She nodded. “I’m fine.” She looked at him, her heart suddenly in her throat. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded in acknowledgment. “Don’t worry. It will be all right.”
She wanted to believe him, and oddly enough she did. Maybe it was the certainty in his voice or the utter calmness of his demeanor, but she felt her spirits lift.
“Claude,” Jean Paul said. “See if you can get the boat running again.”
Claude headed to the wheelhouse while Jean Paul and Julien stood guard. Jean Paul was leaning against the opposite side of the boat, smoking a cigarette while holding the gun on them. He’d given himself plenty of room to react if the captain tried anything. Julien stood a few feet away at the rail, also smoking, looking out to sea with his back to her—almost as if he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze.
Weak.
Maybe her father hadn’t been all wrong.
The weather had turned since they’d left Stornoway, with the sun disappearing behind a gray cloud of the famous Scottish mist, the temperature dropping by at least twenty degrees, and the wind picking up. She was glad she’d grabbed her featherlight down jacket when she snuck out of the room, but wished she had her Red Sox hat. They were her favorite team, courtesy of their spring training facilities at the time being not too far from where she’d been born in Florida.
“Here,” the captain said, lifting his hands in front of him to pull off his hat. “It will keep your head warm.”
Annie blinked at him. Did he read minds?
He mistook her hesitation. “It’s cleaner than it looks.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. What about you?”
“I’m used to it. Besides, my jacket has a hood if I need it.”
He had on a Gor-Tex rain shell over a fleece sweatshirt.
She nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”
He adjusted it smaller, slipping it on her head. It was still a little loose but so warm she didn’t care.
“What are you doing over there?” Jean Paul said, catching the movement.
“She was cold,” the captain said. “I just gave her my hat.”
“I could get you another jacket from the room,” Julien offered eagerly, obviously anxious to do something—anything—to get back on her good side.
It wasn’t going to happen. Nothing killed a faltering relationship like a case full of explosives and having a gun pointed at her head.
“No one is going anywhere,” Jean Paul said.
He was more correct than he realized, as he discovered a few minutes later when Claude returned.
“I can’t get it started,” Claude said.
Of Julien’s friends, Claude had always been the most friendly toward her. She’d always liked him and was disappointed that he was involved with this. How could seemingly normal people think it was okay to blow up something to prove their point? Was it like some kind of cult? Did they get brainwashed or sucked in and lose their sense of reality?
Jean Paul came over to stand before the captain, the gun pointed right at him. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
Jean Paul moved the gun to her and repeated the question. “Want to try again, Captain?”
Dan obviously decided not to test him further. “I pulled a few wires. I’ll show you if you want.”
Jean Paul laughed. “I don’t think so. You’ll stay here and tell me what to do.”
Apparently Claude’s boat skills didn’t include anythingmechanical. She didn’t need to guess who had made the explosive devices. Obviously Jean Paul had picked up enough technical knowledge to make him think he could handle it.
