Page 140 of Blind Prophet

Geoffrey?

My father?

It wouldn’t be my father.

It couldn’t be.

But as I study her eyes, the horrifying truth begins to dawn. She’s not looking at her captor with fear.

She’s looking with recognition.

CHAPTER35

CAROLINE

The yacht pitches beneath my feet as I face my captor, squinting into the sun.

“Why are you doing this? Who’s paying you?”

Luke stares back through mirrored sunglasses, unmoved. The same silence he’s maintained since forcing me onto the helicopter at gunpoint.

He’s assumed the role of mercenary. How did he fool Arrow into hiring him?

Hours ago, I was at Arrow Tactical. Now, I’m in the middle of the ocean with a colleague I trusted, who turns out to be a mercenary. I check the bruises on my wrists where he bound me for the helicopter ride—evidence this isn’t some elaborate misunderstanding.

I feel sick thinking about our coffee dates, our conversations at Arrow. Every interaction now reframes as calculation—him studying me, gathering intelligence, seeking opportunities. And everyone at Arrow encouraged it, thinking he was good for me. My instincts were right, but for all the wrong reasons.

“Whose yacht is this?”

After a heavy object came down hard on my head, I came to, strapped into a helicopter seat.

If I put up a fight, he’ll likely knock me out again.

But what the hell am I supposed to do? Sit here and wait?

Salt spray occasionally mists over the railing as we cut through deep blue water. No land in sight—just endless horizon in every direction.

Jumping into the ocean is not a viable option. We’re not alone on this yacht, though. A ship this size has a crew somewhere. Are they all mercenaries?

“Who else is on the boat?” I ask, fully aware that chances are great Luke will remain silent or tell me to be quiet.

Can I win him over? Create a sense of regret for agreeing to be a part of this plan? I doubt it. He’s cold. Determined. Self-righteous. His orders are likely to remain silent, but also to keep an eye on me.

A door slides open, and the silhouette of a man appears against the glare. As he steps forward, my stomach drops.

“Ms. Moore, thank you for joining me.” Geoffrey Cromwell exits into the sun. It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice. The accent is American but void of any regional notations.

“You’re behind this?” My voice rises despite my determination to stay calm.

He adjusts his cufflinks, unperturbed. “Forgive me, but you’ll need to be more specific.”

“Abduction. How’s that for specificity?”

“That’s an ugly word, Caroline. I preferstrongly encouraged you to attend a meeting.”

“A meeting?”

“Yes, right this way.”

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