They made their way back to their stateroom, still dripping, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the teak deck.The moment their door closed behind them, Omar held up a finger—wait—and moved to turn on the bathroom faucets, creating their white noise cover.
In the steamy bathroom, they stood close together near the tub.
“I don’t think Hanna’s safe here,” Marielle whispered immediately.
“I understand how you feel.But we have an assignment.We can’t just?—”
“I know.”She yanked out the ponytail holder and ran her hands through her wet hair, frustrated.“But we need to at least try to talk to her.I need to make sure she’s okay.Besides, she’s probably the only one here who might know where the intel is.Or at least the only one who might know and might tell us.”
She had a point.Jake’s contact had been extraordinarily vague about what they were looking for.“Sensitive data” could mean anything.A hard drive, physical documents, a voice recording, photographs ….Not only did they not know what they were looking for, they didn’t have a clue where to start looking.The ship was the size of some boutique hotels he’d visited.They were searching for a needle in a floating haystack.With eight men ready to gun them down if they felt the need.Using Mahmoud’s girlfriend for information was a smart play from an operational standpoint, and, with any luck, talking to her might ease Marielle’s mind.Maybe she was just naturally quiet, not cowed.
“Okay,” he said.“We search the ship and we also look for opportunities to get her alone.But carefully.No unnecessary risks.”
“Agreed.”
He brushed a drop of water from her cheek with his thumb.There was no camera to see the gesture.She didn’t pull away.
“We should shower,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
She swallowed.“You go first.”
He escaped to the shower, turned the water as cold as he could stand it, and tried not to think about the fact that Marielle Moreau in a wet swimsuit was possibly the most dangerous thing he’d encounter on this entire mission.
8
Omar leftthe room to start searching for the data as soon as he finished showering.
Once he was gone, Marielle showered quickly, washing the seawater from her hair and the salt from her skin.Then she slipped into what Leilah had dubbed elevated athleisure—soft knit pants and a cashmere tee shirt.She tied her hair up in a knot, settled her glasses on her face, and slid on a pair of sandals.Then she slipped out into the corridor.
The first door she tried opened into a linen closet.Stacks of pristine towels and sheets, all monogrammed with an ornate “F” for Fakhar.No data of any kind.She closed it and moved on.
The second door revealed a small office with nautical charts on the walls and a desk with a laptop.Her pulse quickened.She stepped inside and eased the door shut behind her.The laptop was password protected.She tried a few obvious combinations—Idris’s birthdate, variations of “Fakhar,” Hanna’s name.No joy.She huffed out a breath.She could crack almost any password, but she didn’t have time to do it now.
So she turned her attention to the desk drawers.The top one held office supplies.The second?—
The door swung open.“Looking for something?”
Marielle jumped and spun around.Stefan stood in the doorway, his pleasant expression not quite reaching his eyes.
“Oh!”She pressed a hand to her chest, letting out a nervous laugh.“You scared me.I was trying to find some stationery so I could write to my mother.”
“We have stationery in the library.I’ll bring some to your stateroom.”
“That’s so kind.I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been snooping around.”
“Not at all, Mrs.Irfan.Although Mr.Mahmoud does prefer that guests remain in the common areas and their assigned staterooms.For security purposes, you understand.”
“Of course.I completely understand.”
She followed him back to the main deck, her mind racing.That office might have been promising, but she’d been caught before she could find anything useful.And now he’d almost certainly mention it to Idris.
Stefan left her in the main salon.Once he disappeared, she headed toward the upper deck, taking a route that led past the crew quarters.She bumped into a young crew member coming out of a storage room with an armful of linens—clean, but threadbare, and unmonogrammed.These were clearly not intended for the guests.
“Oh, hello!”Marielle called out.“I’m sorry, I think I’m lost.I was looking for the fitness center.”
The woman smiled.“You’ve gone a bit off course, Mrs.Irfan.It’s two decks down, toward the stern.”
“Thank goodness you found me.I’d probably end up in the engine room at this rate.”
