Page 3 of Until the Sea Runs Dry

If all went to plan, she wouldn’t be here all that long. Once she was back in the car, she’d be warm again.

She started towards his office, situated in the back of this particular dock. She forced herself not to flinch as she balanced on her heels, wanting to appear calm and serene, hoping that it would rub off onto Marko.

As she turned the sharp corner, her husband’s glass cubed office appeared. It was a modern design, sleek with minimalistic furniture, something which she had found at odds with the surroundings. She much preferred architecture that had identity behind it, and this glass modern cube seemed empty and soulless.

She could see straight inside and was surprised to find that his assistant was already gone for the day: her computer was switched off from its usual screensaver of her two children playing with their spaniel puppy. This was unusual, as he liked to keep her there to close the office.

She passed by her husband’s matching Jaguar (his was a blood red while hers, a metallic bronze) so she knew he was still here.

Moored beside the office was her husband’s pride and joy, the AMELIA, an eighty-foot luxury yacht with not one, but two, VIP staterooms and a master suite that could rival any found at the nearby Hilton. He loved to spend weekends sailing down the coast where they would meet up with other yachters.

Truthfully, she found it boring, and often wished she could be back on solid ground, but as it was the only thing that seemed to take his mind off the stress of his work, she kept her feelings to herself.

The boat could accommodate up to eight guests overnight in five spacious cabins. Still, it would never be used in this way. While her husband was considered the life and soul of any party, he preferred to keep his colleagues and those he called “friend” at bay, even the fellow boaters — who he never invited onboard — though they would frequently visit theirs.

He didn’t like anyone to get too close. He didn’t like what they could find out about him if they were to penetrate his carefully orchestrated world.

Continuing to the Amelia, she heard raised voices. Amplified by the water, though the heat level was clear, the actual words that were being said, wasn’t.

Standing on the deck of the boat, her husband argued with a shorter, squatter man in a suit, though it wasn’t bespoke or half as well made as the ones her husband wore. The pant legs were an inch too short, while the sleeves reached well below his wrists. His well-worn leather shoes were in dire need of a polish.

The man’s face was pale beneath several days of growth. His tie was askew, and he was explaining — no, pleading — with her husband about something, hands gesturing emphatically as Marko listened with an almost bored expression, those steely eyes of his fixed on his face.

She was still walking towards them when Marko reached inside his double-breasted jacket, took out a silenced gun and pointed it at the other man.

She froze, her heartbeat slammed through her chest.

“No! Don’t!”

This time, the man’s words were crystal clear, soaring above his own panic and fear. The world slowed to a crawl as she sucked in a breath. Before she could think what to do, her husband pulled the trigger.

There was the tiniest whoosh of sound as the bullet shot out of the gun. Blood spurted from the man’s back as the bullet tore through him. The man’s eyes flew open in shock before the pain even had a chance to register.

His hands reached up to cover his heart but met only warm, sticky blood. It took a split second for what had just happened to sink in.

By the time he started falling to the ground, he was already dead.

His body hit the floor with a thud and never moved again. Without any hesitation, her husband nudged his body with his gleaming Gucci shoes, rolling the man out of sight and into the yacht. He pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his fingerprints off the gun, and set it on top of the man’s body.

Her initial shock had now turned into a stark, white terror.

She had to get away before her husband looked over and saw her. Holding her breath, desperate not to make any sound, she spun but stumbled on those damn new high heels.

“Honey… What are you doing here?”

Her husband called out to her softly, yet loudly enough that she heard him. She turned back around, willing her feet to run, but they had turned to blocks of ice.

“I... I was coming to surprise you. I finished at the spa and I’m wearing your favorite dress,” she replied, unable to form a coherent sentence.

A million warnings screamed inside her mind, but she could only make sense of one of them. Even now, having witnessed Marko murder a man right in front of her, she heard her own voice berating her, telling her how stupid she was. How stupid she was for not running away.

She deserved everything that was going to happen to her.

“Come here,” he said deceptively gently.

Though she wanted anything but to go to him, it was as if her feet had a life of their own.

She walked toward him, trembling with every step until she made it to the boat. Scared out of her mind, she wasn’t able to stop the tears that started falling down her face.

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