“Aye, thank ye for talking me down, then.” I tuck my head into the space between his neck and his shoulder. “These people… they must know that their unwilling donors are on the ship with them. What level of depraved do ye have to sink to, to buy in on this?”
Logan shrugs. “People get desperate, as they see their lives coming to an end, they’ll do anything to prolong them, no matter what - or who - it takes to do it.”
Within a few hours, our great room is crowded with MacTavishes.
This is when I witness the true genius of Xenia.
“I managed to pull the manifest for the cruise. We’ve achieved 96% facial recognition for everyone aboardThe Zephyr.There’s one hundred and twenty crew members, ninety organ recipients, sixty medical personnel, and sixty-five donors.” She hesitates, glancing at me. “The reason there are less of the donor-victims is because they will be harvesting multiple organs.”
My stomach tries to surge up my throat and I swallow hard.
“Here’s the good news,” Georges continues. “We have successfully isolated ten people between crew members, patients and staff that we can successfully swap out for members of our team.” He clicks through the pictures and talks about wigs, prosthetics, and the like until he stops on a picture of a young couple, much younger than most of the patients.
“Giulia and Mattia Bianchi, Italian multi-millionaires. They’ll be boarding the ship on the next stop in Greece, along with most of the other passengers.”
“You might notice,” Xenia adds, “that she bears a striking resemblance to Arabella.”
She’s right. With a blonde wig and some clever makeup, I could definitely-
“Absolutely not.” Logan snarls. “My wife is not getting anywhere near that fecking ship.”
“Logan, do ye want this mission to succeed?”
I haven’t met the man who’s speaking, he came in late, though he’s clearly a MacTavish. Blond hair and the signature green eyes, square, firm jaw and while everyone else is casually dressed, he’s in a navy-blue suit and red tie.
With a little work, he could look remarkably like Mattia Bianchi.
“Obviously, Mason. But ye weren’t there in Copenhagen. Arabella was tested like a fecking farm animal and Anselm told her he was going to carve her to pieces. All because she tried to save my life. She’s done her fecking part!” Logan is rigid with fury.
“I’d be there with her every second. The couple is known for being inseparable.” If Mason is upset by his cousin’s rage, he dinnae show it.
The group shifts subtly, discussing other people that can be pulled from the ship and replaced.
“Love, I understand.” Taking his hand, clenched in a fist, I unfold each finger, sliding mine between them. “But ye canna keep me from this. Carol’s gonna die. A lot of people, likely. Iknowyou’ll keep me safe. I dinnae know Mason, but if he is a MacTavish, I’m sure he’s up for the job.”
He’s so beautiful, my husband. Logan’s face is cold and hard, sculpted perfection that could have been created by Michelangelo.
“You’ve done your part, Bella. Ye canna…”
We’re huddled in the corner of the room and I hug him tightly. “I have to do this. Ye came bursting into that room and saved me. These people deserve that, too.”
Reluctantly, his arms wrap around me and we stand there, swaying slightly with the low buzz of the room behind us.
Keep the heid - Scottish slang for calm down.
Chapter Thirty-One
In which there is a plan.
Logan…
On the MacTavish jet, heading to Greece…
“Where did we meet?”
Mason’s voice is calm and fecking relentless. He and Bella have been at this for an hour. The bastard’s a perfectionist, and he insists their story must be seamless. I love my cousin of course, but how a wild card like Uncle Lachlan spawned this one will forever be a mystery. Mason showed up for his first year at Cambridge University in a three-piece suit and a briefcase.
Bloody hell, he likely showed up for his first day of primary school in a suit.
