Chapter 2
I pinched the tender skin of my thighs mercilessly, using the localized pain to stave off the sedatives. Crawling back into my suite, I dug beneath a pile of designer sweaters and popped open a false bottom I had designed into my luggage. Inside lay a prepaid burner phone equipped with an unregistered SIM card—a paranoid precaution my father had insisted I carry.
I activated the voice recorder app, slipped the device deep into the pocket of my robe, and staggered toward the glass balcony doors. Our suite’s terrace sat directly above the main lounge area. Dropping flat onto the cold teak floorboards, I pressed myself against the railing. The salty, freezing wind whipped my face, but the microphone picked up the voices below flawlessly.
“Is the champagne prepared for tonight?” Flynn asked.
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“You have to mix the powder with the alcohol to double the sedative’s half-life. I handled it ages ago,” Aidan stated. “You focus on getting her vertical. Your mother and I will be waiting near the lower deck to assist with the disposal. Remember, make sure one of her shoes falls off on the deck, and mess up her hair. An accidental fall overboard needs to look entirely authentic for the investigators.”
I lay paralyzed against the floorboards, shaking uncontrollably, recording the blueprints of my own assassination.
