“That would be lovely,” I purr. And this isn’t really a lie. One, I know I need to be checking for anything suspicious. Two, I’ve never been on a yacht before. Castillo walks a few steps ahead of me, so I discreetly tap the side of my surveillance frames to start recording and transmitting to Ian.
As Castillo leads me into the interior of the boat, my chest tightens. That sense that danger is not just near; it is here. This man could discover our purpose and dispose of us. After all, someone in the Order shot at me and Declan only last week. Who is to say Frank Castillo wouldn’t finish the job to protect their nefarious plans? Courage finds me quickly, steadying my nerves and my hands. If flirting with Castillo helps me find information to stop the Order, so be it. I can do that. So people aren’t hurt. And, more selfishly, so I’m not shot at again. I can care for the world at large and also act in my own best interests at the same time.
As he leads me through the first hallway, I make sure to take in every detail. Not just for my own curiosity but so the recording picks up anything I might miss. The interior hallways are lined with artwork. I can’t imagine the additional insurance costs for that on a boat. On the doorways, I catch small details monogrammed with “F. C.” in case anyone ever forgot who owned the vessel. The dark paneling offsets the carpet flooring, the color exactly matching the tangerine Vallus logo.
“My navigation team has an office. There are so many sophisticated systems nowadays, but I want them to have what they need to navigate by the stars if necessary.” He points to an open doorway. Inside is a wall of monitors. In the center is our current route to Key West. On the other screens, I notice other destinations. Madeira. Sicily.Hmm, navigate by the stars, or intentionally go off grid to evade the authorities?
“Where are you headed after you drop us off in Key West?” I enquire, a totally normal question. If I weren’t in these high heels, I would be the same height as Frank Castillo. But with the shoes Ana sent me with, I am taller, putting my collarbone directly in his eyeline.
“To the Mediterranean. Have you ever been?” Castillo gestures for me to follow him.
I continue to chat back and forth, looking for more opportunities to ask about his plans.
He leads us down a spiral staircase to the deck below. “This is where we have a gym, a spa, and four suites.” Castillo points to each in turn.
This ship is huge! But I can still feel the motion of the vessel, the speed and the chop knocking us accordingly. I envy Declan’s diversion of being seasick, because I may actually be if I keep walking on these heels throughout this boat.
“Our masseuse isn’t on board today, but I’d be happy to give you a massage if you’d like?” Castillo offers as he points to the frosted-glass door that leads to the spa. The way he eyes me as he says this makes my skin crawl. His cologne is too strong for this short hallway. His fingers stroke down my exposed arm, while his other hand moves to the small of my back, guiding me to the room I have no desire to enter ever, let alone with this guy.
I freeze instead of flinch. I’m supposed to get information from this guy, but I have limits as to how far I’ll go for this mission.
Just then, one of the doors further down the hallway opens. Castillo puts his hands away as Declan stumbles out. My colleague’s left hand covers his stomach; his right is to his mouth.Wow, maybe he really is seasick.Or a phenomenal actor.
“Are you OK?” I ask reflexively.
Declan nods, his fist covering his mouth. “The steward suggested I go lay down. Frank, does your team keep any ginger ale stocked?”
“Yes, let me go find you something,” Castillo says, trying to stand back from Declan as if motion sickness were contagious. “Charlie, I’ll be right back to finish our tour.”
Our host hurries up the spiral steps.
I turn back to Declan, who is now standing tall, his eyes alight with fury, staring at the staircase Castillo ascended. “I bet he will.”
“Declan, are you actually OK?” I whisper.
He gives me a single nod, a reminder to keep our conversation to a minimum, in case the hallways are being recorded.
“That guy giving you any trouble?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I respond. The muscles in Declan’s jaw tighten. “Nothing I haven’t had to handle before,” I remind him.
As a female in the world, I have had to deal with slimy guys who think my eyes are in my cleavage. I can handle myself. Besides, I know nothing bad can happen to me with Uncle Ollie on board. Or Declan. That thought both surprises me and doesn’t at all. I know Declan won’t let anyone hurt me. He’s already proven that when he shielded me from bullets last week.
Right now, Declan is a little too protective, though. Like he thinks I can’t take care of myself. I need to show him I can handle myself on these missions.
Declan keeps his eyes on the stairs, ready to slip back into his ruse at the first sign of Castillo. “Well, you shouldn’t have to.” He finally moves his eyes and locks them with mine. With these heels, I’m much closer to his height. I can hear his breath, see how his chest moves up and down beneath his pressed polo. Declan looks so natural in this element, dressed up for a day of boating. His calves and forearms, my kryptonite, are on display. I am doing my best tonotnotice, but I’m not blind either.
Remember he’s only making sure you don’t ruin this mission. My brain gives me the reminder I need so I can stop ogling and say something. “Finally, something we can both agree on.”
The ship tilts and these traitorous shoes give me no room to balance. I knock into Declan, who grabs my waist to keep me from falling further with deft precision. His leather and sandalwood cologne surrounds me again, a welcome aroma. This embrace lasts a second, maybe two, before he helps me back to my feet. He removes his hands quickly, but the spot where his hands touched my skin is still warm. I miss his touch instantly.
At first, I think he is mad at me for being clumsy. But then I catch the pink on his cheeks, his eyes refocused on the stairs.Is Declan Davidson blushing? Because he touched me?
I feel them again. Those butterflies that only ever made themselves known in my stomach when I was crossing a finish line, when I knew I had that podium in my sights. They choose this moment to resurface.
Castillo’s footstepstap-tap-tapdown the stairs and I step back from Declan. On cue, he grabs his stomach with one hand and braces the other against the wall.
Our host returns with a can of ginger ale in his hand and a sick bag in the other. “Why don’t you head to the lounge, some fresh air may help,” he instructs Declan.
