Chapter 2 - The Man Behind the Door
I stared at the locked door.
For three seconds, neither of us moved.
Then Flynn knocked again.
Not hard.
That somehow made it worse.
“Claire.”
I slipped the emergency radio beneath the mattress.
My hands were shaking.
“How long were you standing there?”
I forced air into my lungs.
“What are you talking about?”
Silence.
Then the handle moved.
“Open the door.”
“I’m sick.”
“I know.”
Those two words landed differently now.
Of course he knew.
He had caused it.
I looked around the cabin.
The bathroom had no exit.
The balcony overlooked open water.
There was nowhere to run.
So I did the only thing I could do.
I became the woman Flynn believed he had married.
Trusting.
Confused.
Weak.
I opened the door.
Flynn stood there wearing navy trousers and a white linen shirt.
His wedding ring caught the light.
He smiled.
“Hey.”
I deliberately swayed.
His expression changed immediately.
Concern.
Perfectly performed.
He caught my elbow.
“Whoa. Easy.”
“Something’s wrong with me.”
“I told you. Seasickness.”
“I feel terrible.”
“I know, baby.”
He guided me toward the bed.
The tenderness almost made me sick.
“I thought I heard you talking downstairs,” I murmured.
His hand stopped.
Only for a fraction of a second.
Then he smiled.
“Dad and I were discussing investments.”
“Sounded serious.”
“Business usually does.”
I studied his face.
I had slept beside this man for months.
How had I never seen him?
He reached into his pocket.
Two white pills.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Take these.”
I stared at them.
“What are they?”
His eyes sharpened.
“You know what they are.”
“For nausea?”
“Yes.”
I took them.
Flynn handed me water.
I placed both pills on my tongue.
Drank.
Swallowed.
He smiled.
Then he kissed my forehead.
“I’ll check on you later.”
He walked toward the door.
I waited.
The moment it closed, I ran to the bathroom and spat the pills into my hand.
I hid them inside a cosmetic container.
Evidence.
For the first time since overhearing them, I felt something other than fear.
I felt focused.
Flynn believed I was still drugged.
That was my advantage.
And it might be my only one.
I retrieved the radio.
“Daniel?”
Static.
Then his voice.
“I’m here.”
“Why did you say you knew?”
“Because something has been wrong since we left port.”
He explained that Flynn had repeatedly entered restricted areas of the yacht, asked unusual questions about security cameras and navigation logs, and insisted on knowing when the storm would reach us.
Yesterday, Daniel had discovered someone had tampered with one of the aft-deck cameras.
“Can you contact authorities?”
“Not without the bridge.”
“Captain Hale?”
“I don’t know if we can trust him.”
My stomach tightened.
“How many people can we trust?”
“I trust myself.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I know.”
Not comforting.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“There may be another way. Your father installed an independent distress beacon years ago.”
“Where?”
“Engine compartment.”
“Can you activate it?”
“Not remotely.”
“Then do it.”
Silence.
“Ms. Whitmore, if I activate that beacon, everyone on the bridge will know.”
“Then we need proof first.”
I looked at the cosmetic container holding the pills.
“I have the drugs.”
“That helps.”
“I need their conversation.”
“You need a recording.”
“Yes.”
My phone could record without connecting to anything.
I checked the battery.
Seventy-three percent.
Daniel told me there was an old service corridor running behind the dining salon.
If Flynn and his parents met again, I could potentially record them without being seen.
It was dangerous.
But so was waiting for midnight.
“I’ll do it.”
“No.”
“Daniel—”
“You can barely stand.”
“I’m getting clearer.”
“You don’t know what they gave you.”
“I know what they plan to do to my parents.”
That ended the argument.
At seven that evening, I left the cabin.
The sky outside had darkened.
Clouds gathered on the horizon.
The storm was coming.
I moved carefully through the yacht.
When I reached the service corridor, voices drifted through the wall.
Flynn.
Fiona.
Aidan.
I activated my phone recorder.
Then I heard my name.
“She knows something,” Flynn said.
Fiona answered, “Then move the timetable.”
“We need the storm.”
“No. We need her dead.”
I held the phone closer.
Aidan said, “What about the engineer?”
My heart stopped.
“Reyes?” Flynn asked.
“He’s been watching us.”
“Then deal with him too.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
Daniel was in danger.
I backed away.
The floor creaked.
Silence fell beyond the wall.
I froze.
A door opened.
Footsteps entered the corridor.
I ran.
Not fast.
I couldn't.
But adrenaline carried me farther than the drugs should have allowed.
Behind me—
“Claire!”
Flynn.
I reached the stairwell.
A hand grabbed my wrist.
I almost screamed.
Daniel.
“This way.”
He pulled me through a maintenance hatch.
We crouched in darkness while Flynn passed outside.
“Claire!”
Daniel waited.
Then whispered, “Did you get it?”
I showed him the phone.
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“Then we stop hiding.”
“How?”
“We activate the beacon.”
We descended toward the engine room.
Halfway there, the yacht suddenly tilted.
Thunder rolled outside.
The storm had arrived early.
Daniel opened the engine-room door.
Then stopped.
A man was lying on the floor.
Captain Hale.
Blood ran from a wound above his temple.
I rushed toward him.
He was breathing.
Barely.
Daniel looked toward the emergency beacon cabinet.
The door hung open.
Empty.
Someone had removed it.
Behind us, the engine-room door slammed shut.
A lock turned.
Then Flynn's voice came through the intercom.
“Claire, sweetheart.”
I looked upward.
His voice filled the compartment.
May you like
“You should have taken your medicine.”
And for the first time, I understood Flynn's plan had changed. He was no longer waiting for midnight.
