Chapter 2 - RESCUED BY THE MOST DANGEROUS MAN AT SEA
Cold water does not feel cold at first.
It feels violent.
Every muscle in my chest seized at once. My lungs tried to inhale underwater. My dress ballooned around my legs before becoming dead weight. I kicked blindly, fighting toward a surface I could no longer see.
When my head finally broke through, the wind stole the scream from my mouth.
The yacht was already moving.
“Graham!”
Light poured from its windows.
Music still played.
People were still dancing.
“HELP!”
The stern turned away....
For half a second, I saw two silhouettes beneath the deck lights.
Graham.
Celeste.
Then they disappeared inside.
The yacht accelerated.
I was alone.
And I understood something very clearly.
Nobody was coming back.
I had treated hypothermia victims before.
That knowledge was almost worse than ignorance.
I knew what would happen.
First came the uncontrollable gasping.
Then muscle failure.
Confusion.
Exhaustion.
Eventually, I would stop feeling afraid because my brain would stop functioning correctly.
The medical part of me began counting.
Slow breaths.
Conserve movement.
Find flotation.
My heels were pulling me downward. I kicked them off. The green cocktail dress Graham had chosen for me wrapped around my thighs.
“Emerald photographs better on you,” he had said that morning.
I almost laughed.
It came out as a sob.
I ripped the skirt along the side seam so I could kick.
Lightning flashed somewhere over the horizon.
That was when I saw another vessel.
At first, I thought the lights belonged to shore.
Then they moved.
Low.
Fast.
Coming directly toward me.
It was not a pleasure yacht.
It was long, black, and nearly invisible against the sea except for a few narrow white running lights.
I lifted one arm.
“HELP!”
The vessel changed direction.
A spotlight hit me so suddenly I threw my hand over my eyes.
Men shouted.
A life ring struck the water three feet away.
I grabbed it.
A minute later, strong hands dragged me onto a steel deck.
I collapsed on my side, coughing seawater.
Boots surrounded me.
Not deck shoes.
Black boots.
Expensive trousers.
Dark coats.
Nobody looked dressed for a party.
Someone covered me with a wool blanket.
“Woman overboard,” a man said. “Alive.”
Another voice answered from behind him.
“I can see that.”
The boots parted.
The man walking toward me was perhaps forty, maybe a little older. Tall enough that everyone else seemed to adjust unconsciously when he entered their space. Broad shoulders beneath a charcoal coat. Dark hair pushed back by the rain.
A pale scar crossed his left eyebrow.
Another disappeared beneath his collar.
His face was handsome in a way that did not feel safe.
Not polished.
Not friendly.
Carved.
He crouched in front of me.
Gray eyes studied my face.
“What vessel?”
My teeth were slamming together.
“What?”
“The boat you came from.”
I pointed into the darkness.
“The… Aurelia.”
Something shifted behind his eyes.
“You’re certain?”
“My fiancé owns it.”
The man glanced toward the captain.
“Mercer.”
The captain nodded once.
I looked between them.
“You know Graham?”
The stranger returned his attention to me.
“I know everyone who owes me money.”
That should have frightened me.
Instead, I started laughing.
I couldn’t stop.
Maybe it was shock.
Maybe it was exhaustion.
Maybe after being murdered by a man because of financial fraud, being rescued by another man who apparently collected debts felt so absurd that my brain simply surrendered.
The stranger watched me.
“What is funny?”
“My night.”
My laughter cracked into crying.
I pressed both hands over my face.
“My entire goddamn night is funny.”
For a few seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he removed his coat.
He wrapped it over the blanket around me himself.
“What’s your name?”
“Maren Vale.”
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
“Frank Vale’s daughter?”
I froze.
“You knew my father?”
“I bought machine parts from him.”
Everybody in Portland had bought something from Dad eventually.
“He hated you,” I said.
Several men around us became very still.
The stranger’s mouth moved.
Not quite a smile.
“Your father hated most people.”
“No. He specifically called you a criminal with excellent payment habits.”
Now the man smiled.
It transformed nothing.
He still looked dangerous.
But suddenly I could imagine him younger.
Before whatever life he had chosen hardened around him.
“That sounds like Frank.”
“Who are you?”
He extended a hand.
“Gideon Voss.”
I did not take it.
Because I knew the name.
Everybody along the waterfront knew it.
Officially, Gideon Voss owned shipping terminals, cold-storage warehouses, salvage companies, restaurants, and half a dozen commercial properties between Maine and Massachusetts.
Unofficially, mothers lowered their voices when saying his last name.
Men who cheated Voss businesses often left town.
Competitors discovered sudden reasons to sell.
Nobody could prove much.
Nobody wanted to try very hard.
“You’re that Gideon Voss.”
“I’ve never understood why people say it twice.”
I stared at him.
Then I remembered Graham.
I lurched upright.
“My phone.”
“Gone, probably.”
“There are files. He stole money from me. He forged—”
“I know.”
I stopped.
“What?”
Gideon stood.
Rain shone on the shoulders of his white shirt.
“Graham Mercer has been borrowing against properties he does not own for eighteen months.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“Then why didn’t you stop him?”
His face went cold.
“Because suspicion is not evidence.”
I stared at him.
“There’s evidence on his yacht.”
“Where?”
“In his office. A blue folder inside the lower desk safe. Copies of the transfers. I confronted him with them.”
“Combination?”
“I don’t know.”
Gideon looked past me toward the vanishing lights of the Aurelia.
“Did he push you?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
“And the woman?”
“She stepped on my hand.”
The men around us became silent.
Gideon’s gaze dropped to my fingers.
Celeste’s heel had split the skin across two knuckles.
Blood mixed with seawater.
He took my hand carefully.
His fingers were warm.
“What happened after you fell?”
“They watched.”
“Did they call for help?”
“No.”
“Throw flotation?”
“No.”
“Turn around?”
“No.”
Gideon released my hand.
Something almost peaceful settled across his face.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
He looked at his captain.
“Turn us around.”
I grabbed his sleeve.
“No.”
Gideon looked down.
“You almost died.”
“I know.”
“They attempted to murder you.”
“I know.”
“And now you’re worried about what happens to them?”
“I’m worried about what happens to me.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I don’t understand.”
“I spent nine years becoming the kind of woman Graham could use.”
My voice shook.
“I’m not spending the next nine minutes becoming the kind of woman you are.”
Nobody moved.
Rain ticked against steel.
Gideon looked at my hand gripping his sleeve.
I expected offense.
Maybe rage.
Instead, he said quietly, “What kind of man do you think I am?”
“The kind who could make two people disappear before breakfast.”
“That is insulting.”
“Is it inaccurate?”
One of his men coughed into his fist.
Gideon almost smiled.
“No.”
I let go.
“If you help me, nobody dies.”
“He pushed you into the ocean.”
“Yes.”
“You’re negotiating for his life.”
“No.”
I looked toward the darkness where the Aurelia had vanished.
“I’m negotiating for mine.”
Something in Gideon’s face changed.
Slowly.
Deeply.
“Explain.”
“If they die tonight, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering if I became part of it because I was hurt and furious.”
I tightened the blanket around myself.
“I want them alive tomorrow. I want Graham to know I survived. I want him to watch every lie come apart. I want every person he convinced I was unstable to hear what he did. I want my father’s property back.”
My voice cracked.
“And when it’s finished, I want to recognize myself.”
Gideon studied me for a long time.
Then he turned toward the captain.
“Find the Aurelia.”
The captain nodded.
“And Mr. Voss?” I asked.
He glanced back.
“Nobody dies.”
He held my gaze.
“Tonight.”
May you like
That answer should not have comforted me.
Somehow, it did.
