Page 41 of Johnny

Not that she’s got anywhere to go. This yacht has a little tender. But the lifeboat is just a motorized

inflatable. And I’d bet a million dollars she wouldn’t even be able to find it, since it’s stored inside

the crew quarters and the hatch for that is hidden in the back of the transom. Besides, we’re nowhere

close to land, so she’s not going anywhere on that thing.

We’re outside Bahamian international waters just to make sure we don’t run into some overzealous

coastguard team. So there’s no need to guard her.

And I’m not. But for some reason I want to.

Weird.

Time for a new folder called Megan, I guess.

I wonder how thick this folder will get? Maybe I’ll just drop her off somewhere tomorrow and it’ll

get recycled into the trash?

Or maybe I’ll keep her forever and that folder will end up with dozens of subfolders?

Could go either way, I guess. Depends on how much useful information I can get out of her.

When I wake in the morning the sun is blaring through the port-side window, a blazing blob of

near-fluorescent orange. And the moment I realize I’m awake, I’m on my feet, crossing the room, and

pulling the door open.

I stare at her closed bedroom door. Wondering if I should go check to make sure she’s still there.

I don’t. Instead I jog up the stairs that lead to the galley, then cross the salon, open the patio doors,

and step outside. The air is cool and still filled with the leftover mist of a long night of rain.

I’m barefoot and the deck is cold. A breeze flits past my chest and makes me shiver. There’s a

freight ship off in the distance, slowly moving across the horizon on its way to Miami, or Nassau, or

maybe Havana.

I still need to find Charlotte.

Joey doesn’t know this, but I’ve known Charlotte a long time. Hell, we used to hang out in our

twenties. Early twenties. Before the business side of my life took over.

Back then we were sure this whole Way thing was just another weird part of growing up rich.

Convinced it was nothing more than some lesser-known version of the Freemasons, maybe? Slightly

more Skull and Bones than the Masons. Definitely no one was making documentaries on our family

secret society.

But it hadn’t touched us yet so we didn’t think about it too much.