Page 33

In which we discover just how grotesque human beings can be.

Logan…

By the time we leave port, all ten of our team have infiltrated the ship. Bella and Mason are taking a leisurely walk along the upper deck, the wind is sending strands of her blonde wig into her face and playfully, Mason brushes a bit off her cheek.

When this mission is over, I’m going to beat the shite out of him.

“Easy, lad.” Jack’s next to me, stacking boxes on a dolly to take to the kitchen. “Ye staring up at them like ye smell of brimstone and you’re ready to vaporize his soul isn’t winning ye any points on the undercover effort here.”

Tearing my gaze away with an effort, I shift the cases of wine I’m carrying. “Aye. Let’s get to work.”

“Cost ye to say that, dinnae it?”

“Feck off, Jack.” His laughter follows me into the storage cooler and I’m starting a list of cousins I’m going to punch in the head when this is done.

Captain Anderson strolls into the cavernous dining room just before dinner service.

“Welcome aboard The Zephyr , honored guests!” He smiles benignly. The sun is setting behind him and the wall of windows overlooking the ocean filters a golden glow over the tables with their pristine linens and elaborate flower arrangements.

The unwitting donors cheer raucously.

“I would like you to raise your glass - of water or juice, of course, no alcohol until the final party,” he chuckles indulgently, “to a toast to each other. Your contributions to medical science will immeasurably benefit those who are ill, allowing them to live much longer, healthier lives. To you, my new friends!”

Jack and I hold our trays, expressionless as these poor souls drink to their own deaths.

While there’s separate dining rooms for patients and donors, several of the disgusting old bastards want to dine with the people who are about to die for them. Two recipients in formal evening wear are eating at a table with some rowdy twenty-somethings, who are sporting casual shorts and luridly flowered shirts.

The patients aren’t allowed alcohol as part of the “wellness retreat,” but they’re still giddy about their free prime rib and lobster, and talking about a trip through the casino later. I fill their water goblets and take their empty plates, swallowing my disgust when one girl kindly pats the arm of the old arsehole seated next to her. “You should come with us, Sidney! It’s gonna be so much fun!” She’s maybe mid-twenties, American or Canadian with wide, guileless blue eyes and he’s grinning at her like he wants to swallow her whole.

“You’re so sweet, my dear,” he coos.

I’m killing that fecker first.

The most advantageous identity I can ever adopt undercover is one in the working class. We’re essentially invisible, moving around on our endless errands and with the five of us going through the ship, we’re getting the intel we need quicker than expected.

Good. Getting Bella out ahead of schedule is the best thing that could happen. I’m fighting every instinct to go storming into her stateroom and carry her away, thrown over my shoulder if necessary.

By eleven that night, Xenia and Catriona put in a request for room service. I’d really like to punch out the two eager waiters who’d caught glimpses of the girls earlier and now they’re fighting over who gets to take up the room service cart. Theo keeps baiting them and extending the argument while I wheel the cart into the service elevator.

“Finally!” Catriona rips open the door, “I’m fecking starving. They’ve stuffed the wee fridge in here with all the boring, healthy shite. Kale chips? What’s wrong with these people?” She stuffs a piece of steak in her mouth, groaning in pleasure.

“Perhaps it’s because your profile says you’re a vegan and a naturopath?” Ian says dryly. While he and my cousin devour their food, I make a plate to take over to Xenia.

“Ye haven’t left this spot since ye boarded eight hours ago, have ye?”

“Uh, huh…” Xenia reaches out a hand, groping blindly as her gaze never leaves her laptop. I put a sandwich in her hand and snap a linen napkin onto her lap. “Fancy pants,” she laughs.

“I’ve had a lot of practice with this shite tonight,” I say sourly. “One old lass kept dropping her napkin, demanding I get her a new one after I bent over and retrieved them for her.”

“How many times did she pinch your arse?” Catriona asks, starting in on her seafood linguine.

“The ancient Jezebel peppered my arse with a bruise or two. Or five. Give me a report, Xenia.”

“Most of the news is good.” She finally leans back, rubbing her eyes. “Thanks to you guys on the crew, we’ve got below deck all mapped out, especially where the guards stay when they’re off duty, they’re being very low key, which is good. Less immediate access to firearms. The Captain’s stateroom was easy to locate, and we have his staff captain, navigator, and the chief engineer’s cabins, too. I’m working on the shift changes for the bridge.”

“That’s brilliant. You are brilliant.”

“I really am,” she agrees modestly.

“What about Bella and Mason? The chances of Dr. Arsehole, ah, Dr. Langell recognizing her is the biggest risk we have on this mission.”

“It’s extremely unlikely he would spot her since she’s been assigned to one of the other surgeons, there’s six of them in all.” She opens another window on her monitor. “A Dr. Alice Williams. Unless he is called in for a consult there would be no reason for them to cross each other’s paths. She’s getting her examination tomorrow early; this will give her and Mason a chance to film the surgical area for me. The security there is tighter than a nun’s ass. I can’t get a clear view of the layout, the security cameras there are on a different system I can’t get into. Yet.”

Xenia pops open a Celsius energy drink and gulps down half the can. “It’s critical that we find out who’s on the surgical roster for tomorrow. It doesn’t look like these sons of bitches intend on taking a relaxing day of pickleball before cutting people open. They’re getting down to business right away.”

“When can you start the system failures?” I ask. Xenia lights up like I’d just given her the keys and title to my Maserati. In fact, if she pulls this shite off, I’ll probably have to.

“Now that I got into the engineering mainframe, I’m going to start with some electrical outage issues in non-essential parts of the boat. Nothing big, nothing to rouse suspicion, just something to keep them busy. By afternoon when I have a better idea of the layout in the medical labs, I can start power outages and system freezes for the surgical equipment. By tomorrow afternoon…” her face lights up with an unholy glee, “I will get control of the navigation systems and the entire bridge, and then, you can kill the captain.”

“Finally, some fecking action,” Ian says longingly.

“I won’t need any of his crew to remote operate the ship.” Xenia’s plowing through her passionfruit cheesecake like it’s about to be taken from her. “I’m going to turn it in a nice, wide, slow circle that won’t be immediately noticed. This will make it easier for the chase boats to catch up and board the ship.

"Your Da and Lachlan have a ship’s captain and engineer coming with them for backup. I know you hate having Bella on this mission, but she’s doing a great job so far. She’s already charmed the nurse who stopped by to greet her tonight and get her medical equipment set up in their stateroom. I’ll alter the readings from here.”

Catriona slings her arm over my shoulder. “Ye gotta loosen up, cousin. It’s all going according to plan, aye? Even Kai, who is such a stickler for his mission plans, is happy.”

“I’ll take the cart back downstairs,” I say, “but first…” Flipping up the pristine white cloth covering the trolley, I pull out four handguns and an AR-15.

Ian lights up. “Now, that’s what I’ve been waiting for!”

As a crew member, I have no business on the floor where Bella and Mason’s stateroom is. Still. I hover by the service stairs. I could just walk the hall, act like I’m looking for discarded trays…

“God- damnit.” I head toward the staff quarters.

Arabella…

Mason’s doing another sweep of our cabin, checking for listening devices.

I hold up my notepad. You checked the stateroom when we first boarded. Why again?

He looks at me disapprovingly, taking my pen. The nurse could have brought in a bug with the medical equipment.

Finally satisfied, he nods toward the bed, i ts dark wood carved to look like you’re resting on top of the ocean, like Poseidon. lt belongs in a nautical-themed issue of Architectural Digest . “I’ll sleep on the couch, why don’t you try to get some rest?”

“Well, I’m a lot shorter than you, Mason. I dinnae mind taking the couch.”

“I prefer my head where it is, thank you,” he says dryly. “Knowing your husband is circling us like a one-winged hawk is distraction enough. If he thinks you are the slightest bit uncomfortable, the man will go nuclear. You may think you’re seen him unhinged, but I assure you the reality is much worse.”

“You MacTavishes all act like Logan is a madman, but I dinnae agree with ye. He’s… competent.” I smile, thinking of all the ways he’s gotten us out of trouble. “He takes the shortest route in any circumstance and it works.”

“Sometimes, his ‘shortest route’ is stomping right over someone’s face. He’s clearly trying to take my father’s mantle as the most extra of the MacTavishes.”

“I dinnae know about that,” I laugh, taking the towel folded to look like a lotus blossom off the bed. “But on the bright side, it means ye can do something else with your life instead of being the one who brings a surface to air missile to Sunday dinner.”

“Ah, you have met my father, then.” His smile is brief and perfunctory. “Try to get some rest. Tomorrow’s plan relies mainly on us.”

“Well, that just guaranteed I’ll not sleep a wink, thank ye very much.” I toss and turn for a long time, looking out the glass doors leading to our balcony. This feels like I’m back in that soothing, bland room in Anselm’s hell compound. The gentle swells of the ocean glitter under the moon and it’s so beautiful that it’s hard to imagine anything bad could ever happen here.

But it will. Beginning tomorrow, if we can’t stop it. I think about Carol and hope she’s sleeping blissfully, maybe with her cute crew member. Sleeping like nothing but good things are ahead.

The next morning…

“Sei bellissima oggi, amore mio.” (You look beautiful today, my love.) Mason kisses the back of my hand over our diced potatoes and seven grain toast. The patient’s diet is a grim series of low fat, high-carb alternatives that even the cleverest chef can’t make tasty.

“Grazie, tesoro.” We’re in the patient’s dining room. A conversation yesterday with the “cruise director” had been horrifyingly educational.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bianchi, would you prefer to be completely separate from your donor?” Dressed in a pristine blue suit with her hair in a tidy bun, the cruise direction radiated care and concern.

“Non so cosa intendi? Ah, I do not know what you mean?” I really dinnae know.

We were sitting in our stateroom, but she leaned forward as if someone could overhear us. “Some of our guests prefer to never see their donor, they find it…” she put her hand delicately on her chest, “distasteful. Others enjoy getting to know their matches, perhaps just passing them in the hall, or even having dinner together.”

You, lady, are an impressively evil piece of shite. I mean, that takes some real effort.

“That isn’t really necessary, is it, darling?” Mason stepped in for me because I couldn’t stop staring at this pleasant-looking woman who just invited me to have dinner with the person they were going to murder for the kidneys they’d intended to put in my body.

“Non, non,” I smiled weakly.

After breakfast, we strolled along the upper desk, pretending to enjoy the view. “We have an hour before your appointment, my angel.” He raises his voice slightly as the ship’s first officer walks by, greeting us with a wide smile. “Would you like to return to the stateroom, or sit up here and enjoy the sun?”

Just below us on the second deck, I see Logan chatting with one of the older patients, draping a blanket over her lap. He glances up, meets my eye for just a second, but it’s enough.

“I think I’d like to sit here, please.”

Ten minutes later, a tray is proffered in front of me, holding a virgin daiquiri. “Ma’am, your drink?”

Hearing his deep voice makes something glow in me, like I’m shining from the inside out. “Yes, thank you.”

Logan bends over to hand me the cold glass, contrasting with the warmth of his finger, the barest brush against mine. In a movement so quick that I barely catch it, his finger subtly points to his chest, his palms cross over his heart and then he points to me before he walks away.

I love you.