Vivian moved silently beside him, sweeping the corners. They didn’t need words to work together. Years undercover had built their own rhythm. Still, her nearness made the air hum. Every time her shoulder brushed his arm, something in him tightened.
They worked their way through the galley, the cramped space forcing them close. He opened each cabinet, checking for hidden compartments, weapons, or anything out of place. Just old mugs, a cracked plate, and a can of beans past its expiration date.
“So, hon, what do you think?” He pointed over his head and around the room. Viv went to work, searching for bugs.
“I think I married a man who’s suffering from Peter Pan syndrome.”
Blake chuckled. “How you figure that?”
She scanned the salon, then climbed over old gear and parts to the master. “Please, look around. This is your pirate ship. I’m just not sure if you’re trying to be Peter Pan or Captain Hook.”
Was that a joke? Did Vivian Durand make a joke?
For a fraction of a second, something lighter eased between them. But vanished as quickly as it came. The silence that followed carried more weight than the banter could mask. The air felt tighter here, the boat smaller. The creak of the hull made it sound like someone was on deck.
Vivian turned to the aft door. “Engine room next.”
He moved in to her side. “Stay close.”
“I can handle myself.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s why I need you close. To save me from myself.” He leaned in close and whispered, “That’s what Maddox told you to do, right?”
She stepped away with a glare sharp enough to cut through the hull of the boat. “You planning to help or just run your mouth?”
Her defensiveness answered his question affirmatively. But he wouldn’t get into that now. He grinned. “Multitasking’s kind of my thing.”
He ducked down the narrow stairs. The fiberglass steps creaked under his weight. The air grew colder, heavy with salt and the faint tang of diesel.
The engine room was a mess of corrosion and cables. He shined his light along the bulkhead. Something caught his attention—a faint scorch mark near the battery housing. Not fresh, but not old either. He ran his thumb across it. The soot came away oily.
Someone had been here recently.
“Viv,” he called up softly and rotated his finger around the space. She hopped down and swept for bugs, then nodded.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I’m not sure this boat’s been sitting empty.”
She crouched by his side, able to fit easier with her tall, thin frame as opposed to his wide shoulders. He now understood the term ‘boat yoga’ Rone had mentioned when he’d called to check in on them after the Christmas Cove opp. “You tell me. You spoke to the broker.”
He chuckled but kept his attention on the dark smear on his thumb. “And you and I both know you pulled the files, read everything, and checked up on me before this op. Maddox didn’t even need to tell you to do it either.” Pause. Viv lifted her chin. “Broker said it had been empty for years, and that’s why we got such a good deal.”
“He lied to both of us.”
She climbed back up, the flashlight beam haloing her hair like burnished copper. The sight hit him harder than it should. Maybe it was the storm light, maybe the memory of the last time he’d seen her—walking out of the debriefing room without a backward glance, telling him she’d never work with him again.
And now here they were.
Alone.
Again.
He broke the stare first, moving past her back onto the deck. “Boat’s clear inside.”
The wind whipped harder, rattling the rigging. Sleet turned to freezing rain, hissing as it hit the metal rail.
Vivian rubbed her hands together. “Even though the big storm missed us, we’ll still get hit. We should get power running. It’ll drop below freezing tonight.”
