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“It's a deal.”
He helps me across the jetty and unfastens the padlock. There isn’t much inside, just a couple of outboard motors, a few scuba tanks, and a brace of folded-up sun loungers. He rigs one up for me, fetches a beach towel from somewhere in the back, then makes sure I’m comfortable before he leaves.
“Hey, you promised—”
He shrugs. “Got you out of sight, didn’t it?”
“You, sneaky shit...”
“Just stay put, Athena. For Christ's sakes, do that one thing for me.”
“Then you’ll tell me who you are.”
“You have my word.”
“Good. And bring me a bite to eat as well. I’m starved. Make it something with low calorie—” He’s out the door before I can finish. But even though I’m on my own in a killer’s private boathouse, in a cove hidden from the world, maybe with more vengeful killers on the way, I feel strangely relieved. Untouchable... Like the night after the worst exam of your life: even though you know there are more harsh exams waiting, you’re gotten over the biggest hurdle, and you’re lit from within by that cool afterglow, that secret feeling that everything’s going to be okay.
It might only be the eye of the storm, but at least I’ve survived this far. And more than that, much more, I haven’t had to kill a man after all.
Chapter 2
Footsteps crack on the boards of the old jetty outside. I can only hope it’s my dark defender returning. If it isn’t, this may be the last dress I ever wear. That’s an insane thing to think about, but everything about this evening has been insane.
The door swipes open, and I shuffle upright on the lounger. A man wearing smartly pressed trousers and a thin, dark green turtleneck sweater marches in, hands me a small gym bag. The waves in his dirty blond hair, his delicious light tan, piercing blue-gray eyes and utterly gorgeous face remind me of...
“You...!”
“Put those on, and leave your damp dress in the bag...Evelyn.” He pretends not to notice my jaw hanging loose on its hinges, instead crooks a charming, superior grin as he unpacks the contents of the gym bag for me. “These might not be a perfect fit, but they should do till we reach England.”
“Are you talking about Carlisle? You mean that asshole from the party?”
“One of those is correct.”
“But—but you were shit-faced.”
“And you found me repulsive.”
I scoff. “Damn right.”
“So we were both pretending.”
“Yes! Wait...what?” He’s being clever, too clever, and smooth, too smooth. I recall what the redhead with the bony shoulders said about him—that he comes on strong, and that I wouldn’t want to turn him down a second time. So I pull the towel up to my chin, making double sure no skin is showing anywhere.
“Who are you really?” My mind tries to thread together some kind of explanation for him being here, with me, instead of passed out in bed with his Latina wife, but it’s beyond me right now. Needlepoint isn’t my strong suit. Just ask the poison-tipped ring on my...
It’s gone. It must have come off during the struggle on the balcony. Damn.
“Barrett Carlisle. Really tired, sore, and in uncharted waters...”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“You know who I am, you know what I am. There are only a handful of people in the world who are privy to that information.”
I swallow hard, glance to his pocket, where I imagine there’s a lethal weapon of some kind with my name on it. But if he wanted me dead, why did he bring me with him? Why has he just revealed his identity?
“Get changed,” he says. “That wet dress would bury us both if someone saw it.”
“What—change with you in here?”
