13
Omar walked away as soonas Marielle splashed into the pool.
He made it to Idris and Hanna’s stateroom unchallenged.The door was locked, but he had it open in fifteen seconds.
Inside, the room was pristine.Too pristine.It didn’t look lived-in—it looked staged.He did a quick sweep, looking for anything that might be useful, any leverage they could use.
That’s when he heard the voices in the corridor.
Idris and Hanna, arguing.Getting closer.
Omar dove behind the bed just as the door opened.
“—embarrassed me today, talking to that Canadian woman in the gym.Did you think I wouldn’t find out?You’re here for one reason, Hanna.Don’t forget that.”Idris’s voice was cold, controlled.
“Marielle was just being nice—” Hanna’s voice was small.
“I don’t care.You don’t make friends.You smile, you look pretty, and you keep your mouth shut.Understand?”
A pause.Then, quietly, “Yes.”
Omar pressed himself against the wall, controlling his breathing, his heart pounding.If they came around the bed, if they saw him?—
But they didn’t.Idris moved to the bathroom.Omar heard the sound of running water.Hanna stood by the dresser, her shoulders shaking as she silently sobbed.Omar looked past her to the top of the dresser and saw a photograph in a silver frame.
Three men at a Swiss ski resort, arms around each other’s shoulders, grinning at the camera.Vice President Jonah Hampton.A man who must be Idris’s father—the same sharp features, same cold eyes.And a third man Omar didn’t recognize.Based on his coloring, he guessed the man was Hanna’s father.He shifted his gaze back to the crying woman as if he’d be able to confirm his guess by looking at her back.
She must have felt his eyes on her because she turned around and stared directly at him.
Their eyes locked.Omar saw the recognition, the fear, the desperate hope in her expression.He pressed a finger to his lips.
She swallowed hard, then turned away as Idris emerged from the bathroom.
“I’m going to change for lunch,” Idris announced.“Be ready in ten minutes.”
He disappeared into his walk-in closet.Omar used the moment to slip out from behind the bed and head for the door.
Hanna watched him go, her hand pressed to her mouth.
When he walked into his own stateroom, Marielle waiting, wrapped in a towel, her hair still dripping and her makeup smeared.“Did you find anything?”
“Idris and Hanna didn’t stay to watch the Marielle show.They came back while I was in there.”
She gasped.“Mon dieu.”
“She saw me, but she didn’t say a word.”
“Huh.”
He told her about the photograph he’d seen.
“Switzerland,” she said.“Banking?”
“Has to be.The three of them together—whatever Idris’s father is into, Hanna’s father is part of it.And the VP may be implicated, too.”
“Great.This is worse than we thought.”
Omar nodded grimly.They were in deep now.Too deep.And tonight, when they docked in Marseille, they’d have to make a choice.
