She hated how steady his tone was. How sure. It reminded her why Maddox had partnered them again—because no matter how reckless Blake got, he was rarely wrong.
“So whoever owned this boat?—”
He cut her a look, blue eyes sharp under the weak light. “—wanted it to go up the second someone tried to use the generator.”
Her flashlight slipped, beam jittering over the wall.Someone.Notsomething. She swallowed hard. “Then we were the target.”
“Maybe,” he said, standing. “Or maybe Laurel Tide booby-trapped it to keep nosy buyers from getting too close. It fits their MO. Would’ve looked like an accident. Might actually be evidence they don’t know who we are. Innocents tend to die in accidents, agents disappear.”
“Jenson,” she whispered.
He moved past her to the stairs, brushing close enough that his shoulder grazed hers. The contact burned through the chill, fast and unwanted. He smelled like diesel, salt, and danger.
Always danger.
Vivian forced her focus back to the generator. The faint curl of smoke still leaked from the vent, and with it came a tremor low in her gut. She hated this—the uncertainty, the way the shadows seemed to lean closer, listening.
When she climbed the steps after him, the boat creaked beneath her boots, the sound amplified in the hush that followed the storm. On deck, the mist pressed in thick and heavy. The marina lights flickered across the black water, halos trembling in the fog.
Blake was already at the bow, scanning the shoreline like he expected someone to be watching. The muscles in his neck tensed into defined cords.
Vivian joined him, pulling her collar tighter. “If Laurel Tide’s behind this, it means they’re closer than we thought. You think the broker’s connected?”
His jaw flexed. “Could be.”
“Or Dan. Or both,” she added.
The wind shifted, carrying a faint metallic clang from somewhere down the dock—a chain against metal. Ordinary. Maybe not.
Her hand drifted toward her weapon before she caught herself.Paranoia won’t help. Precision will.
But still, she scanned the docks. Empty. Only the slap of water against the hull and the faint whistle of wind through rigging.
Behind her, Blake exhaled, low and steady. “We’ll lock it down for the night. Run a full sweep again at first light.”
She nodded, though every nerve still hummed. When she turned, he was closer than she expected, his shadow brushing hers. Their eyes met—his unreadable.
“Next time,” she said softly, “maybe tell me before the boat tries to explode.”
His grin was a flash in the dark, reckless and maddening. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Vivian rolled her eyes and stepped past him, though her pulse hadn’t slowed. She refused to let him see it—that he still got under her skin, even now, even here.
She returned to the cabin door, needing space from him, an impossible task on a boat. A sharp crack split the mist. Not a gunshot—more metallic. Her head snapped toward the sound, muscles tightening. The dock light flickered, throwing long, shuddering shadows across the water.
“Did you feel that?” she whispered.
Blake’s gaze swept the darkness, his posture shifting—shoulders squared, stance ready. “What?”
She scanned the waterline, pulse pounding. “Eyes. Someone watching.”
He took her in his arms and spun her to face away from him, toward the mist-covered water.
Her breath hitched—adrenaline still spiking from the flare and the intruder.
Losing control, even for a heartbeat, scraped against the part of her still shaped by her father’s choices. She would not depend on anyone. Especially not Blake.
“Wh-what are you doing?” She hated the way her words sounded breathy.
