My eyebrows shot up. “Interesting choice. I thought for sure you’d go for the doll.”
“You have thirty seconds.”
It took me about five seconds to get my negligee out of my bag. It took Viktor almost forty-five to get the fluffy garment into his tightly packed bag.
“Aren’t we in a hurry?” I took a little too much pleasure in teasing him.
He gave me a dark look. “You never get to call me impatient again.”
I didn’t want to leave the safety of that room. The thought of what awaited us made my heart hurt. But too soon his bag was packed. We stepped out of the office and moved to the galley, but it was empty. So was the wheelhouse and every other room we passed. The place had become a ghost ship.
“Never a good sign,” Viktor told me.
We stood on the inside of the doors that led out onto the deck. We both stared out at the long metal bridge that would connect us with the elevator. Below us, the taxi that Viktor had paid to return was slowly driving toward the ship. I could sense Viktor’s hesitation and knew he was worried about our safety.
“Time to go.” Viktor grabbed my hand.
I decided that if I was going to die, it would be on my terms—doing something I love. And I decided I loved teasing this man.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
VIKTOR
We started the long walk toward the elevator.
Blaire’s shorter legs were pumping as she worked to keep up with me. “Did you know that there is a phobia for people who fear dolls?”
“I don’t have a phobia.”
“They say we all find dolls creepy because our brains can’t handle fake faces.”
“I’m not scared of dolls.”
“There is a whole subgenre of movies that involve evil dolls—which must be terrifying for people who have this particular fear.”
We made eye contact, and it was all I could do not to laugh. I worked to remain impassive. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
We made it to the elevator, and our eyes remained locked as we both pretended this was just another day and just another conversation. I could feel him out there, watching us. How many seconds of life did I have left?
“The truth is, I can’t stand old shit.”
She looked mystified. “What does that even mean?”
“Like, antique stuff—really old furniture and old clothing—I don’t like it.”
Somehow, we were now on the elevator. I couldn’t believe we had made it this far.
“Lucy isn’t old.”
“Old enough.”
She spoke slowly, her expression deadpan. “What if I told you that I love antique shopping? What if that was my passion?”
I almost laughed. “It hurts that you’re mocking my inner fears.”
“What if every Saturday morning I want to tour around old estate sales?”
We were now moving toward the taxi. I put my arm protectively around her shoulder, wondering if it would be the last time. “I’ll wait in the car while you shop.”
She smiled up at me as I opened the taxi door for her. “You are almost selling yourself as someone who has patience.”
“In you get.”
I stood and watched as she scrambled in, and I braced myself for the start of my dirt nap. But it didn’t come. And then we were in the cab, driving back to our hotel.
None of this was making sense. What were they waiting for? We had what they wanted. They must have known their window of opportunity was closing.
I hadn’t thought past getting off the ship, so, with only time to kill until our flight left for Vancouver, we returned to the hotel we had just checked out of. The only hotel room available was the one we had just vacated. The only difference was that housekeeping had come and cleaned the room.
Blaire sat down on the bed and smoothed out the fabric of the duvet. “I don’t suppose you’re going to let me go to the pool.”
I was standing at the window, behind the shade, watching the street below. “We’re going to stay in this room all day until we leave for our flight tonight.”
“Are we safe in here?”
“Yes.”
“How safe?”
I shrugged. “Quite safe. Our vulnerability will be when we head to the airport.”
She smiled and leaned back on the bed. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
My cock snapped to attention at her blatant suggestion. “I need to stay vigilant.”
She gave me a smile. “I thought you just said we were quite safe here.”
I forced myself to look out the window. “Stay focused, Blaire.”
Blaire’s idea of staying focused was to order us room service and then flip between the two English channels on the TV repeatedly. But when she started walking toward the door with the ice bucket, I moved to block her.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting ice.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I let out a long breath. “I’ll get it for you.”
Her eyes widened. “You think someone is in our hallway?”
“You really need this ice?”
“I don’t need it.”
From her perspective, I could see how it looked like I took everything too far. Then again, I had been convinced someone would kill us at the docks, and nothing had happened. “Give me the bucket. And don’t answer this door. No matter what.”
I stood in the hallway and listened. I could hear nothing. I walked to the ice room and was reluctant to step out of sight of our room, but I made short work of filling the bucket.
Nothing had moved.
When I let myself back into the room, I handed her the ice and then watched through the peephole for any unusual movement.
She didn’t speak, but she did watch me with a concerned look.
“I’m not paranoid, okay?”
“I know,” she said softly. “Okay.”
Two hours later, I stood at the window and watched Blaire. She was lying in the bed, sleeping on her stomach. She had gone to bed wearing only a tank top and a pair of underwear, but sometime during her nap she had gotten hot and kicked off the covers.
Instead of watching out the window, I was watching her, trying to commit every single detail to memory. I had been so sure that our untimely end would come this afternoon. The fact that it hadn’t told me I still hadn’t put all the pieces together. I wasn’t correctly predicting the enemy’s actions.
Why had Blaire’s grandfather hidden a USB drive on a ship destined for the Middle East? Someone badly wanted to get their hands on the information that was on it. I had no doubt that Blaire’s grandfather had known the risk of involving his granddaughter, so why had he knowingly put her in danger?
Why had the captain been so nervous? Why hadn’t we been ambushed yet? Yesterday’s fight at the market had predicted a much different day. Who was the sniper working for? And what did any of this have to do with Beirut?
My head hurt from trying to fit all the missing pieces together. I hated missions where I was operating blind. That’s when things went wrong and people got killed. It made me feel like were living on borrowed time.