Caleb chuckled and shook his head as he looked over at him. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
“Fuck you,” he cursed under his breath as he got up and swiped the folder off the table.
This mission—working with Agent Henderson—it was all going to be harder than he thought.
Chapter Three
Aura pressed her back against the door and blew out a pent-up breath of frustration as she scanned her tiny accommodations. The musty scent of gunpowder teased her nostrils. It smelled like a shooting range in the tiny cabin.
She should be exhausted from the whirlwind travel arrangements and flight to Savannah, but the verbal jousting session with Greyson had her keyed up. The double bed against the wall in the corner didn’t seem the least bit enticing at the moment.
There was a small table with two chairs between her and the bed. The wall had a porthole cut out at the foot of the bed, and a tiny sink and mirror were next to a narrow door. Good thing she didn’t struggle with claustrophobia. This was going to be cramped.
She dropped her bag on the table and went to the door. It opened to a tiny standing shower and a toilet. Now she understood the expression “water closet.” Damn. But maybe a shower might help her unwind.
Agent Bale had had her on a plane so fast, she hadn’t even gotten a chance to digest the reality that she was about to be trapped on a pirate ship, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, with a certain pirate who had destroyed her reputation at work.
Greyson.
Why did she have to be paired up with him? On paper, she understood. He was the master gunner for the crew, and in the present day he owned a personal security company.
They were hunting for a mythical weapon. It made sense to choose him until you factored in that this was the same guy who’d almost gotten them both killed. His interference had made her look like a rookie. She’d dropped her cover, flashed a badge, and drawn her weapon so fast, she hadn’t even considered another option that might protect her cover identity. She was better than that.
Usually.
There was no lock on the cabin door, so she slid the chair over, jamming the back under the handle. Probably unnecessary, but until she knew this crew better, she wasn’t going to be caught unarmed, and she had some equipment she’d rather not have them see.
She undressed quickly and stepped into the tiny shower. The water wasn’t very hot, but she closed her eyes and soaked her hair. A malicious inhuman growl rumbled deep within her soul, clawing its way free from her repressed memories. No, no, no.
Her eyes snapped open, and she reached for the shampoo. The sight of her trembling hands fed the panic. She needed to get off this ship, call Bale, and cancel this trip.
No way. That was the anxiety talking. This mission was her chance at redemption. She willed her hands to stop shaking. Enough. You can do this.
She lathered and rinsed her hair without closing her eyes again, refusing to lose herself to the dark whispers and fear.
You’re just stressed about being partnered with a man you can’t trust to watch your back. That’s all this is. You can handle it. Breathe.
Before she’d joined Department 13, she’d spent countless hours with her therapist working on practical strategies to deal with the trauma that had ended her police career with the NYPD. She knew how to talk herself down, but it didn’t make the sudden wave of anxiety any less terrifying.
This was no time to lose her shit.
Knowing what lurked in the shadows, and what was truly at stake for the world if she failed at Department 13, was a burden she could barely carry, but she did it. Every damn day.
She came from a long line of first responders. Maybe the savior complex was woven into her DNA. Life would’ve been so much easier if she could walk away, but quitting wasn’t an option. Her dad used to say they were New York tough. Hardheaded was probably closer to the truth.
By the time she stepped out and wrapped herself in a towel, her hands were steady again. Baby steps. She dug her sweats out of her bag and focused her breathing as she began her moving meditation. Tai chi had been a miracle after the attack. The practice blended martial arts with meditation and helped her regain her power from the demon who’d nearly killed her.
Her arms cut through the air, slow and controlled, every movement soothing the tension in her body and the agitation in her mind. This was just another undercover assignment. She was a professional.
Pulling in a deep, cleansing breath, she completed her final move and let the air pass from her lips, envisioning the stress leaving her body. Gradually, the tension in her shoulders and jaw eased. She stretched and crawled into the bed.
Hopefully she was too exhausted for nightmares of the demon she’d once called a friend.
…
When she stepped out of her cabin, she almost smacked into a man with bright-blue eyes and curly brown hair that fell just past his shoulders.
He caught her arm, steadying her. “Sorry about that.” He glanced at her door. “This is usually an auxiliary armory room. I forgot Greyson cleared out all the ammunitions so we’d have a cabin for you.”
That explained the scents of salt water and gunpowder that permeated her tiny cabin like a constant reminder that she was working with a band of pirates, onboard a literal pirate ship.
“I should’ve looked before I threw my door open.” She pushed her door until the latch engaged. “I’m not used to such tight quarters.”
He offered his hand. “I don’t think we’ve really met. I’m Caleb Graves.”
She shook his hand. “The navigator, right? I’m Agent Henderson.”
“Have you ever sailed before?” He released her hand.
“No. This is my first time.” She noticed the compass and sextant in his hand and frowned. “Don’t you have GPS on this ship?”
“Aye.” He followed her gaze and lifted his other hand. “But I still like to cross-check all the computer calculations by hand. I guess you could say I’m old-school.”
She chuckled, knowing from her records he was so much older than he looked. “Any chance you found a way to get us to Glasgow a day or two sooner?”
He shook his head. “Sadly, time travel is not a proven science.”
She thought he was teasing her at first, but he didn’t laugh, and he was already making his way back to the map room. Navigating the crew would be easier once she got to know their personalities beyond the write-up in her Department 13 files.
As she jogged up the stairs to the upper deck, a sleeping Savannah came into view.
A thin veil of fog blanketed River Street, making gauzy halos around the gas-lamp streetlights along the empty sidewalks. It had a dreamlike quality, like maybe she wasn’t really about to sail across the Atlantic with an immortal pirate crew.