Page 16 of Austen

Today they would come ashore, and as soon as she got off this boat, she’d vanish into the crowds of America, deliver Declan’s precious Axiom hard drive, which she’d liberated from his safe before the terrible landslide, then pop up to see her sister Nimue in Melbourne Beach.

Catch her breath.Because she’d been chasing Declan and his evil plans for the better part of six months, and frankly, she needed to shake off the residue of this op.

No, shake off the residue of Steinbeck Kingston, and the fact that he still haunted her dreams.

She’d left him to die, again.He would probably murder her...if he’d lived.

Please, let him have lived.She probably shouldn’t care so much, except...

Well, except he had long ago gotten under her skin and maybe a little into her heart, and she lost her brains a little around him, total kryptonite for a Black Swan like herself.The way he made her feel when he looked at her with those blue eyes just...

Healed her, perhaps.Made her see a different life.A different future.

Naw.He was pure temptation, chocolate on the top shelf that she could never, never have.

“Here’s the last pan,” Camille said, and set a baking tray on the counter.“Then wash up and take a break.Declan is due back in a few hours with his guests.”

And...she’d be long gone by then.

She dumped the tray into the sink, scrubbed at the residue, once in a while looking out the window to the port where they’d docked.The sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sailboats a deep amber.Camille had cracked the window, releasing the humidity from the kitchen, and now the salty air swept in, beckoned.

Someday Emberly would retire, find a beach, live in safety.Anonymity.

With Nimue, of course.Because she’d made promises to her sister—to herself—that she couldn’t break.

She finished the pan, then dried it and slid it into the cabinet, cleaned the granite countertops and sink.Camille had hung up her jacket and hat, clearly taking her own advice, and now Emberly untied her apron.

Stepping into the cool of the hallway, she saw that Camille’s door was shut, as was the captain’s.Teresa was on the bridge for sure.

They wouldn’t even miss her until they’d left port.

She opened up her bunk and grabbed her folded clothing.She didn’t have any personal belongings, really, just her uniform along with the clothes she’d arrived with.

She changed clothes in the bathroom, folded her uniform, put it on her bunk, then donned her cap, tucking her hair up under it.She’d need to score a phone, but she’d worry about that once her feet hit land.

The gangway was out, but as she came along the edge, she spotted Declan heading back to the boat.Behind him followed a couple, well dressed, toting suitcases.Jermaine carried a couple bags as well.

Declan’s guests.

Two hours early.

“Where are you going, Belle?”

The name Jermaine used—her alias—didn’t register, not right away, because...well, because even as Declan marched down the dock to where his yacht moored at the end, she spotted a man standing on shore across the small harbor.He wore a black T-shirt, sunglasses, shorts, and was helping load water and gear into a forty-foot dive boat.

His gait, the sun-kissed hair, the way he moved, his body lean and strong...And then he stood up.

And as if he possessed a radar, looked at Declan’s boat.

Ather.

No, no, not at her.Her heart slammed into her ribs, lodged there, and she stepped back, turned away, even as Declan and his entourage walked up the gangway.

“Get us moving as fast as you can, Ivek.”

Of course, Declan didn’t even look at her as he headed up the stairs to the bridge.Because she was a no one.A staff person.

Not Ashley, who’d nearly run him over in Barcelona.And certainly not one of the catering crew that had attended the Kingston family wedding.

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