seas,” Bonnie said. “Who would have thunk it?”
“Can I have it?” Riley asked. “Can I get more time?”
“How long is it going to take?”
“A day. Maybe two. This is a big decision. Almost as big as when we decided to mutiny.”
“Two days at the most,” Hart added.
Instead of answering them, Lara turned to Blaine. “Shut her down. There’s no point wasting fuel until they’ve made up their minds.”
“Thank you,” Riley said.
“One day,” Lara said, looking back at him. “I’ll give you one day to decide what you want to do, but that’s it. Make your decision, and this time, stick to it.”
* * *
T he Trident was about half the length of a football field—not that Lara ever sat down to measure every inch of it or dug out the manual and looked over the specs. The yacht had seemed endless in the beginning, but that distance shrunk as she familiarized herself with its nooks and crannies. Now with Riley’s people onboard the boat felt endless again, mostly because she couldn’t go a couple of steps without almost walking into someone, or had to go around a throng of civilians blocking the narrow hallways.
She thought about detouring to Carly’s room to fill Danny in on what had transpired on the bridge, but decided to keep going to her cabin instead. Her friends needed time alone after all those days apart, and she didn’t want to ruin that reunion. They would have done the same for her if Will had come back.
But Will did come back, remember?
Except it wasn’t Will. Not really.
Or, at least, not anymore.
So what was he then? Something else? Yes. Exactly.
Some thing else.
The realization that Will had been out there all this time left an even bigger hole in the pit of her stomach than when she thought he was dead. Will coming back changed was the most terrible thing that could have happened to her, something she couldn’t have imagined in her wildest nightmares.
But here it was. Here he was. Down there, waiting for her, maybe wondering why she hadn’t done more than just enter the cabin and looked at the chest before fleeing. And that was exactly what she had done.
She had fled. Ran away from him. From him.
You fucking coward.
You fucking, selfish coward. He deserves better than this.
Her door was never locked, and except for a Captain’s Cabin plaque (though the Captain had been scratched out and Lara scribbled over it), there was nothing to keep anyone—not even those two kids she had just walked past—from going inside. The fact that no one had yet was a minor miracle—
Something was wrong.
She couldn’t explain it, but she knew there was something different about the room as soon as she stepped inside and let the door click back into place behind her. It was pitch dark, with only a small pool of moonlight spilling in from the window on the far wall.
A second after she sensed it, she smelled it—sweat that didn’t come from her own skin, but from someone hiding in the shadows.
Someone’s in the room.
God, she hoped it was someone, because the only other option was some thing being in the room with her right now—
She reached for her gun, got her fingers around the grip, and was lifting it out of the holster when the barrel of a weapon pressed against her right temple. The cold contact of the metal against her skin sent a sliver of electricity through her body.
“Don’t,” a voice said, the sound freezing her hand—and the gun—in place.
A strangely warm (and large) hand grabbed her right wrist and yanked away the Glock. The cold of the gun barrel abandoned her temple as a tall figure shuffled in the shadows and there was a clack! from behind her as the door’s lock was twisted into place, followed by more movements as her cabin’s intruder traveled the short distance from her side to stand in front of her.
Despite the semidarkness, she recognized the face looking back at her. She had first seen it on the Ocean Star.
“Phil,” she said, “what
“Can I have it?” Riley asked. “Can I get more time?”
“How long is it going to take?”
“A day. Maybe two. This is a big decision. Almost as big as when we decided to mutiny.”
“Two days at the most,” Hart added.
Instead of answering them, Lara turned to Blaine. “Shut her down. There’s no point wasting fuel until they’ve made up their minds.”
“Thank you,” Riley said.
“One day,” Lara said, looking back at him. “I’ll give you one day to decide what you want to do, but that’s it. Make your decision, and this time, stick to it.”
* * *
T he Trident was about half the length of a football field—not that Lara ever sat down to measure every inch of it or dug out the manual and looked over the specs. The yacht had seemed endless in the beginning, but that distance shrunk as she familiarized herself with its nooks and crannies. Now with Riley’s people onboard the boat felt endless again, mostly because she couldn’t go a couple of steps without almost walking into someone, or had to go around a throng of civilians blocking the narrow hallways.
She thought about detouring to Carly’s room to fill Danny in on what had transpired on the bridge, but decided to keep going to her cabin instead. Her friends needed time alone after all those days apart, and she didn’t want to ruin that reunion. They would have done the same for her if Will had come back.
But Will did come back, remember?
Except it wasn’t Will. Not really.
Or, at least, not anymore.
So what was he then? Something else? Yes. Exactly.
Some thing else.
The realization that Will had been out there all this time left an even bigger hole in the pit of her stomach than when she thought he was dead. Will coming back changed was the most terrible thing that could have happened to her, something she couldn’t have imagined in her wildest nightmares.
But here it was. Here he was. Down there, waiting for her, maybe wondering why she hadn’t done more than just enter the cabin and looked at the chest before fleeing. And that was exactly what she had done.
She had fled. Ran away from him. From him.
You fucking coward.
You fucking, selfish coward. He deserves better than this.
Her door was never locked, and except for a Captain’s Cabin plaque (though the Captain had been scratched out and Lara scribbled over it), there was nothing to keep anyone—not even those two kids she had just walked past—from going inside. The fact that no one had yet was a minor miracle—
Something was wrong.
She couldn’t explain it, but she knew there was something different about the room as soon as she stepped inside and let the door click back into place behind her. It was pitch dark, with only a small pool of moonlight spilling in from the window on the far wall.
A second after she sensed it, she smelled it—sweat that didn’t come from her own skin, but from someone hiding in the shadows.
Someone’s in the room.
God, she hoped it was someone, because the only other option was some thing being in the room with her right now—
She reached for her gun, got her fingers around the grip, and was lifting it out of the holster when the barrel of a weapon pressed against her right temple. The cold contact of the metal against her skin sent a sliver of electricity through her body.
“Don’t,” a voice said, the sound freezing her hand—and the gun—in place.
A strangely warm (and large) hand grabbed her right wrist and yanked away the Glock. The cold of the gun barrel abandoned her temple as a tall figure shuffled in the shadows and there was a clack! from behind her as the door’s lock was twisted into place, followed by more movements as her cabin’s intruder traveled the short distance from her side to stand in front of her.
Despite the semidarkness, she recognized the face looking back at her. She had first seen it on the Ocean Star.
“Phil,” she said, “what
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