Behind them, Brad and Poppy were wrapped around each other, wobbling from a combination of booze and waves, oblivious to everything and everyone else.Hanna sat slightly apart from the others, perfectly still, hands folded in her lap, staring out at the dark sea.The two security details sat in a row on a long bench, silent and sullen—or possibly just tired.
“How long have you had her?”Omar asked Idris, gesturing toward the yacht.
“Three years.My father had her commissioned when I got my MBA.”Something in his tone suggested this wasn’t quite the gift it seemed.
The tender pulled alongside the stern platform, where two crew members waited to help them board.The transition from the dimly lit bouncing boat to the blazingly bright stable yacht platform was awkward despite the assistance, and Marielle, fiddling with her glasses, stumbled.Omar caught her elbow, his grip firm and reassuring.
“Easy,” he murmured.“I’ve got you.”
She looked up at him, and, for a heartbeat, the mission fell away.His eyes held real concern, and she understood he meant something more than he wouldn’t let her fall.Then the first mate—Stefan, according to his name tag—was ushering them forward, and the moment passed.
“Given the hour, I thought you would prefer to go straight to your stateroom,” Stefan said as they entered the pristine main salon.Even past midnight, not a cushion out of place.“Breakfast is served on the aft deck at nine, but if you need anything before then, simply say, ‘Stefan.’This is a smart yacht.Everything’s connected.”
Translation: Big Brother is always watching.
They climbed the curved staircase one step behind Stefan.Marielle’s kitten heels were silent on the carpeted treads, and Omar’s hand never left her back.
Behind them, Poppy’s laughter and Brad’s sleepy voice overlapped with the murmur of his security details conversation.Idris remained in the salon, giving instructions in Arabic to someone—either the crew or his bodyguards.Marielle craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Hanna, who stood quietly by Idris’s side.
“Here we are.”Stefan opened a door to reveal a stateroom that belonged in a luxury hotel, not on a boat.“The ensuite is through there.Mr.Mahmoud asks that you make yourselves completely at home.”
Omar pressed a tip into Stefan’s hand—American bills, Marielle noted, not euros or the Tunisian dinar.Then a cold finger of worry ran along her spine: shouldn’t they be Canadian currency?
Stefan’s expression changed for an instant, and she held her breath, then she caught the flash of appreciation.“Thank you, sir.Sleep well.”
The moment the door closed,Omar moved to the center of the room and pressed a finger to his lips for an instant.She nodded.Then he smiled broadly and said in a voice pitched to carry, “This room is incredible.”
He crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows while Marielle set down her clutch and slipped off her heels with an exaggerated sigh of relief.
As she rolled her neck, she said, “Today feels like the longest day in recorded history.But it was worth it.Wasn’t dinner amazing?”
“Hands down, the best paella I’ve ever had,” he agreed, still at the window.“And the company was even better than the cuisine.”He beckoned her over.“C’mere.”
She joined him at the window, and he slipped an arm around her waist, tugging her close to his side.So close that she could smell the almond-scented shower oil he used.To anyone watching, they were newlyweds admiring the moonlit Mediterranean.
His lips barely moved as he whispered, “Sweep for cameras.”
She pressed a kiss to his jaw—buying herself a moment to process her task—then pulled away with a small sigh.“I should wash my face before I fall asleep standing up.Where are the toiletries?”
“They’re in my dopp kit.I’ll unpack the rest,” he offered.
She retrieved the buttery leather bag from his suitcase and walked into the bathroom.She hit the light switch to illuminate an enormous marble shower with two rain heads and more jets than she could count, a deep soaking tub, and, judging by the switches on the wall, heated floors and towel racks.Any other time, she’d have taken a moment to revel in the luxury.
But she had a job to do.
While she arranged their washes, gels, pastes, lotions, and potions on the oversized double sink vanity, she scanned the room.She’d been trained to conduct a sweep all those years ago at The Farm.And although she’d never expected to use the skills outside of training exercises, her memory was, as always, impeccable.Cameras need three things: a power source, a clear line of sight, and adequate concealment.She started with the obvious places.
The ceiling vent wastooobvious, but she checked it anyway.Nothing.
The smoke detector, newer than the surrounding fixtures, was slightly misaligned.And there it was.A tiny lens, practically invisible unless you knew what to look for.She kept her expression neutral, continuing her examination as if she were simply admiring the fancy bathroom.
She tested the towel warmers, examined the light fixtures, even checked inside the decorative shell arrangement on the counter.When she returned to the main stateroom, her heart was pounding, but her smile was easy—she hoped.
“This bathroom is ridiculous,” she announced.“There’s even a TV in the mirror.”
Omar had finished unpacked—both bags were empty.The closet stood open, and their clothes hung from the bar with their shoes lined up below.He’d used the activity to conduct his own sweep, she realized.His eyes met hers, asking the question.
She moved to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her face into his chest.Against his shirt, barely audible, she murmured, “One in the bathroom smoke detector.You?”
