“Okay.” I take a moment to process that. “So what does the painting’s curse do?”
Athene and Mercy exchange a look.
“We don’t know,” Mercy says. “That was the one we targeted first. We knew it was the worst. In the decades before we caught up with it, it had two owners. Two people had been murdered. A third was dead by her own hand. The fourth was in a mental hospital.”
“Two couples,” Athene says. “In each case, one of the partners murdered the other. One of the killers took her life and the other went mad. We do not know exactly what they saw—only that it compelled them to murder their spouse.”
“It’s the worst of the paintings,” Mercy says, her voice low. “From the worst of the siblings.”
“But you don’t need to worry about that,” Athene says briskly. “We are resolving this now, before Zeus can find a use for that particular painting.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Thirty-eight
By the time we arrive, there’s no sign of the yacht. Connolly speaks to someone. Don’t ask me who—harbormaster, marina master, whatever. Athene accompanies Connolly, which will help get whatever information Connolly needs, but I’m also sure she just goes along because she’s not about to rely on his account afterward. She wants answers first-hand.
They return twenty minutes later.
“The yacht left nearly an hour ago,” Connolly says.
“Is that odd?” I say. “They kidnapped her last night. Why wait until now to sneak her out to sea?”
“It seems they aren’t sneaking her anywhere,” Connolly says. “Theodora arrived with her parents and several others. Theodora wore a bridal gown and was beaming and chattering away with her bridegroom.”
“Who is definitely Zeus,” Athene says. “I interrogated the woman we spoke to, and her description left no doubt.”
“Did it also leave no doubt that Theodora was going along willingly?” I ask.
“We spoke to three people,” Connolly says. “All saw the wedding party and all said Theodora seemed fine, but they also were watching from a distance. Her father cleared the area before bringing her from the car. One person said she seemed to have had a few glasses of celebratory champagne already.”
“Drugged,” I say. “They’re making sure witnesses see her, apparently under no duress. So what do we do now?”
“Follow that yacht,” Connolly says.
I grin. “I love it when you say that.”
* * *
We’re taking Connolly’s speedboat. His family’s, actually, though Rian uses it most, not surprisingly. Seems the Connolly family docks here, too—with their yacht, this speedboat and a sailboat.
When Mercy see the speedboat, she whistles and nudges me. “That’s a cigarette boat.”
“Huh.”
“You have no idea what that is, do you?” She socks me in the arm and calls to Connolly, as he’s getting into the captain’s seat. “Good luck impressing this one. You could take her out in a fishing boat, and she wouldn’t know the difference.”
“Which is exactly how I like it,” he calls back. “Now, if everyone can take their seats . . .”
The boat slices through the water like a rocket, and before long, I’m up in the front, where I can get the full effect.
“I feel like I’m in a James Bond movie,” I call to be heard over the noise.
He only smiles at me. Connolly took it slow coming out of the marina, but once we hit open water, he showed us just how speedy this speedboat is, and we’re flying along, in hot pursuit of a luxury yacht.
It isn’t long before we spot them on the radar. That’s the beauty of a very expensive boat—it has all the technological bells and whistles. Connolly can determine which is the right ship and set a course straight for it.
When the yacht comes into view, I try not to gasp.
A cruise was on Mom’s bucket list after the cancer diagnosis. We all went on a Caribbean one and decided there was a good reason we’d never been on a cruise before. Not our thing, really, though we did have fun and made plans for an expedition to the Antarctic, the trip of a lifetime. We never took that trip. Mom’s cancer advanced enough that she canceled the voyage while she could still get a refund, being Mom and not Kennedy, who would have held onto the tickets and prayed for a miracle.
The point is that I’ve been on a cruise, and that’s what this yacht reminds me off—a small and exclusive cruise ship. The idea that it’s intended for a single family boggles my mind.
Once we’ve spotted the yacht, we have a problem. It’s not a house we can sneak into. Hell, I don’t even see how to sneak in when the deck towers a storey above our little boat.
Connolly throttles the engine. “There’s a docking area around the other side, for bringing smaller craft along.”
“Like when you hitch an ATV on the back of your motorhome?” I say.
“Er, yes, something like that.”
Mercy stifles a laugh. Connolly explains that we could dock there to access the yacht. The problem is that he’s as close as he dares get without raising suspicions.
“Do you have scuba gear?” I ask. “We could slip up underwater.”
“I presume that is a joke,” he says, “but no, while Rian and I do have scuba gear, it is not on this boat.”
“Shame, because while I was joking, I’d give it a shot. Total James Bond moment.” I look at him. “How long can you hold your breath?”
“Fifteen miles off the coast in the north Atlantic? About as long as it would take me to die of hypothermia. I believe our only real option is to openly approach and hope they haven’t loaded the cannon balls.”
“That’s a joke, right?”
“Of course. Cannons are notoriously inaccurate. They’d equip their security force with long-range sniper rifles.”
“Also a joke?”
Before he can answer, Athene cuts in, “While you two are having far too much fun, I can suggest another option.” She points up at the sun, high overhead.
“Uh . . .” I say.
Athene sighs. “If we navigate in the correct direction, the sun will obscure the boat. I inherited some illusion magic. I can ensure anyone looking over the side is uncertain whether or not they see us or a mere reflection of the sun.”
“All right,” I say. “Let’s give it a try.”
* * *
We have successfully snuck up on the yacht and are now at the back, where a wide door leads to the interior. That door is at least six feet above us and also closed—a giant hatch that, according to Connolly, can electronically open into a ramp for the toys within. Which is very cool—I’m fond of a good wave-runner myself—but I’m not sure how we’re supposed to get inside.
“Safety features,” Connolly says. “There is a ladder leading up to the hatch.” He points, though all I see is a blinding wall of white. “Also, there’s a manual override, accessible from the exterior, in case of emergencies.”
“What about pirates who happen to know where to find the emergency override switch?”