“We should be fine,” he mused quietly to himself, eyes narrowed on the weather monitor and the swirl of colors bleeding red, yellow, and orange across the blue. He tapped his fingers on the screen absently. “It’s the welcoming party expecting us that worries me.”
His deck officer turned away from the sonars, expression troubled. “Think Corbett’s going to do something?”
Notorious arms dealer, Nathanael Corbett liked his money more than he liked his own life. Parting with it was a tenuous negotiation that required vigilance and a small army. But the payout was always extraordinary when done correctly.
“We just need to keep our guard up,” was what he said. “Corbett likes to think he’s the smartest man in the room. Once we get the shipment squared away, I’m going to need a sit down with Rodriguez to settle our trip back.”
Even across free waters, there was always someone that needed to be paid, some palm that needed to be greased. Being a pirate didn’t mean they could simply go wherever they wanted. Even pirates had politics that needed to be followed, leaders that needed pacifying. Rodriguez was their inside guy into Morocco. The one who made sure their pathway remained clear and no unwanted attention came their way.
“Is Michael done fixing the sat phone?”
Laimure shook his head. “I’m not sure, sir.”
Rubbing a hand back through his hair, James straightened. He surveyed the distance they still needed to go to reach their destination. The trip was twelve days there, twelve days back, with a week in between to unload and restock. Over a month of travel with the majority of it spent crossing the ocean.
“I need that phone fixed,” he muttered to no one in particular.
Laimure said nothing as James abandoned the wheelhouse in search of his junior engineer.
He found the boy in the engine room, head bowed over a table littered with bits of what he prayed to God wasn’t his sat phone.
“Michael?”
The boy’s blond head jerked up. His green eyes widened in panic even as he jerked upright. The screwdriver and tweezers in his hand were quickly dropped down next to the pile of scrap plastic.
“Sir ... Captain!” The sharp point of his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I was just coming to see you.”
“Where’s my sat phone?” James asked warily, eyeing the mess.
“Well...” Michael licked his lips. “This only looks bad because there’s so many pieces, but I almost have it fixed.”
“Why is my phone in pieces?”
The boy’s mouth opened and closed several times before he found the words. “The clicking, sir?”
The question he tagged at the end didn’t reassure James in the least.
“What clicking?”
Michael cleared his throat. “When you signaled out, it would click. Remember? You’re the one who told me about it.”
It had been a stressful few days. Between the arrival of Bishop’s package containing a single satellite phone — a complete surprise considering James hadn’t heard from the man in four years — and his instructions to grab Cora Harris, he’d had his hands full.
“Did you fix the clicking?”
The screwdriver was plucked up. “Nearly. I just have to configure the—”
“I need it yesterday, Michael.”
Michael saluted and nearly took his own eye out with the sharp tool. He dropped it quickly and tried again, but James had already started back towards the stairway.
The night was a cloudy one filled with the promise of a cloudy day when the sun came up. The obstruction of moonlight made everything seem that much lonelier. But that was the price one paid when shouldering a life of crime, a twist in his life he honestly never regretted. It was who he was, and it had given him more than any stable nine-to-five ever could. The only thing it hadn’t given him was peace. But even crime couldn’t offer miracles.
“You’re still up.”
The observation was followed by August falling into step alongside him, or as instep as a man the size of a brick building could. Even with James’s solid six feet, five inches, he only reached just below the other man’s enormous shoulder.
“Wired,” was the only explanation James could think to offer.
The bigger man grunted. “Just finished tidying up the galley. Foods packed away.”
James nodded, because he had no other answer for that random bit of information. In the eight years that he’d known the other man, this was the first time talk of cleaning and food had ever come up out of the blue.
“Had some extras,” August went on casually, but fishing towards a bigger outcome that James wished he’d get to already. “Packed them up too. Put them in the icebox.”
James stopped walking and turned to face his cook. “Is there something...?”
August hesitated, which looked incredibly odd and painful given that the man could probably crush James’s head with his bare hands.
“I was thinking I could give the leftovers to the girl.”
James was too taken aback to respond right away.
August took it as a sign of annoyance, because he plowed on. “It’s just, there isn’t enough to feed any of the men, but she’s tiny, and she seemed awful hungry when I took her dinner earlier.”
“You want to feed the prisoner?”
August jerked up one beefy shoulder. “Seems like the right thing to do, Captain.”
“Does it?” He folded his arms, masking his amusement behind an arched eyebrow. “Did she promise you something?”
August’s eyes narrowed. “The girl’s hungry. I got the food. I don’t mess around with children.”
Plus, Mable, August’s wife, would probably kill him if he did.
James chuckled silently. “Give her the food.”
Face still bunched in a frown, August nodded and ambled off.
James waited until he’d taken five steps before calling after him. “But no dessert!”
August raised a hand and waved without looking back.
James abandoned the idea of walking another round and retired to his cabin. He shrugged out of his coat, kicked off his boots, and padded his way to the desk. The coat was discarded over the back of the chair while he opened the drawer containing Cora’s lock of hair. The silk strand shone despite being severed. Each glossy thread practically glowed with life and health. Even beneath his touch, it slipped like silk. It brought forth images of him grabbing fistfuls of it and dragging her to him. It had been like closing his hands around corn silk, corn silk that had smelled good enough to tempt a man to bury his face into and inhale.
Carefully, he slipped the lock into an envelope and sealed it. In his fluid script, he scribbled Bishop’s name across the front and set it with all the other crap that needed to be mailed out. It did, however, make him wonder what the man wanted with a strand of hair. He’d already admitted they weren’t going to blackmail De Marco, or threaten him. Having a piece of Cora’s hair just seemed suspicious, and a whole lot creepy.
But then Bishop was part of the government and when could they ever be trusted?
Top and socks discarded, James slipped beneath the sheets and willed his brain to shut down, even if for a few hours. Instead, he was resorted to counting the metal sheeting above his head until dawn began to creep in through the window, illuminating his room and the start of yet another day.
He tumbled from the bed and pulled on his clothes. He splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth and ran wet hands through his hair. It was all routine, things he’d done a million times over the course of his fourteen years sailing the oceans blue, yet he couldn’t recall the last time he was so completely exhausted doing it. It took all his resolve not to crawl back into bed and let Nicholas captain for the day.
Unfortunately, life didn’t work that way. So, he put on his game face and left his room.
The Annie cut over clear waters with the seamless grace of an electric eel navigating the tides. She glided beneath a dome of overcast, a tiny blip in an endles
s carpet of ocean, but she remained a strong force propelling forward. James expected nothing less of her. She’d been a steady constant in his life for fourteen years, five of which he could officially call her his. She had given him purpose, had given him a home. She had been there for him when no one else in the world had cared a damn what happened to him. And she had never let him down.
“Just another run, old girl.” He touched the iron railing slick with early ocean mist and welcomed the icy sting when it burned his palms. “We can do this.”
The Annie continued her voyage into the blue horizon, her engines rumbling its soothing grind of gears and motors.
James moved away from the rails and continued his walk along the metal docks. The pre-dawn hours rose through the seam between sea and heaven, and its colors bled like a box of melting crayons in the sun. They poured in a brilliant array so violently beautiful, it was almost blinding to look upon, but he watched the hues hemorrhage together with only half a mind. The other half dwindled into the shadowy abyss of his subconscious. The deep, dank corners he kept carefully shrouded. The rearing of the beast’s head paused him mid stride. It prodded, a relentless piking at the nerve endings at the base of his skull until the unyielding chiseling was all he could hear, all he could feel burrowing deeper into the very threshold of his soul.
It had been years since the migraines. But they rose over him now, a vicious demon demanding his submission. They chased him down, hungry for his sanity, for the shred of control he clung to with all his strength.
“Morning Captain.” Nicholas appeared at his side, interrupting the nausea brewing in the pit of James’s stomach. “Crew’s heading up for breakfast. You coming?”
What he wanted was a handful of aspirin, but that required him to return to his bedroom, the one place he couldn’t trust himself to leave once he was in.
“August has aspirin up at the kitchen, doesn’t he?”
Contemplation drew Nicholas’s heavy brows together. “I would think so. Headache?”
James managed a nod and pushed away from the railings. “Where’s Presley?”
“Cafeteria, I’m guessing. Why?”
Rather than further agitate the demons, James motioned the other man to follow him the rest of the way. They walked in silence to the mess hall and the shockwave of raised voices and smells. It all greeted him before he even set foot into the room. It washed over him with a restless aggression of an angry garbage disposal, the overbearing punch of men, burnt oatmeal, and rusted water.
It was the fragrance of home and yet his stomach couldn’t stand it.
“August, aspirin.”
The other man dug beneath the stainless-steel counter and returned with a bottle of pills. It was set on the table while he went to grab a glass of water. But James couldn’t wait. He swallowed down three dry and took a swig of water after the fact to wash away the bitter tang.
It didn’t immediately subdue the throbbing, but he knew they’d kick in eventually. He just needed to take his mind off it until it went away.
“Presley?”
The man stilled with his spoon inches from his gaping mouth. He dropped it quickly and shot to his feet when James approached. With his free hand, he wiped the bits of oatmeal clinging to his russet mustache and squared his broad shoulders.
“Sir?”
“Who’s watching the girl?”
Luke Presley blinked, a quick flicker of surprise he wasn’t fast enough to conceal. “Watching her, sir?”
The question was fairly straightforward. James didn’t understand why he was having to explain it.
“I assigned you a task.”
“Yes, but—”
“Did I tell you, you could leave your post?”
Presley hesitated. “No, sir.”
“So, I ask you again, who is watching the girl?”
The man’s mouth opened and closed a few times, making words that had no voice. Finally, he just closed his mouth and said nothing.
James sighed. “When I give an order, I expect it to be followed to the letter, is that understood?”
Presley nodded. “Yes sir.”
James glanced down at the half empty bowl. “Finish eating. Then return to your post.”
Presley cleared his throat. “Yes sir.”
Needing a break from the sounds and smells, James saw himself out of the mess hall and down to the storage bay. Turning the corner, he half expected the door to Cora’s quarters to be open and the woman in question to be gone. But it was still shut and, when he pushed it open, she was still there.
Asleep.
At least one of us got some shut eye, he thought miserably.
His presence must have made a sound, because the woman curled up beneath the blankets stirred. Sooty lashes fluttered against the alabaster curve of her cheek. One bunched fist half hidden in the sleeve of one of his hoodies unearthed from the folds and smothered her yawn. Her eyelids opened. Hazel eyes bleary with sleep blinked slowly, then focused on him.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. That simple connection shivered between them with the delicate precision of fine glass. One wrong move and the whole thing could shatter into a million pieces.
“I thought you were a nightmare,” she whispered at last.
“I’ve been called worse.” He motioned with his head. “Come on. Bathroom.”
She pushed back the blankets and slipped off the cot. The metal pipes and springs rattled with her departure. She tugged at the baggy state of her wardrobe — his wardrobe — aligning everything properly around her tiny frame. It was comical how enormous everything seemed on her, like a child in her mom’s clothing. She was practically drowning in black fabric.
He found her a spare toothbrush, a tube of paste, a bar of soap, a bottle of shampoo, and a towel from his own personal stash and led her into the showers.
“No one will come in,” he promised her when she hesitated outside the doors. “Just be quick.”
Cora eyed him. “How do I know you won’t come in?”
The thought nearly made him laugh, but he kept his face stoic when returning her level stare.
“You don’t.”
He pushed the doors open for her and waited for her to pass through. Instead, she continued to stand there, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She surveyed the dark room on the other side, then peered back up at him.
“You only have ten minutes,” he warned her.
That got her attention. She ducked beneath his arm and stepped into the bathroom. James shut the door behind her and leaned back into the wall with his arms folded. He watched the waves while he waited, his mind buried in all the things that needed to get done before they landed. The headache was mostly gone, but the dull fingers of exhaustion numbed his senses. It was all he could do to keep from dozing where he stood.
She emerged a few minutes later with her things clutched against her chest. She brushed back a lock of damp hair off her cheek and squinted at him with eyes surrounded by pointy lashes.
“Done,” she announced when he didn’t push off the wall right away.
James straightened and led her back to her room.
“Keep them,” he said when she offered him back his things, everything, except the toothbrush and soap. “We have a long trip ahead of us.”
“Where are we going?” she asked softly, almost wearily. “Why are you taking me?”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he walked out the door. “This wasn’t my plan.”
He sealed her back up in her room and went in search of his first mate. Nicholas found him with a cup of OJ in one hand and a granola bar in the other. He held out both to James.
“You’re a miserable fuck when you’re hungry,” the man stated simply when James accepted.
James bit into the chocolate and oatmeal, and chewed. “Fuck you.”
They started towards the wheelhouse, but Nicholas stopped. His dark eyes squinted out over the choppy waves.
“There she is.”
&
nbsp; James followed his gaze to where the heavens had become a dark, oppressive smear of black. He swallowed the morsel in his mouth and sighed.
“Tell the crew to batten down the hatches and stay inside. We’ll be fine.”
Chapter Six
Chaos raged through halls of The Annie. Crew members sprinted around their stations, fighting as a unit to tie up lines and clear away debris. The pounding of hurried feet thundered louder than every deafening crack of lightning streaking the gray skies outside the bridge windows. Waves rose over the bow, momentarily covering the cargo hold covers before receding back into the ocean.
James white knuckled the wheel. The sensors shrieked along the console, along with every blinking light, alerting him to the trouble in the navigational system. The backlash of the passing storm slammed into them in waves. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t dealt with before. Couldn’t be pirates without weathering bad weather. But they’d make it through. He was sure of it, so long as they remained on the clean side of the storm.
“How are we doing?”
Laimure never glanced away from the weather monitoring system, one hand pressed to the cushioned headphones strapped to his head.
“Stay the course.”
The course was a tricky one. Even along the outskirts of the storm, the high winds and turbulent waves kept forcing them in. It took them a full day off route, but it was a day James would gladly surrender to keep them from capsizing.
“How are we below deck, Michael?”
Sitting strapped to his chair a few feet away, Michael’s head popped up over his station table. His wide eyes looked enormous against the gray tinge of his complexion.
“All ... all steady, Captain.”
“Good. We’ll get out of this yet.”
“Captain!” Presley slid into the room, panting. “It’s the girl!”
“I don’t have time for this!”
Another wave slammed into their port side.
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