If there is a heaven, I hope it’s exactly like this.
Aidan helps me onto the stern of the boat, then hands me the picnic basket. He hops over the edge of the hull and unties the ropes from the cleats on the side while I climb the narrow stairs up to the bridge. Elevated above the main and lower decks, it offers an unrestricted view of the water.
Moonlight shines off the dark, undulating waves. The Sound is calm tonight and the skies are clear, which will make for spectacular fireworks viewing.
I run the blower for a minute to clear fumes from the engine compartment, then turn the batteries on and fire up the engines. After checking the gauges to make sure we’re good to go, I call down to Aidan, “You ready?”
He doesn’t answer.
Walking over to the stairs, I call more loudly, “Aidan?”
Still no response. He must not be able to hear me over the engines.
Because the stairs are so steep, going down the steps is slightly more awkward than going up. I have to climb down carefully, facing inward and grasping the metal railings on either side. When my feet finally touch the deck, I turn around, expecting to see Aidan in the seating area on the stern.
He’s not there. The picnic basket sits alone on the table.
Frowning, I glance inside the main cabin…and freeze in horror.
Aidan stands stiffly on one side of the cabin, staring at the man standing across from him, about six feet away.
It’s Michael.
Wearing the same gray trench coat and hat I’ve seen him in several times over the past few months when I’ve caught glimpses of him following me, he’s thin and unkempt, with hollowed cheeks and dark shadows under his wild eyes.
His arms hang by his sides.
In one trembling hand, he grips a silver pistol.
I suck in a breath. My heartbeat slams into overdrive. A cold tremor runs through me, chilling me all the way down to my bones.
My voice high with stress, I say, “Michael, what are you doing?”
Eyes rolling, he replies in a hushed whisper, “He’s with the government, Kayla. He’s with the CIA. He wants information from me. He wants my equations.”
Terrified, I swallow and look at Aidan. He stands perfectly still, every muscle in his body tensed.
My mind is a rabid animal, scratching sharp claws at the inside of my skull.
Where did he get a gun? Does he know how to shoot it? Is it even loaded? He looks homeless—where has he been living? Oh, God, has he been sleeping on the boat?
Though I’m panicked and desperate, I try to keep my voice as calm and soothing as I can. “No, Michael. He’s not with the CIA.”
Spittle flies from his lips when he screams, “He’s with the CIA! He’s trying to steal my equations!”
He jerks his arm up and points the gun at Aidan’s chest.
I’m so frightened, I think I might faint.
Aidan remains perfectly still, his face impassive and his breathing shallow. I see wheels turning behind his eyes and am terrified of what might happen next.
Swallowing a sob, I lift my hands and start pleading. “No, please, listen to me. He’s not with the government. I promise you, he’s not. He’s in construction, okay? He’s my friend.”
Michael licks his cracked lips. He shifts his weight restlessly from foot to foot. That hand holding the pistol is now shaking hard.
Then he slices his wild gaze in my direction.
“He’s…he’s your friend?”
I grasp my mistake when Michael turns the gun toward me. I jerk back a step, a scream caught in my throat.
Aidan says firmly, “No. We’re not friends.”
“She just said you were!”
“I’ve been lying to her.”
Michael looks back and forth between us, then jerks the gun back in Aidan’s direction.
“Lying?”
“So I could get close to her. So I could get your equations.”
Aidan looks at me. What I see in his eyes makes me want to scream, it’s so stupid. So stupid and reckless and so fucking like him, the self-sacrificing fool.
No, God, no, this isn’t happening, this can’t be happening.
He looks back at Michael and says calmly, “Let her go. You and I can talk better if she’s not here.”
“No, Aidan, I won’t—”
“Be quiet, Kayla.”
“I’m not getting off this boat!”
“You are. Right now. Do it.”
Michael’s wild gaze darts back and forth between us. In his eyes, I see nothing of the man I was married to. The psychosis has swallowed him whole.
My pulse is a roar of thunder in my ears.