Page 48 of Shark’s Rise

“Uh, yeah,” Elijah assured me at once. “Of course, Bas. But these men were hand-selected for this assignment. No one in this room will let you down.”

“I’m counting on that.”

The men filed out, some shaking my hand and thanking me for the opportunity, while others just pushed past and set off toward their duty stations.

Back in front of my computer, I pulled up my email and scrolled through the incoming messages I hadn’t yet caught via my phone. I needed an update on the commandeered freight vessel and had been trying to avoid mainstream news channels for that information.

Only a handful of new emails had come in during the security meeting, and I got busy scrolling to those but was interrupted by an incoming text.

At once, I smiled and murmured, “Well, that didn’t take long.” It could be no one else but Abbi, ensuring me she’d already settled Dori in and wouldn’t require me hog-tying her down for a nap.

Within the next second, my disposition became a storm cloud.

Not Abbigail.

The message was from Terryn.

Terryn, who’d been instructed to contact me today only if the damn office was burning down.

Terryn, who preceded her little missive with a red car, a jumping shark, and a smiley face wearing sunglasses.

Going to the Edge building site to take some

pics for social media. Want any shots in particular?

I answered with furious speed.

PR firm is handling that. Stay at office.

Do your own work. Job site is dangerous.

Don’t be silly! But I’m touched

you care, Sebastian.

What did I tell you about calling

me that? Don’t go to the job site.

Don’t be such a nervous Nelly, boss.

She concluded with another string of emojis, but I didn’t give them a glance. I didn’t have the time or the energy to care about this infuriating person—not when the woman I did care about was likely in need of some avid oversight. Abbigail had assured me she wouldn’t overdo it, but I wasn’t sure she knew the definition of personal pacing. On most days, her drive was what I loved and identified with the most. On days like this, the concept alone gave me an ulcer.

Before I got too frustrated with Terryn, I deleted every one of her text messages from my phone screen. After that annoying box was checked, I stood, tucked the device into my pocket, and left my office in search of Abbi.

The first place I looked—and should’ve found her—was our bed. It was empty. There were no signs she’d even sat on it yet either. She also wasn’t in the bathroom taking a shower, nor down in the kitchen fixing the snack that she’d mentioned.

I rounded the counter into the breakfast nook, already jamming my hands to my hips. As the sun dipped over the nature reserve beyond the backyard, my agitation climbed. No way could she still be out back, giving Dori the grand tour of the pool house. The place was all of eight hundred square feet.

Nevertheless, I stomped out the sliding glass door, across the patio, and down the pool deck before coming to a halt at the entrance of the little casita. After giving the door three harsh raps, I heard quiet shuffling on the other side.

Dori appeared in the portal, at once lifting a helpful smile my way. “Mr. Shark. Hello.”

“Hi.” I wanted to feel crappy for the terse snap but didn’t. “Listen, is Abbi still here with you? She was supposed to be lying down by now.”

“She is right here, and she is fine.” The interjection came from the mother of my baby, who now stepped in to stand beside the other woman. “Look. See? I’m fine. You need to calm down, Mr. Shark.”

She patted the center of my chest with her delicate hand. I scooped it up in mine and kissed her fingers. “Come on,” I said. “It’s time to go.”