I couldn’t face Flynn.
Not like that.
He had a weakened body, was in the middle of the ocean and had just discovered that three people expected it to disappear before dawn.
So I did the only thing they didn’t expect.
I kept pretending to be high.
I went back to the suite by grabbing the walls. In the bathroom I closed the door, opened the tap and forced myself to think.
My father had taught me something since I was little:
When someone thinks they’ve already won, they stop protecting their secrets.
I took out the secondary phone I used for business. Flynn didn’t know he was wearing it.
It had no conventional signal, but the yacht had satellite connection.
I wrote a short message to my father’s head of security, Marcus Reed:
“They’ll try to make me disappear tonight. Flynn, Aidan and Fiona. Protect my parents. Contact the maritime authorities. Don’t call. Track the yacht.”
I attached a partial recording that I had managed to activate while staying by the stairs.
Then I sent another message.
“Wait my signal.”
I deleted the notifications and went back to bed.
Twenty minutes later, Flynn came in.
“Honey.
She stroked my cheek.
I had to control each muscle so I wouldn’t move away.
