a muzzle flash.”
She swallowed a swig of coffee and grimaced. “This is awful.”
“Made it on gas stovetop I managed to light, but didn’t want to put on the lantern, so probably made it too bitter.”
She rubbed a thumb along the rim of the thermos top she used as a cup, staring through him. “We should’ve logged with Maddox after the man’s threats. If the marina’s compromised, we need a net.”
Blake’s jaw ticked. “We don’t call in the second our toes get wet. He knows our position, that’s enough for now. ”
“We call in when the generator is rigged to explode and a ghost is crawling our dock.” Heat flared under the whisper. “Protocols exist for a reason.”
He held her gaze. “No ghost, just a man and a warning. And leaks are dangerous.”
Her expression didn’t shift, but the air cooled a degree. “You think Maddox is dirty?”
“I think we’ve buried more agents than we should have chasing Laurel Tide.” He stepped in closer to keep his voice from the window. “And I think whoever’s feeding them knows how we move.”
Color rose along her throat—anger, not shame. “You don’t get to lay that at my door.”
“I didn’t.” He hadn’t even looked away, but the distance between them widened. “I said leak, not you.”
“You implied it.” She set the thermos down with more care than necessary. “You’ve been implying it since Christmas Cove.”
“Because Christmas Cove should’ve been clean.
Instead, I almost got my friend killed.” He heard the edge in his own voice and didn’t sand it down.
“The lookout vanished, the players moved on that island under the cover of foliage that blocked our view from the air, our cover was burned before we infiltrated. We didn’t lose it in the field. We lost it on approach.”
“Then say Maddox.” She leaned in, eyes flaring.
“Say it out loud so we both know what we’re risking.
Because if you’re right and we’re dark here and he’s dirty, then we’re on our own shore to stern.
And if you’re wrong—if he’s clean—you’re about to get me to accuse a man I deeply respect and get us both benched. ”
Silence settled. Wind worried the lines.
Blake could have deflected. He didn’t. “I don’t know about Maddox.
” The truth tasted like brine. “Someone knows our scripts, though. But I’ll admit there is a hesitation as if there is time between infiltration and discovery.
If Maddox is our man, he’s either intentionally waiting to move on an agent to keep him from being identified or he isn’t our leak. ”
She studied Blake like she might a stranger who’d offered a truth at the wrong time. Then she nodded once, the smallest concession. “Fine. We hold the line until we can test it.”
“Test it how?”
“Feed the leak different bait through different channels. See who bites.” She moved past him to the narrow window slit, gathering her hair into a knot and wrapping the band around it. Practical. Precise. “We keep cover. We work local. And we don’t hand anyone the match.”
He almost said something about matchheads and generators but let it go. “We know Laurel Tide doesn’t need to be on to us to scare us off since that’s historically been their MO.”
“Rigging a generator isn’t a warning, it’s murder.” She gave him a look over her shoulder and sauntered away. Always having to have the last word with him. “Get some sleep.”
He lay down on the berth without taking off his boots and closed his eyes.
He didn’t sleep. Not really. He drifted in that shallow place where every hinge squeak and water slap is a tripwire.
When the world outside finally softened toward gray, the first seagull of morning carved a line through the mist, and the boat exhaled like it had been holding the bay off all night.
“Switch,” Vivian said. Her voice had that hoarse edge dawn puts on people.
He pushed up on one elbow. “Anything?”
“Someone moved on the main pier around four-thirty. Too dark to see features. Height, maybe six foot. Efficient gait.” She handed the thermos back and made a face. “Still awful.”
“Coffee should offend you a little or it won’t keep you awake,” he said, and her mouth twitched before she bit it back.
It was almost a smile.
Almost.