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I finish making my flat white, creating three hearts in the foam before I clean off the machine, wiping down the milk wand and rinsing the espresso from the group heads. Satisfied the machine is as good as I found her, I lean back against the counter and take a sip, my eyes closing at the rich, creamy taste.
This is how all mornings should be.
My eyes fly open at the thought. Only to see Ben, with a small smirk on his face, staring right at my lips.
Nope—this is NOT how all mornings should be. Not on a boat. Not with Ben looking like he wants to devour me. Not even with this quality espresso.
Okay, maybe the espresso is the only part that can stay.
“Where might I find German?” I ask, and Ben hops to his feet.
“Let’s go find him.”
The ship is moving as we wander the decks, faster than it has been, which makes me both nervous and hopeful. If we’re going somewhere with purpose instead of idling out at sea, could it mean we’re going home?
Maybe all the big baddies have been rounded up and I can return to my regularly scheduled programming. Which would be amazing.Of course,it would be amazing. But there’s a teeny tiny part of me that feels disappointed at the thought.
Because of the espresso machine, I tell myself, full-well knowing that’s a lie.
After ten minutes of searching, we find German in the wheelhouse with Art.
“Morning,” Ben calls out as we enter.
Art barely acknowledged the greeting, giving a curt nod before returning his attention to the controls. I’m not sure what I imagined a boat captain to look like, but Art is probably in his mid-fifties, with close-cropped dark hair and tattoos creeping up his neck from out of his crisp, white collared shirt. The beard combined with his strong expression gives me strong Captain Ahab vibes, and I can see why Danny would warn that he has no sense of humor, and I shouldn’t call himskipper.
I, of course, am immediately tempted to do just that.
German turns, awarding us his full attention. “Feeling better?” He gives me a clinical once-over, his expression pinched.
“Yep.”
This is only the second time I’ve been face to face with my government contact, and now that I’m functioning at full capacity, I want to laugh at myself foreverimagining there might be something between us. A Hemsworth he is not. Don’t get me wrong—the man is big and muscular (other than his strangely scrawny neck), but there’s just something about the way he carries himself and the flat expression in his eyes that makes him an immediate hard pass.
Not to mention the whole destroying-my-phone thing.
“Is it true you threw my phone into the ocean?”
“I did,” he says with zero apology in his voice. “I’ll return your SIM card when this is all over.”
“And replace my phone?”
He only grunts at this. “We’ll have to fill out paperwork, but I’m sure that can be arranged.”
I can only imagine the red tape that will be involved. This is the government, after all. Nothing is ever fast.
“You had no right,” I seethe.
“Just doing my job. Which is to keep you alive.”
Beside me, Ben stiffens, and I even notice the way Art shoots a look back our way.
“That’s a little dramatic,” I say, hoping I’m right. But German doesn’t respond.
My skin prickles with unease, goose bumps appearing on my arms. Ben shifts slightly closer to me, and I appreciate the warmth of his body right now.
“Isn’t it?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound as desperate as I feel. “A little dramatic?”
German runs a hand across his face. “We’re monitoring the situation,” he replies simply.
