Chapter 2 - The Pills in the Silver Box

At seven fifteen, Flynn brought dinner to the suite himself.

That was new.

Usually one of the stewards carried our meals while Flynn wandered in behind them with a glass of wine and some effortless remark about how married life suited him.

Tonight, he pushed the cart through the door alone.

"I told the galley not to bother us," he said.

I sat against the pillows wearing the silk robe Fiona had given me on the morning of the wedding.

The irony almost made me laugh.

Flynn lifted the silver dome from a plate.

"Plain rice. Grilled fish. Nothing heavy."

"You're taking good care of me."

He smiled.

"Always."

I watched him pour water.

Not wine.

Water.

His left hand blocked my view of the glass for less than a second.

That was all it took.

"Drink," he said.

I took the glass.

"You first."

The smile remained, but his eyes changed.

"What?"

"I'm being dramatic. Humor me."

"Evelyn, it's water."

"Then prove it."

A dangerous silence entered the room.

I needed to retreat without looking suspicious.

So I laughed weakly and set the glass down.

"Forget it. I'm nauseous and paranoid."

He bent toward me.

"Paranoid about what?"

I let my eyes unfocus.

"That the boat hates me."

He studied my face.

Then he kissed me.

"The boat loves you."

"You love me?"

"More than anything."

He said it perfectly.

That was the worst part.

Flynn had always been good at saying the thing a room required.

At charity dinners he could make donors feel indispensable. At my father's house he could become deferential without looking weak. With my mother he remembered tiny details about art exhibitions and birthdays.

With me, he had learned exactly how much reassurance sounded romantic instead of controlling.

"Eat," he said. "You'll need your strength."

I moved my fork through the rice but swallowed almost nothing.

A few minutes later, he opened the silver pill box.

"Time for these."

"I already feel sleepy."

"Doctor's orders."

"Which doctor?" I asked again.

He sighed.

"Dr. Lyle. The concierge physician in Miami."

I knew Dr. Lyle.

He had never examined me.

"Right," I whispered.

Flynn placed the tablets in my palm.

I lifted them to my mouth.

He watched my throat.

So I used a trick I had learned as a child when antibiotics made me gag: I tucked both pills between my gum and cheek, swallowed water, then opened my mouth slightly while pretending to yawn.

Satisfied, Flynn took the tray away.

"Rest."

"Stay with me."

He paused.

That request mattered.

A wife who feared her husband would not ask him to stay.

He sat beside me and stroked my hair.

I hated every touch.

"Tell me about tomorrow," I murmured.

"Tomorrow?"

"Where are we going?"

"Maybe Nassau. Maybe nowhere. Depends on the weather."

"I want pancakes."

He laughed softly.

"You hate pancakes."

"Then waffles."

"You hate waffles too."

"I like hearing you correct me."

He kissed my temple.

"Sleep, Evie."

I let my breathing deepen.

After ten minutes, he stood.

After twelve, the door opened.

After thirteen, it closed.

I spat the pills into a tissue.

"Mara," I whispered into the hidden radio.

"Listening."

"He put something in my water. I didn't drink. I have tonight's pills too."

"Can you get them to Owen?"

"Not without leaving."

"Then keep them dry and separate."

Another voice came through.

Owen.

"We found something else."

I sat up.

"What?"

"The infirmary inventory doesn't show the sedative we tested."

"Meaning?"

"It didn't come from the yacht's medical supply."

"Can you identify it?"

"Mara photographed the tablet and sent the result to your father's security physician through an encrypted channel. He says the imprint matches a prescription hypnotic. Dangerous with alcohol. More dangerous in repeated doses."

I stared at the water glass.

"Could it kill me?"

A pause.

"Potentially."

The room became very quiet.

"My father knows?"

Mara answered.

"Not yet. His head of security, Daniel Price, received the inquiry. I did not include your name."

"Why not?"

"Because you told us not to warn anyone until we understood the circle."

"Good."

"Evelyn, there is another problem."

"Go on."

"Daniel asked why I was requesting a pill identification from offshore."

My pulse quickened.

"Did you answer?"

"I said a guest had mixed medications."

"And?"

"He asked which guest. Twice."

I closed my eyes.

Daniel Price had run my father's personal security for six years.

He knew our travel schedule.

He knew Aspen.

He knew which vehicles my parents used.

If Flynn's people were already waiting near a mountain pass, someone had fed them details.

"Do not contact Daniel again," I said.

"Agreed."

"Can you reach my father directly?"

Mara hesitated.

"Yes, but his phone is screened through Daniel's office when he's traveling."

"My mother?"

"We have a number for her assistant."

"No."

I thought about the one person my parents trusted who operated outside security.

"Call Nathan Sterling."

Owen sounded confused.

"Your uncle?"

"My father's younger brother. He hates Daniel Price."

"Why?"

"Because Nathan hates almost everybody. Tonight that may be useful."

Mara gave a short, humorless laugh.

"What do I tell him?"

"Ask him one question: What did I steal from his study when I was eleven?"

"And the answer?"

"Don't give him the answer. If it's really Nathan, he'll tell you."

"Then?"

"Tell him to get physically beside my parents tonight and not explain why over the phone. Tell him no Aspen. No Sterling security vehicles. No Daniel."

"That's all?"

"Then tell him I said the red sailboat sank twice."

Owen muttered, "What does that mean?"

"He'll understand that too."

The radio went silent while Mara moved away to make the call.

I had learned from my father that wealth created the illusion that every problem could be solved by hiring more people.

Security people.

Lawyers.

Assistants.

Drivers.

Accountants.

But every hired person became another door someone could open.

Flynn had spent two years studying my doors.

I needed to start closing them.

At eight twenty, someone knocked.

I hid the radio seam beneath the robe.

"Come in."

Fiona entered carrying a lavender shawl.

"My poor darling."

She crossed the room and sat on the bed.

"Flynn says you're miserable."

I smiled faintly.

"Just seasick."

"You always were delicate."

I had climbed Kilimanjaro at twenty-four.

"I suppose so."

She unfolded the shawl and placed it around my shoulders.

"There. Better?"

"Much."

Fiona touched my cheek.

Her hand was warm.

I wondered how she would explain that touch to herself after I was dead.

"You know," she said, "Aidan and I were worried when Flynn proposed."

"Worried?"

"About the difference in your worlds. The money. The scrutiny."

"But you approved eventually."

She smiled.

"We realized you were exactly what he needed."

The sentence landed differently now.

"What did he need?"

Her eyes held mine.

"Stability."

Money, I thought.

Access.

A signature.

A dead wife.

"I'm glad I could provide it."

"You have."

Fiona stood.

Then she noticed the untouched water.

"You should drink."

"I'm not thirsty."

"Dehydration makes seasickness worse."

"Later."

She picked up the glass.

"Now, sweetheart."

My heart began to pound.

"Fiona—"

"Just a sip."

She held it toward me.

The gentle insistence vanished from her eyes.

I needed a reason not to drink that wouldn't expose me.

So I grabbed the wastebasket and vomited into it.

Mostly bile.

Partly performance.

Fiona recoiled.

"Oh, for heaven's sake."

I coughed and wiped my mouth.

"Sorry."

She set the glass down immediately.

"I'll send someone to clean this."

"Please don't. I'm embarrassed."

"Don't be ridiculous."

She hurried toward the door.

Just before leaving, she turned.

"Try to rest. Flynn has something special planned for midnight."

"I know."

Her face changed.

Only slightly.

I let my head fall back against the pillows.

"He told me about the storm."

The suspicion disappeared.

"Of course."

She left.

I exhaled so hard my chest hurt.

"Mara?"

Static.

Then her voice.

"I'm here."

"Fiona tried to make me drink the water."

"Can you preserve a sample?"

I looked around.

The miniature perfume bottle on my dressing table was nearly empty.

I poured the remaining perfume into the sink, rinsed the bottle twice, then used the little funnel from my travel kit to fill it with water from the glass.

"Done."

"Good."

"Nathan?"

"He answered your first question. You stole a brass compass from his study."

I smiled despite myself.

"Correct."

"And he said the red sailboat only sank once, but you made him tell your father it sank twice because you had broken the replacement too."

"That's Nathan."

"He is on his way to your parents."

My eyes burned.

"Thank you."

"He also said something else."

"What?"

"He said Daniel Price scheduled a vehicle inspection for your parents' Aspen SUV this morning."

I sat absolutely still.

"Who requested it?"

"Daniel himself."

The room seemed to narrow around me.

Flynn had not merely arranged distant criminals waiting on a mountain road.

Someone inside my family's security operation was preparing the car.

"Mara," I said, "we have to assume Daniel is involved."

"I already do."

"Then no one ashore knows I'm alive except Nathan."

"Understood."

At nine ten, Flynn returned with Aidan.

My father-in-law did not come near the bed.

He stood beside the windows, watching the darkening sea.

"Storm's building," he said.

"I heard."

Flynn sat beside me.

"How do you feel?"

"Heavy."

"Good."

He corrected himself too quickly.

"Good that you're resting, I mean."

I let my eyes close.

Aidan asked, "Did she take everything?"

Flynn looked at me before answering.

"Yes."

Fiona had probably reported the vomiting.

Aidan said, "Then don't delay."

I heard the door close behind him.

Flynn bent near my ear.

"Sleep another couple of hours, love."

His lips brushed my temple.

"Then we'll go watch the storm."

I opened my eyes just enough to see his face.

"Promise you won't let me fall?"

For the first time that night, Flynn looked genuinely surprised.

Then he smiled.

"Never."

I smiled back.

"I trust you."

That lie tasted cleaner than anything he had fed me all week.

After he left, I checked the clock.

Three hours to midnight.

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Three hours to turn their murder plan into evidence.

And somewhere on land, my uncle was racing toward my parents before the people assigned to protect them could finish betraying them.