Page 54 of Kept in the Dark

Were Kyle and Felix working together, or did I come across an innocent conversation? My instinct is that theirs was not a chance meeting. I have not survived this long by ignoring my instincts.

Assuming they were working together, did Kyle have time to speak to Felix before he died? Does he know I was the one who threw that knife? Will there be repercussions for killing a man in his employ?

Does Felix know about this USB? If they were working together, it is logical to assume that he knows about it and that he wants it. Perhaps it is the reason he was at the wedding to begin with. Whatever it is, it isimportant enough that Kyle planned to smuggle it out in the dead body of his date. But does anyone else know Nicole has it?

To whom is this USB important—only Kyle himself? Felix? Volkevich? Someone else at the wedding? We cannot know until we find out what it contains. I must return to shore and let Wesley look.

Until we know what is on this USB, Nicole is not safe. Remaining on this boat would be far safer for her than anywhere on land, but she is terrified of the water, and I cannot leave her alone and adrift while I drive to Ulysses and back. It is storm season, and every atom of my being refuses to allow her to weather another without me.

Something about that storm seems to have fixed the electrical connections, so I lift the anchor with the flip of a switch, plug our destination into the automatic navigation system, and make my way back down the stairs.

My stomach tightens, seeing Nicole on her side, facing away from the door, still asleep.

It was a difficult 24 hours for her. The storm began sometime around midnight, and the sun only parted the clouds around mid-afternoon. Hours of sustained fear make you exhausted, and she did not fall asleep until mid-morning.

I want to return to her and live for a while longer without responsibilities or impending danger, but frustration is making me too antsy to sit still, and things are different after last night. I do not believe I have the self-control to contain myself anymore.

When I close my eyes, I feel her weight, her soft warmth. I see her naked desire. I relive her shivering against me in cold, then heat.

If I put my hands on her again, I will not be able to stop myself this time; I promised myself last night that I would be a better man than I have been in the past. The kind of man who could deserve her.

I will have her, but it will be on a proper bed, where I can take my time, and her cheeks do not taste of salty fear.

I go to the closet and change into some new clothes. She continues to rest, and I move about the cabin as quietly as I can so I do not disturb her, readying things so that we can leave—collecting laundry and trash, righting things that have fallen over, cleaning the bathroom. It will take hours to arrive at the second marina, and then several more to return to Ulysses.

We should be home just before morning breaks.

We.She is coming with me. It strikes me with deep satisfaction, right in the center of my chest.

It should feel more like the wrong decision to bring her to the mansion. How will I explain this to James and Wesley?

I will simply have to… make them understand. I cannot trust that she is safe unless she is with me, but I need the expertise of my team to sort this mess out. She ought to be the least of their worries, anyway—we have aPakhanto kill and aBratvato destroy.

I continue to move through the lower cabin, performing the small tasks to prepare the boat to be shut down for some time. The hours pass, and eventually I hear the musical dinging that notifies me we have arrived at my selected destination. The auto-nav system is not good for areas with many other boats, so I have to manually navigate the last portion. Before I make my way back up, I sit on the edge of the bed. Her breathing changes, so I know she is awake. She has slept the day away.

“We are almost to the dock,” I tell her, lifting a hand and reaching for her hair. I leave it suspended for a second, deciding, then lower it against the strands that are such a curious texture—smooth, yet rough.

She flinches.

With a small frown, I pull back. “Nicole?”

“The dock? Are you… um, can I go home?”

My chest tightens at the tentative hope in her voice. I do not want to rob her of that, nor can I confirm it. “Until we know what is on the USB,it is safer for you to”—stay with me—“avoid places where you could be easily found. You understand this?”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

“Nicole, are you—”

“How far?” she asks, ignoring the note of concern in my voice and remaining in her protective curled position.

I understand her question is not one of distance. Only Americans ask about distance but expect an answer in time units. “You have 30 minutes to ready yourself. When we reach land, we will go to another safe house.”

“Where?”

One corner of my lip quirks. Always so many questions. “A safe house is only safe if no one knows where it is,” I remind her.

A breath puffs out of her, nearly a laugh. “Of course,” she whispers.