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Of course he did.
“And two bedrooms, and I promise to pretend I don’t know you.”
“Good, because if we’re seen together, we’ll probably get reprimanded by ELF.”
“Probably.”
“We’re just headed to the same place.”
“Not together. But on my boat.”
“Coincidentally.”
“I don’t even know you. Who are you?”
She smiled. “Fine. My bags are in the kitchen. I want to grab a couple things.”
“Now, or after a shooter takes you out while you’re trying on Gucci?”
She glared at him.
“Just checking. Wasn’t sure how important those shoes were.”
“Let’s go. And, very important.”
But she followed him down the stairs, grabbed her bags—and yes, grabbed the Gucci and Armani bags, thank you—then followed him out the back door.
Hoping, again, she wasn’t doing something stupid.
* * *
Stop shaking.
She was fine. Just fine.
She hadn’t gone over the side of the ship into frigid, Titanic waters, hadn’t been shot while rappelling down the side of a ship, and most of all, hadn’t betrayed her terror—at least much—when Ned introduced her to the woman who’d masterminded her escape.
Natasha, aka Sasha, who’d smiled at her, not quite an apology for treating her like a zoo animal. But with Ned’s arm around her, Shae had managed to keep a lid on the roiling emotions and thank her.
All this while she stood in the small but warm home, the wind starting to howl outside as a storm began to sweep over the ocean.
She wouldn’t have survived going over the side. That reality had hit her bones and turned them brittle as she and Ned and Fraser—wow, she was a little humbled, but not at all surprised that he’d showed up to rescue her too—had escaped in the tiny fishing boat. The spray from the waves had hit her face like pellets and it’d only made her hold onto Ned more.
She might never let go.
How had he found her? The thought just kept circling her mind as she finally released him and then followed Sasha to a real bathroom, with a real shower and a fresh towel and a purple velour leisure suit and warm socks.
Sasha had stood at the door, something of sadness on her face. “I am sorry you suffered.”
Then she’d closed the door, and Shae had just stood there, letting the steam rise around her.
She was sorry she suffered? What about letting Vikka hit her? Her cheekbone still burned with the punch.
Except, Ned had sort of filled her in, how the master plan had been to get the key card, and by the time she got out of the shower, having washed her hair twice, scrubbed herself nearly raw, she’d decided that maybe she needed to forgive.
In twenty-four hours, she’d be home, hopefully, this entire horror behind her, and then what? She’d lie in bed at night harboring fury?
Nope. She’d been down that road. Holding on to anger was like eating poison and expecting the other person to get sick. Or at least she’d heard that somewhere.
