Page 26 of Ship Happens
“Not to worry, son. I’m sure she can hold her own, hmm?” His head tips slightly to the left as he appraises me, waiting for a response.
If I go along with Jim, I can potentially touch base with another agent and feel a little safer, sure, but that will also piss off Maverick. He’s practically daring me to defy him as he and Jim stare me down.
But I’m not here to make friends.
“Well, if you insist,” I say, aiming my smile at Maverick. “You’re welcome to join me if you’re worried. I’m a very capable woman, but I wouldn’t mind the companionship.”
“Sure, I’ll tag along,” he says with a smirk, and my heart sinks into my ass. I didn’t expect him to accept.
Jim claps his hands and smiles at me. “Then it’s settled. The two of you can have a nice stroll through the ship, and then you can enjoy the festivities at the cooking class. Make sure you aren’t late. You know how Chef is about timing.”
We say our goodbyes and head toward the elevator. Despite offering to accompany me as I explore the ship, I have a feeling Maverick has no such intentions. For either of us. My suspicions are confirmed when he presses the button to take us back to the Sinner cabins.
I want to tell him to cut the crap, but again, not wise. Not until I have my gun in my hand, which will be possible in only a few minutes.
Arriving at the cabin door, he swipes his wrist over the panel and steps inside. I follow him through a haze as I recall how he looked in that towel. I’d much rather fuck him than kill him, but if he pushes the issue, I’ll do what I have to do.
Either way.
Rain and wind batter the door leading onto our balcony. It feels like each droplet is a thought thrust against my brain. I flop onto the side of the bed and try to remember what my mother warned me about.
He’s handsome, yes, but he’s dangerous.
The man lives by a different set of rules.
The man lives by no rules at all.
And I like rules.
Granted, the rules state that I shouldn’t murder someone without good reason, and I’m planning to do just that as I bend and grab my bag from the floor. Maverick is at the sink just off the bathroom. He won’t even know what hit him.
I pull the gun from the bag and clutch it to my chest. In equal measure, the cold steel comforts me and makes me feel like I’m heading toward a cliff’s edge. Just like a base jumper, I’m about to take a leap of faith. My parachute will open. Or it won’t.
With a steeling breath, I stand and step toward Maverick. He leans over the sink, repeatedly splashing cold water against his face. His eyes are closed.
And he looks so tired for such a young man.
I’m busy second-guessing my plans when his eyes pop open and he sees the gun in my hand. Instead of wheeling around with a look of panic, he sighs and shakes his head.
“We don’t have to do it this way,” he says. “We could use words instead of weapons, Frankie.”
“If that’s my real name.”
“Oh, it is.”
“How would you know?”
He smirks. “What you do for a living and what I do for a living aren’t so different. We profile people. I’m just better at it than most, and I know when you’re lying. You have a tell.”
“The fidgeting?”
He shakes his head and reaches for the hand towel by the sink as if my finger isn’t beside the trigger guard. Doesn’t he know that I’m about to end him?
“Go to the bed,” I command with a flick of the pistol’s barrel.
Instead of obeying me like a good boy, he turns and sits against the sink. “Frankie, sweetheart. I told you. It doesn’t have to be this way. You don’t have to shoot me.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart,” I say, though I don’t add that it bothers me because gentle words are more dangerous than the gun I now aim at his skull. “If you want a chance to talk, fine. I’ll give you ten minutes. But you’ll do the talking while cuffed to the fucking bed. Now move.”
