Page 108 of Fierce Seas


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She broke into a grin. “I am.”

As he disappeared, she stretched her arms above her head, then climbed from the bed and padded across to the sliding glass window. Peering through the shades, she found a beatific day. The aqua waters sparkled, no ominous clouds hung low in the sky, and the hint of a breeze fluttered the colorful flora.

But later that night Scott would be entering a dangerous den swirling with a tempest of treachery.

A chill pricked her skin.

“Please keep him safe,” she quietly prayed, closing her eyes.

Leaning her forehead against the glass and letting out a worried sigh, she resolved to appear bright and positive regardless of the fear coursing through her veins.

“He’s only a man.”

Scott’s voice startling her, she turned to see him walking toward her, a towel wrapped around his waist. Droplets of water dribbled down his torso. She wanted to lie on top of him and lick away every single—

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Uh, yeah, but I’m not worried,” she replied, forcing a smile. “I know everything will go well.”

“I thought we agreed to be straight with each other.”

“But I do know everything will go well.”

“You’re scared,” he said softly, taking her into his arms. “I can read you at fifty paces.”

“So you’re psychic on top of everything else?”

“Sometimes, and what I just said is true. Sonny Conchello is only a man.”

“He may be only a man, but he’s still an evil genius,” she murmured, pulling back and looking up at him.

“An evil genius is still only human, and humans are inherently flawed,” he said confidently. “They make mistakes. He’s no different.”

“You, on the other hand, being Superman, are incapable of such frailty.”

“On the contrary, making mistakes has made me smarter and wiser. What’s the old saying? If it doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger.”

“But have you ever taken down an international drug lord and lived to tell the tale?”

“Nope, but I’ve taken down international terrorists, and they’re a whole lot tougher and meaner than some self-important drug dealer.”

“Yeah, I guess they would be,” she muttered, trying to imagine his days in the Middle East.

“Elizabeth, listen to me,” he said, lowering his voice and walking her back to the bed to sit down “Much of Conchello’s power comes from the illusion he’s created. All knowing, all powerful, eyes in the back of his head. The people around him think like you do, so they’re afraid to go up against him, and if they do dare to take the plunge, they go into battle expecting to be outwitted.”

“With good reason,” she interjected. “You don’t know him.”

“Trust me, I know plenty, and I’m going in with the opposite expectation. I will outmaneuver him, and I don’t see him as some brilliant warlord. I see him as a narcissistic psychopath, and believe me, beneath his fearless exterior beats the heart of a coward. I have absolutely no doubt I’ll be leading him out of that estate in handcuffs… assuming he’s still alive.”

The short earnest speech hit home.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “Everyone thinks he’s an indestructible being who sees and hears everything, and is impossible to defeat.”

“It’s all theater, Elizabeth. Yeah, he’s cruel and sadistic, but he also plays a role. Strip off his flashy jewelry and clothes, and imagine him in his underwear sniveling in a prison cell. How sinister and indomitable is he then?”

“Wow, that’s such a powerful image.”

“That’s how I see him. Weak, frightened, and utterly at my mercy. Does that make you feel better?”

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