He nodded.
Vivian paused at the cabin door, silhouette sharp against the gray. “Blake, don’t be reckless. Not tonight.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He listened to her settle onto the berth, the soft rasp of jacket against blanket. The hull ticked as the temperature dropped.
Blake set his back to the bulkhead and let his eyes adjust to the dark, counting creaks, cataloging the boat like a body he had to learn from the inside out. The air tasted like salt and machine oil. Familiar. Safe enough to make his instincts itch.
Somewhere outside, a gull screamed once and fell silent. He didn’t blink.
When his eyelids grew heavy, he pushed up and paced back to the bedroom to check on Vivian.
She slept curled on her side, one hand resting inches from her weapon, her breathing slow but never deep. Even in sleep, she was sharp edges and restraint. Most people let their guard down; she never did. He respected that about her, and resented what it said about the world they lived in.
She’d always been like that. Controlled. Careful. Beautiful in the way storms are beautiful—something you admire even when you know you should keep your distance. He told himself it didn’t still get to him. Lies were easier in the dark.
He decided to let her sleep longer, so he went and lit the gas stove with a lighter and brewed some coffee. Once done, he woke Vivian with a nudge to her shoulder. She came awake on the first breath, eyes open, hand shifting to her gun. That cool, assessing awareness flickered across her face before she recognized him. The tension eased from her face.
Blake withdrew his hand, pulse settling into the rhythm he trusted—measured, ready. He told himself he was only watching her to gauge reaction time. But he knew better.
“Your turn,” he whispered.
She sat up, hair escaping its braid in waves, and took the thermos of coffee he offered. “See anything?”
“Nothing solid.” He kept his voice low. “Two passes down the main pier, engines running, no lights in the fog, shallow gears. I didn’t step out to get a look. No point inviting a muzzle flash.”
She swallowed a swig of coffee and grimaced. “This is awful.”
“Made it on gas stovetop I managed to light, but didn’t want to put on the lantern, so probably made it too bitter.”
She rubbed a thumb along the rim of the thermos top she used as a cup, staring through him. “We should’ve logged withMaddox after the man’s threats. If the marina’s compromised, we need a net.”
Blake’s jaw ticked. “We don’t call in the second our toes get wet. He knows our position, that’s enough for now. ”
“We call in when the generator is rigged to explode and a ghost is crawling our dock.” Heat flared under the whisper. “Protocols exist for a reason.”
He held her gaze. “No ghost, just a man and a warning. And leaks are dangerous.”
Her expression didn’t shift, but the air cooled a degree. “You think Maddox is dirty?”
“I think we’ve buried more agents than we should have chasing Laurel Tide.” He stepped in closer to keep his voice from the window. “And I think whoever’s feeding them knows how we move.”
Color rose along her throat—anger, not shame. “You don’t get to lay that at my door.”
“I didn’t.” He hadn’t even looked away, but the distance between them widened. “I said leak, not you.”
“You implied it.” She set the thermos down with more care than necessary. “You’ve been implying it since Christmas Cove.”
“Because Christmas Cove should’ve been clean. Instead, I almost got my friend killed.” He heard the edge in his own voice and didn’t sand it down. “The lookout vanished, the players moved on that island under the cover of foliage that blocked our view from the air, our cover was burned before we infiltrated. We didn’t lose it in the field. We lost it on approach.”
“Then say Maddox.” She leaned in, eyes flaring. “Say it out loud so we both know what we’re risking. Because if you’re right and we’re dark here and he’s dirty, then we’re on our own shore to stern. And if you’re wrong—if he’s clean—you’re about to get me to accuse a man I deeply respect and get us both benched.”
Silence settled. Wind worried the lines.
Blake could have deflected. He didn’t. “I don’t know about Maddox.” The truth tasted like brine. “Someone knows our scripts, though. But I’ll admit there is a hesitation as if there is time between infiltration and discovery. If Maddox is our man, he’s either intentionally waiting to move on an agent to keep him from being identified or he isn’t our leak.”
She studied Blake like she might a stranger who’d offered a truth at the wrong time. Then she nodded once, the smallest concession. “Fine. We hold the line until we can test it.”
