"I'm not going to sit around being useless for two weeks," I add. "If I'm stuck on this boat, I'm going to learn how it works."
For a long moment, he just looks at me. Then that almost-smile tugs at his mouth again.
"Windlass is up front. I'll show you the system."
He moves past me toward the bow, and I follow, acutely aware of the space between us and the two weeks stretching ahead.
Two weeks of forced proximity.
Two weeks of sleeping feet apart in a space the size of a closet.
Two weeks of watching Ford Callahan be competent and steady and infuriatingly attractive while I try to remember that none of this is real. That he's here because of debt, not choice. That I'm here because of my father, not my own will.
The anchor chain clanks as Ford lowers it into the water.
Somewhere out there, people want to use me to hurt my father.
Somewhere out there, my life waits for me to return to it.
But right now, in this flooded forest with the sun turning everything gold, I'm trapped in the orbit of a man who looks at me like I matter.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.
3
FORD
The first night passes without incident.
I sleep in the fighting chair on the stern deck, which isn't sleeping so much as dozing in four-hour shifts with one eye on the thermal scope and both ears tuned to the sounds of the marsh. Sera stayed below after dinner, a meal of grilled fish and rice that she ate without complaint and complimented without enthusiasm.
She's not wrong about anything she said yesterday. About being treated like cargo. About her father making decisions without her input. About the futility of trying to escape a family name that follows like a shadow.
I understand all of it better than she knows.
Dawn breaks pink and gold over the flooded forest, mist rising from the water like something out of a dream. I've already checked the perimeter, scanned the channels for unfamiliar vessels, and brewed coffee strong enough to wake the dead by the time Sera emerges from the cabin.
Her hair is loose this morning, dark waves falling past her shoulders. She's wearing a thin cotton shirt that does nothing to hide the curves beneath it, and her feet are bare against the deck.
"Coffee." She says it like a prayer.
I hand her a mug without comment.
She wraps both hands around it, closes her eyes, and breathes in the steam. The morning light catches the fine gold chain around her neck, disappearing beneath her collar.
"How long have you been up?"
"Couple hours."
"And before that?"
"Enough sleep." I lean against the cabin housing, my own coffee cooling in my hands. "Any trouble below?"
"The boat creaks like it's in pain, but I assume that's normal." She takes a long sip, grimacing slightly at the strength. "You could strip varnish with this."
"Keeps me alert."
"I imagine the threat of being murdered in my sleep does that well enough." She moves to the stern rail, looking out over the water. "It's beautiful here. I'll give you that."
