Chapter 2 - I Had Nine Hours to Stay AliveThe hardest thing I had ever done was lean against the railing beside my husband and pretend his touch did not make my skin crawl.
I had grown up around boats.
My father owned three.
I had crossed the Atlantic twice, sailed through storms off Greece, and once spent eight straight days aboard a research vessel without so much as losing my appetite.
Yet aboard the Solstice, the one-hundred-and-forty-foot yacht my father had chartered for my honeymoon, I could barely stand.
Every morning I woke with a pounding headache.
Every afternoon my hands shook.
And every night my new husband, Grant Holloway, brought me two white pills with sparkling water and kissed my forehead.
“Doctor’s orders,” he would say.
I trusted him.
That was my first mistake.
My second was returning to our cabin early that afternoon.
I had been lying beneath an umbrella on the upper deck when nausea hit me so hard I thought I would faint.
Grant had gone downstairs twenty minutes earlier, claiming he wanted to speak with Captain Reed about our route toward St. Lucia.
I decided to find the anti-nausea medication in our cabin.
Halfway down the polished mahogany staircase, I heard Grant laughing.
Not his public laugh.
Not the warm, charming sound he used around my father or investors.
This laugh was quieter.
Colder.
I stopped.
Grant was speaking to someone in the salon below.
“…before midnight.”
I leaned closer to the wall.
Captain Reed answered.
“You’re certain?”
Grant sighed.
“Cole, we’ve discussed this for months.”
My heartbeat changed.
Months?
I moved silently toward the half-open salon door.
Through the narrow gap, I saw Grant standing beside the champagne table in the burgundy suit he had worn to lunch.
Captain Cole Reed stood across from him.
A small black box rested between them.
Grant poured champagne.
“I’m not asking you to kill her,” he said casually. “I’m asking you to make sure no one interferes.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Cole’s face tightened.
“She’s your wife.”
“For seventy-two hours.”
My fingers went numb.
Grant lifted his champagne glass.
“Tonight she’ll be my tragic young widow story.”
Cole stared at him.
“And you really think throwing her overboard is going to look accidental?”
Grant smiled.
“Why wouldn’t it?”
My mouth opened, but no sound came.
He continued.
“She’s been sick all week. Weak. Dizzy. Everyone aboard has seen it.”
The pills.
My stomach turned.
Grant had been drugging me.
Cole lowered his voice.
“What about the cameras?”
“Disabled from eleven-forty until twelve-ten.”
“And the deck crew?”
“Paid.”
Grant picked up the small black box and pushed it toward Cole.
“Your half now. The rest when we get back to Miami.”
Cole didn’t touch it.
Then he asked the question that destroyed whatever remained of my marriage.
“What happens after she’s gone?”
Grant smiled.
“Her trust activates.”
Cole frowned.
“How much?”
Grant took a slow drink.
“Three hundred million.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
The inheritance.
My grandmother’s inheritance.
A fortune I had never wanted Grant to care about.
Before our wedding, he had insisted he didn’t.
He had even signed a prenuptial agreement.
Apparently, he had found another route.
Cole stared at him.
“You don’t inherit all of that automatically.”
“You’d be surprised what a grieving husband can accomplish with the right paperwork.”
Then Grant laughed.
“And once everything settles, Vanessa and I disappear for a while.”
Vanessa.
I knew only one Vanessa.
Vanessa Pike.
My college roommate.
My maid of honor.
The woman who had stood three feet behind me when I promised to love Grant until death.
A sharp sound escaped me.
Tiny.
Barely more than a breath.
But Grant stopped talking.
His eyes moved toward the doorway.
I froze.
Cole looked too.
For one terrifying second, nobody moved.
Then Grant said, “Did you hear that?”
I backed away.
Slowly.
One step.
Then another.
My heel brushed a brass umbrella stand.
It shifted.
I caught it before it fell.
Grant’s footsteps approached.
I ran.
Not toward our cabin.
That would have been obvious.
Instead I slipped into the narrow service corridor behind the pantry just as the salon door opened.
Grant stepped into the hallway.
“Claire?”
I pressed myself against the wall.
My heart slammed so violently I was certain he could hear it.
“Claire?”
His voice sounded sweet again.
My husband’s voice.
The voice that had said I love you less than an hour earlier.
I covered my mouth.
Grant waited.
Then his footsteps retreated.
I remained hidden until I heard the salon door close.
Only then did I look down.
The bottle of pills I had come downstairs to find was already in my hand.
I didn’t remember picking it up.
I stared at the white tablets inside.
For three days, my husband had been poisoning me slowly enough to make my murder believable.
And midnight was less than nine hours away.
I had no weapon.
No phone signal.
No idea which crew members had been paid.
And somewhere aboard the yacht was the man who had promised to spend the rest of his life protecting me.
Planning to end mine before sunrise.
I had exactly one advantage.
Grant still believed I knew nothing.
So when I walked back onto the upper deck twenty minutes later, I smiled.
Grant came toward me immediately.
“There you are.”
I forced myself not to flinch when he kissed my cheek.
“Feeling better?”
“Much.”
His eyes searched mine.
Behind him, endless blue ocean stretched to the horizon.
No land.
No witnesses.
No escape.
Grant slipped an arm around my waist.
“Good,” he said. “Because I planned something special for us tonight.”
I looked up at the man who intended to murder me.
May you like
Then I smiled.
“I can’t wait.”
