Page 51 of The Captain
She slid into the driver’s seat, and I climbed in beside her, the blanket bunching around my hips. The engine purred to life, and as we pulled out of the lot, the facility lights fading behind us, I couldn’t help but think this was right. Right here, right now, with her.
The marsh shimmered in the distance, no longer a grave but a cradle, and I was ready to live in it.
22
CAMILLE
We didn’t speak for the first half mile. My knuckles were white on the wheel. The glow from the dash washed his throat in soft blue. Every time he shifted, the thermal blanket crackled and my body remembered the tent like it was five minutes ago.
“Folly first,” I said. “Your phone. Your bag. Your dignity.”
“My dignity’s shot,” he said, easy. “Phone would help.”
“Good. I’m not lending you pants. My jeans would be capris on you and I’d never forgive either of us.”
He huffed a laugh. His hand found my thigh like it belonged there. Heavy. Warm. My pulse did a small, foolish thing and then settled into his palm.
“ka-MEE,” he said, testing my mood, my name, the night.
“Hmm?”
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.
“I thought about heading back to Miami today,” I admitted. “I grew up in Charleston, but I’m only here on a limited-time contract.”
“Noted.” His thumb made a slow circle, a little higher than my nerves could ignore. “You okay?”
“No.” Honesty was easier with the road in front of me. “Lieutenant Leanne McGuire—Navy—was supposed to brief me today, but two strandings blew it up. I pushed her to tomorrow. She thinks the source isn’t theirs.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ll help you prove it. Or break whatever it is if we can’t.”
“You’re a brick through a window. You said so.”
“Or a rope. Use me.”
There was a moment where my throat tightened. The kind that could tip into crying or laughing or sex. I chose none and kept us between the lines.
The lot at Folly had gone soft with night. Wind moved the palmettos. The ocean breathed behind the dunes like a big animal finally deciding to lie down. His Jeep sat waiting, stubborn and patient.
We pulled up next to it. I killed the engine. Quiet rushed in.
“Stay,” he said gently, and jogged out into the dark in nothing but the blanket and swim jammers like a man who’d been born out of salt.
I watched him cross to the dune and vanish, then reappear, duffel on his shoulder, boots in one hand, phone held like treasure in the other. He moved fast, efficient, body rolling easy like water knew him and made room.
He climbed into my passenger seat and tossed the duffel at his feet. “Phone,” he said, victorious. “Shoes.”
“Pants?”
“In the bag.” He grinned. “Want me to put them on?”
I looked at his thighs and shook my head. “Absolutely not. Children could be present.”
He thumped the blanket back across his lap, still grinning. He smelled like ocean and rotor wash and the last inch of fearcooling off a man’s skin. It made something low in me tighten and open at the same time.
Back on the road, he tossed a t-shirt over his head. His hand went back to my thigh.
“What do you need from me tomorrow?” he asked. “Besides the obvious.”
