Page 19 of The Captain
JACOB
The yacht’s deck thrummed under my feet as Marcus led me aboard, his grin wide enough to light up the harbor. The thing was a beast—billionaire huge, a sleek, black-hulled monster that looked like it could outrun a storm. At least a hundred feet stem to stern, it cut through the water with a quiet arrogance, all polished teak and chrome, windows tinted so dark they swallowed the morning sun.
The nameEclipsewas etched in silver along the hull, understated but sharp, like a blade that didn’t need to flash to cut. This wasn’t a boat; it was a statement, the kind of wealth that didn’t shout because it didn’t have to.
I clocked the details: a helipad on the aft deck, a tender garage half-hidden below, and a radar mast that looked like it could ping satellites in low orbit.
My hangover pulsed, but my training kept my eyes moving, mapping the layout—exits, blind spots, the way the crew moved with a precision that felt more military than yacht club.
Marcus bounded up the stairs to the main deck, his wetsuit still dripping from whatever dive he’d been on beforeI showed up. He didn’t carry himself like a billionaire playboy, all preening ego and polished loafers. No, he moved like an operator—loose but deliberate, aware of every inch of his surroundings, like a man who’d been handed a shiny new toy and knew exactly how to break it in.
“Welcome to theEclipse,” he said, spreading his arms like he was showing off a beat-up pickup instead of a floating fortress. “She’s a bit much, I know. I keep telling Ryker we should’ve gone for something smaller, but you try arguing with a guy who thinks ‘subtle’ is a four-letter word.”
I snorted, the sound escaping before I could stop it. His enthusiasm was infectious, a spark that cut through the fog in my head.
“This is subtle?” I asked, nodding at the leather-wrapped railing, the kind of detail that cost more than a Jeep.
Marcus laughed, a bright, self-deprecating sound. “Fair point. I’m just the idiot who gets to help drive it. When the skipper lets me. Come on, let me show you around before I embarrass myself further.”
He led me through the main salon, a sprawl of white leather sofas and a bar that gleamed with bottles I’d never afford. The air smelled of citrus polish and salt, the harbor glinting through floor-to-ceiling windows. A flatscreen the size of a small car hung on one wall, flanked by speakers that could probably wake the dead. Marcus waved a hand at it, grinning. “For watching surf comps or, you know, mission briefings. Same thing, right?” He winked, and I caught myself almost smiling.
Up top, the flybridge was open to the sky, a teak deck with a hot tub big enough for a squad and a dining table that could seat twelve. A crew member in a crisp white polo adjusted a canopy, his movements quick but silent, like he’d been trained to disappear.
Marcus leaned against the railing, pointing out a radar console tucked under a cover. “State-of-the-art,” he said. “Can track a seagull’s heartbeat from a mile out. Not that I’ve tried. Yet.” He shot me a look, like he was daring me to call him out.
“Sounds like you’re planning to,” I said, keeping my tone dry but not cold. My head still throbbed, but Marcus’s energy was pulling me in, loosening the guard I’d built.
He chuckled, running a hand through his damp blonde hair. “Guilty. I’m a kid with a new toy, what can I say? But don’t worry, I’m housebroken. Mostly.”
We moved belowdecks, through a corridor lined with walnut paneling and recessed lights that glowed like they were powered by money itself. Guest cabins branched off, each one bigger than my apartment back in Virginia, with king-sized beds and bathrooms that looked like they belonged in a spa.
Marcus poked his head into one, smirking. “This is where I’d hide if Atlas starts lecturing me about responsibility again. Don’t tell him, though. He’s got a sixth sense for bullshit.”
I nodded, cataloging the details: a fire extinguisher mounted discreetly by a stairwell, a camera lens glinting above a doorway, the faint hum of a generator somewhere deep in the hull. My training screamed to keep mapping, to stay sharp, but Marcus’s easy humor was wearing me down, making it harder to hold the stoic mask I’d walked in with.
By the time we hit open water, the Charleston skyline shrinking behind us, I felt comfortable enough to let my guard slip—just a fraction.
TheEclipsesliced through the waves, the engine’s low growl blending with the slap of water against the hull. Marcus leaned on the railing, the wind tugging at his wetsuit, and I found myself speaking before I could second-guess it.
“What’s all this for?” I asked, gesturing at the yacht, the harbor, the whole damn setup. “Why am I here?”
Marcus turned, his grin fading to something sharper, like he’d been waiting for the question. “What’d Ryker and Atlas tell you?”
I parroted their words, my memory razor-sharp despite the hangover. “Navy’s in hot water with the environmental folks. They’re supposed to appease Dr. Camille Allard. And I’m here for a delicate task because my reputation as a joint special forces leader precedes me.”
Marcus nodded, his eyes flicking to the horizon, not offering a damn thing. For a moment, we just stood there, the world sliding by—gulls wheeling overhead, the water a deep blue-green that reminded me of the deep I’d sunk into yesterday. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy, like he was weighing how much to give me.
Then he broke it, his voice light but probing. “Is it true you know six languages?”
I wasn’t as surprised this time. These guys seemed to know more about me than I did about myself.
“More like four,” I said, keeping it honest. “My Russian and Japanese are lousy. I can order a beer and maybe insult someone’s mother, but that’s about it.”
Marcus laughed, a bright, unguarded sound that echoed off the water. “Man, Spanish trips me up every time. I can charm my way through Portuguese, but Spanish? It’s like my brain forgets where the verbs go.”
I snorted, the coffee and his energy chipping away at the weight in my chest. “You don’t strike me as someone who forgets much.”
“Guilty again,” he said, winking. Then his face shifted, the grin softening, and he dropped the real bomb. “We met your brother Caleb, by the way. Great guy. Stand-up dude, even if he grew up in bumfuck Montana.”
