Page 42 of Christmas Harbor Secrets
Rone froze. “He named me.”
She looked up at him, heart thundering. “He trusted you.”
He swallowed hard. “Or he damned me to finish whathe started.”
Her fingers trembled over the trackpad. “What does it mean—people?”
“Trafficking,” Rone said, his voice gone to gravel. “Not just drugs. Not weapons. People.”
The word landed like a stone in water, rippling through every breath that followed.
She sat back, arms wrapping around herself. “They found out about me, though.”
He nodded once. “And they killed him before he could save you. He must’ve worked to get all this, risked his life to keep you safe, but he didn’t manage to get it to someone that could help.”
The air in the cabin thinned. The fog outside pressed against the windows, thick as smoke.
Isobel rose and moved to the porthole, bracing a hand against the cool metal frame. The tide was turning again, the current dragging the water outward toward open sea.
“All this time,” she whispered, “I thought he abandoned us. But he was fighting for us.”
Rone came up behind her, not too close. His voice was low, rough. “Now it’s ours to finish.”
She turned, meeting his eyes. “Then we finish it.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just gave a single slow nod.
The laptop fan clicked louder, its blue light painting the table where her father’s final words still glowed. Outside, something creaked—the sound of the line to the anchor pulling tight. The tide was shifting again, pulling everything that wasn’t anchored closer to open water.
Rone reached for the laptop, shutting it softly. “We move at next tide.”
“Where?”
“To the mainland. Somewhere quiet. We need fuel and provisions and to send what we have to my contact. Somewhere they won’t expect.”
She hesitated, her gaze falling to the collar still on the table. “And Echo?”
His eyes darkened. “We give him a shot to run by getting this evidence to my contact at the FBI. Echo will find his way back to us. My contact will set up a meet.”
“You trust him after they failed my father? Why not just email the files and take a picture of the casing?” she snipped, tears threatening to spill again.
“Because we get deal in writing first and then they can have the drive. Now get some sleep.” He pointed to the master berth.
She shook her head. “I can’t sleep, I’m too wired.”
“Come on.” He took her by the hand and lead her to the room that housed the only bed she’d managed to clean off before the world had exploded around her.
She wanted to believe she could do this on her own, that she didn’t need anyone. But the truth pressed down like the dark around them—he was the only one left who could help her, and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to face all of this alone. “It’s not your duty to protect me. You don’t owe me that.”
His jaw flexed, his gaze lowering to the foot of the bed as if he couldn’t stand the weight of her words. “You don’t understand.”
“Then help me.”
He let out a long breath, the kind that sounded like it scraped his ribs on the way out. “I can’t stand to feel something for someone only to fail them again. I did that once—stood there while the world took someone I cared about—and I can’t…” He shook his head, voice breaking low. “I can’t do it again, Isobel. I tried not to notice you, but I did. I noticed your bravery and beauty.”
She dared to put a palm to his chest and look up at him. “I noticed your honesty and your honor. And you probably already know how handsome you are.”
A boyish grin tugged at his lips, making him even more endearing. Her heart twisted, the ache of it stealing her next breath. “You didn’t fail Torres.”
