Page 52 of Christmas Harbor Secrets
She grabbed the USB drive and tucked it into the inner pocket of her shorts, made for a key, when she ran. “Rone…” she whispered.
“Downstairs. Now.” His voice went razor sharp.
He nudged her down the stairs and left to the master cabin, where he tucked her on the floor next to the berth.
The deck creaked above them. Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Each one closer than the last.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She clutched the edge of the bed, trying to quiet the tremor in her hands.
Rone looked at her across the dim cabin, his silhouette tense, coiled like a spring. Their eyes met for a heartbeat—communication without words. Stay quiet. Stay ready.
Another step above them. Then another.
The door hinges groaned.
Rone swung out, arms forward, flare gun ready.
And then… nothing.
“Hey, brother.”
“Blake,” Rone said icily.
The deck above her groaned again—heavier this time. More than one set of boots.
Isobel’s pulse thrummed in her throat. She stayed crouched low, breath caught halfway between a prayer and a scream. Rone’s silhouette shifted near the door, his stance a perfect mix of readiness and restraint. She could tell by the set of his shoulders, he knew exactly what kind of danger was about to walk through that door.
“Come on out,” Blake ordered.
Rone nodded and set the flare down. Isobel uncoiled and joined them, walking down the hall to the salon.
Behind Blake came two more men, both armed—semi-automatic weapons slung low but ready, side arms, and vests. They looked prepared for war. The faint smell of gun oil and seawater filled the narrow space, clinging to the air like smoke.
Rone’s body went rigid, blocking her, one arm angled behind him as if to shield her.
“Blake,” he said, his voice flat. No relief. No warmth. Just steel.
Blake’s gaze swept the cabin, landing on Isobel. His eyes narrowed, not cruelly—but clinically. Assessing. “You’ve been busy.”
A flicker of something passed across Blake’s expression—amusement, maybe. “Why you hanging out here with your lights out?” The words slithered through the cabin like a venomous snake.
Isobel’s stomach knotted. She’d known they were connected, but hearing it—hearingthattone—made the air feel thinner.
The two men behind Blake fanned out, clearing corners, movements sharp and efficient.
Rone lifted his hands slowly, not surrendering—containing. “You want to tell me why you came aboard armed?”
Blake’s mouth tipped in a humorless smile. “Because you threw your cell into the mangroves like you thought I couldn’t find you. And because the kind of people chasing that girl—” his gaze flicked to Isobel “—don’t just stop because you went for a joyride in the gulf.”
Isobel’s chest tightened. She didn’t know if it was how Rone reacted, or the way this Blake spoke, or the fact FBI made her cringe, but she didn’t trust him or the situation. “Then why sneak up on us?” she asked, her voice coming outlower than she meant, tight with adrenaline. “Why not call out?”
Blake’s head tilted. “Because, Miss Lane, chatter gets people killed. The fewer transmissions, the less chance they could triangulate. We had to stay dark. Only these two came with me.” He motioned to the men behind him. “They’re the only ones I trust to get you both out alive.”
For a moment, the words sounded reasonable. Almost.
But the edge in his tone… the measured calm… it wasn’t reassurance. It was something else. Something rehearsed.
Rone didn’t relax. If anything, the tension in his body doubled. “And what’s the extraction plan?” he asked, voice like gravel.
