For the first time this week, Gabby was truly relaxed.
So relaxed.
Almost sleepy.
No, woozy.
“I need to sit down,” she said, turning to lean on Markus. But Markus did too.
Together, they slumped against the railing and down to the deck in a slow, mutual deflation as the world went black.
2000 hours, upper deck of theG-Spot
Gabby blinked herself into consciousness a while later. There was no dancing or music, no chatter of partygoers or clinking of glasses. The sun was fully down, and a cool wind raised gooseflesh on her bare arms. When she tried to swipe a hair out of her face, she found her hands were bound behind her back. So much for staying out of trouble before Valentina arrived.
Markus was next to her, his solid weight pressed into hers, but not in the sweet way she craved. He was dead weight.
“Markus,” she whispered. When he mumbled something unintelligible, relief shot through her veins. At least he was alive.
Phil, reeking of one of Jasmine’s colognes, was on the other side, his face dropped to his chest. Everything was foggy.
The three of them were sitting ducks. She could feel the knife and taser still strapped to her legs, but she had no way to get to them. A moment later, Markus snapped awake. “Damn it,” he muttered. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Again?”
“It wasn’t me this time,” Gabby said.
He gave her a withering look. “I wish it were.”
From across the deck, someone said in a marked Australianaccent, “I didn’t think you two would be so kinky. It’s always the ones you don’t suspect.”
Damn it. Gabby had offered the immunity deal to the wrong person.
She turned her head to see the captain’s chair slowly spin around to reveal Jasmine. The flowy cover-up was gone, and she’d changed into a jumpsuit. As the chair spun, she recrossed her long legs like it was a choreographed move and casually rested her arms at her side. She had on the sailor’s hat that Justin had brought for Gabby.
Fuck. Gabby felt like smacking herself in the forehead, like after you walk out of a test and realize you picked the wrong answer. But so much worse.
“I like your ponytail,” Gabby said. “I’ve never seen your hair up.” It really did look good.
“Thank you,” Jasmine said. “I don’t like to risk breakage unless the situation warrants.”
Murder warranted an updo. Now that was a fashion tip.
“I’m guessing your husband wasn’t funding Inner-G selling gossip.” This woman was not along for the ride. She’d bought the boat with misappropriated funds from North Korea, and she’d packed a jumpsuit for hostage-taking. Right now, Gabby’s only hope was that Jasmine had to pee soon. Jumpsuits were cute until you had to get fully naked to take a leak.
“Took you long enough to figure it out, super spy.” Jasmine flipped her murder pony. “Gabby Greene, I know who you are. You’re not exactly a genius at this.”
“Where’s everyone else?”
“Don’t worry, they’re all enjoying an absolutely delicious dinner, none the wiser about this situation. They think you canceled the ceremony and are having a couple’s spat on the upper deck.”
Phew. That was a relief.
“I don’t think they’ll even notice they’re locked in until well after dessert. No one is going to come looking for you two.” She looked at Markus and said, “Pro tip: Try not to pick such a dumb cover next time, Mr. Fidget Spinner.”
Gabby whispered. “Sorry. My bad.”
Jasmine cocked her head to the side. “What’s with Phil, though? Who does he work for? Because his cover is working.”
Gabby rolled her eyes.
