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point to a Smith & Wesson M&P 9mm that’s lying on top of a thigh holster.

“That one, huh?” He grins. It’s the first smile I’ve seen on him since before the drone came and

ruined our lives last night. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” I say.

“OK,” he says. Then he straps the holster onto my thigh and slips the gun in. “But only for a ‘just in

case’ moment, you hear me? I don’t want you in the middle of shit.”

“Johnny, I’m already in the middle of shit.”

He nods and exhales. “I know. But just… let me handle it, OK? That’s why I’m here.”

“OK,” I whisper. Because I want to believe that even more than he does.

“So,” Logan says, walking over to us. “What do you want to do with the girl?”

Johnny says, “Put her in a life raft with a satellite phone and leave her here.”

“What?” I say. “You can’t leave her in the middle of the ocean. She’ll die.”

“Trust me.” Johnny sighs. “She will be fine.” I furrow my brows at him but he puts up a hand. “I

swear to God, she will be fine. Her team is going to come pick her up. And if I could make one

suggestion,” he says, raising his voice and directing it at the men in the room with us, “every single

one of you should forget you ever saw her.”

“Oh,” I say. Because he left that part out last night. I wonder what else he left out?

Johnny nods. “Yeah. Oh.”

And then it’s time to leave. Johnny and I take the tender boat back over to his yacht. And for some

reason I fixate on the name painted on the side as we approach. Because I hadn’t noticed or thought

about her name until now.

She’s called the High Hopes.

And then I look back at Logan’s yacht and read her name too. Dead Ends.

And then I wish I hadn’t seen either one. Because when you put them together it’s a bad omen.

High hopes and dead ends.

It feels like the alpha and the omega.

The beginning of the end.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - JOHNNY

I want to protect her. That’s all I want out of this exchange.

“Listen to me,” I say, turning towards Megan. I’m at the helm and she’s sitting on the bench seat