Page 68 of The Final Storm
Sam kisses my lips, running his hand behind my back and pulling me from the wall. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him too tightly, making my arms ache.
We’re still in this together.
“Let’s go,” he whispers into my skin, and as we walk down the hall, I decide to let her go. She’s nothing to us anymore.
***
The captain’s office looks eerily familiar. Same leather chair and floor-to-ceiling windows. The view of the horizon that stretches out into nothing on one side, but this view has the crest of the islands in the corner.
“Rivera, I’d like to say it’s good to see you again, but last time wasn’t pleasant,” the Captain mutters. He tosses a tablet down on his desk and leans back.
I give Sam a sideways glance in question, but he doesn’t look in my direction. Lori and Luke took the baby to have lunch with the boys and wait for our direction. Without her to hold, I fidget my hands, uncomfortable in this space.
“This time might not be either,” Sam admits.
The captain runs one hand down his face and slaps it on his thigh. He’s softer than Matthews, in his mannerisms, and around the middle. I don’t get the sense of dread I had with the captain of the Thalassa, but my nerves make my hands shake. I run them down my pants, wiping the dampness away while I look from him to Sam.
I try to remember his name, but nothing comes to mind. I can see the future and the past, but I can’t remember the name of the man I met five minutes ago.
Strathmoore… Hadmoore… Something… moore?
“Your wife had to be sedated after our last meeting,” he complains. “Am I going to have a problem with this one?” He looks at me. “No offense, but we do have a storm coming this way. One so large I can’t even put a category on the damn thing.”
“We understand there are bigger problems. We’d like to get off this vessel and take one off your hands.”
The captain sits forward and juts his chin up.
Padmoore! That’s his damn name.
“Where you gonna go, son? I already let you stay on the Thalassa, and that didn’t work out. You’re in my charge. The answer is no.”
Sam crosses his arms. “I haven’t asked the question, sir.”
“Request denied,” the captain says, leaning back. “Now get out.”
Sam reaches into his pocket and pulls out the transmitter still in its plastic bag. He throws it on the desk and crosses his arms again. “Did you know that was on me?”
Padmoore sucks in a long breath and reaches for the bag spotted with blood. “We did,” he admits and sets the bag down. “Before all this went to shit-” The captain flicks his wrist at the water, “-we hacked into their servers and could track some of our inside men. Did you cut it out?”
“Who’s we?” Sam asks.
“Clearance well above your head. I barely have it. No one’s tracking you, son. We have bigger issues.”
Sam grabs the bag back and slides it into his pocket. “Matthews. Did he have clearance?”
“He does,” Padmoore says. “But no one-”
“Did,” I interrupt. “He did. Past tense.”
Both men turn their gaze to me. Sam doesn’t look angry at my choice of timing, but the captain tilts his head in confusion. “It still works outside the body. Did you deactivate the tracker?”
I shake my head. “No, we just found out about it today. But Matthews is dead.”
Padmoore stiffens and continues to stare at me, not speaking, waiting for me to tell him more. I’ve played this game before, and I’m not saying another word until he does. I’ve probably disclosed too much, but his dismissal of me earlier lets me enjoy this moment. There’s a strong chance I know something he doesn’t, and I just caught the man off guard.
He moves his head to Sam after endless seconds of silence. “You sure?”
Sam nods. “Who’s tracking these?”
