The missing medication.
My altered communications.
My in-laws refusing to leave.
Something bigger was happening.
I asked:
“What is our current route?”
“We’re scheduled for Greyhaven Cay.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Adrian told me we were heading to Evermere South Anchorage.”
“We changed destination yesterday.”
“Who ordered that?”
He looked at me.
“Thomas Cole.”
My pulse jumped.
“He has no authority on this vessel.”
“I told him that.”
“And?”
“He produced a signed operational directive.”
“Signed by whom?”
“You.”
I stared.
“I never signed anything.”
The captain opened another drawer.
Found a document.
My electronic signature appeared at the bottom.
The directive authorized Thomas Cole to act as temporary voyage liaison if I became medically incapacitated.
I laughed.
A single sharp sound.
“They planned this before we boarded.”
The captain said nothing.
I did.
“Greyhaven Cay.”
I knew the place.
Remote.
Privately leased docks.
Minimal customs presence.
A handful of luxury villas.
And one private airstrip.
Perfect if someone needed to move money.
Or a person.
I looked at the captain.
“What happens when we arrive?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we find out.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“You need to be removed from this vessel.”
“Can you contact my father?”
“I can try through the engineering emergency band.”
“Do that.”
“And Claire?”
“Yes?”
“Do not go back to your cabin.”
I almost laughed.
