He grinned from the sink, washing out the pots and pans. “Glad you liked it.” His smile faded a little. “How’s it going with Greyson? Are you ready to go ashore?”
“I am.” She shrugged and grabbed a washcloth to wipe down the table. “I can’t speak for your gunner, though.”
“He’ll be ready.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Greyson wouldn’t have agreed to sail home only to make an arse of himself.”
“Home?” She looked over her shoulder. “I couldn’t place his accent before beyond…piratical. He’s from Scotland?”
“Aye.” Bob nodded slowly. “He almost never left.”
She raised a brow and straightened. “What’s that mean?”
Bob turned off the water and dried his hands, scanning the mess hall before he answered. “Greyson escaped the gallows. Still had the noose ’round his neck when he found Captain Flynn.”
She wanted to ask for more details, but given her experience earlier with Harmony and Captain Flynn, she figured Bob would probably tell her to ask Greyson, and she wasn’t going to do that. Instead, she filed away the information and headed for the door. “I think I better turn in. Night, Bob.”
“Night, Agent Henderson.” He winked his good eye. “Rest well, lass.”
She walked onto the deck and stared up the mast.
She’d never had any boating experience to compare it to, but this replica the crew had built of the original Spanish galleon was awe-inspiring. Not only was the ship itself about 150 feet long, but the mainmast appeared to be just as tall as the ship was long. Ratlines ran up the sides of the sails to the crow’s nest at the top. Her gaze traveled up the lines, all the way up.
Greyson’s profile was unmistakable. He stood tall in the crow’s nest, with his long hair blowing back on the wind. His broad shoulders blocked the moonlight as he lifted a spyglass to his eye. From this distance, she could appreciate his rugged, masculine form without any chance he might see her and get the wrong idea.
Harmony came by and nudged her with her shoulder. “Nice view?”
“What?” Aura stepped back, shaking her head. “No. I just wondered what he’s watching for. We’re not in danger of an iceberg or anything, right?”
Harmony gave her a knowing that’s-some-bullshit look, but she was kind enough to let it go. “No icebergs. Caleb has a radar installed onboard, along with GPS. No way he’d let us hit anything.”
Aura pointed up at the mast. “Then why is he up there?”
“Best view on the entire ship.” Harmony looked up at the top of the mast. “He can watch for rough water and rogue waves from there, too.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Aura forced a smile, aching to get away. She had webcams to place, and she shouldn’t have been wasting time ogling a hot pirate. “Well, I better get to my room so I can finish up some work.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow.” Harmony headed for the cabins at the stern of the ship.
Aura jogged down the steps to her cabin beside the armory room and took out her phone.
Agent Bale had sent three texts about the webcams. She’d been looking for places to install them, but so far she hadn’t found anywhere the tiny pieces of tech wouldn’t be noticed.
She sent a text back.
Still working on it.
That was true enough, but she added one more.
No sign that the crew has a secondary initiative.
She knew Bale was more concerned about their movements once the sword was on board, but she hoped her explanation would appease him for now. The wireless webcams were charged and ready, but if she didn’t want them to be discovered, she needed to find spots with a clear view that would go unnoticed.
Scanning her tiny cabin, she sighed. There was an engine room below, and of course Bob’s kitchen was state-of-the-art, but otherwise the vessel remained simple. Not a lot of hiding places for tech.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Agent Bale.
Keep me informed and get the cams in place before you dock in Glasgow.
She slid her cell into her pocket and reached for the tiny spy cams inside her bag. With Greyson up in the crow’s nest, the armory would be empty. She’d also stowed the lead-lined case for the Tyrfing sword in there, so giving Agent Bale eyes in the room would be a good start.
Peering out her door, she listened for any approaching footsteps. Satisfied she was alone, she crossed over to the armory at the back of the lower deck and slipped inside. She held her breath and counted to ten.
Still no other sounds. No one had heard her.
She turned on her light on her cell phone, trailing the beam of light over the weapons hanging on the walls.
Greyson had an impressive collection of handguns and a few rifles, and the far wall held the antiques. She moved closer to them, her gaze sliding from the flintlock pistols to the battle-axe and different size cutlass blades. Her love of weaponry had blossomed since joining Department 13. She’d fired everything from a semiautomatic handgun to a mythical bow attributed to Artemis and everything in between.
She crossed the small space and ran her fingertips along the cool steel of the cutlass hanging on the wall. Although she was deadly with her Glock, her favorite weapons had always been swords, and an antique cutlass like this one was a treasure. She ached to take it down from the wall, grip the hilt, and feel the substantial weight in her hand.
But right now, she had a job to do. Carefully, she took out the first webcam and flipped the switch on the back. Kingsley had hooked the tech up to a paranormal power source that could keep them running for a month. Enough time for her to finish this mission and reclaim the webcams.
She reached up, feeling along the top of the doorframe overlooking the gun case, until she found a lip deep enough to support the small webcam. Perfect. She placed the device and stepped back.
On her phone, she pulled up the internal site on Department 13’s server and waited for the webcam feeds to go live. Finally, her own face filled the screen. She waved at the camera, watching her reflection on the webcam feed.
Done.
She turned to go and nearly smacked into Greyson. He lifted his arm to steady her, and she noticed a tattoo on his forearm. It was a sword with a single hilt and two blades that merged into a deadly point at the top. The Tyrfing. This mission might be more personal to him than she realized.
She looked into his eyes, finding herself uncomfortably close to him and discovering that parts of her wanted to be even closer. She took a step back, struggling to distract him from asking her what she was doing in there. “Is that the Tyrfing on your arm?”
He lifted his forearm into the beam of light from her phone. “Aye. I’d heard stories about the unstoppable blade as a boy. Never dreamed it might be real or that I might ever get to hold it.” He lowered his arm and glanced past her. “Did you forget something in my weapons room?”