I Pretended to Swallow His Two White Pills While He Waited to Push Me at Two

The rail was cold against the backs of my thighs. Adrian's hands rested light on my shoulders, not holding, just placing. The way you would steady something before you moved it. Below us the sea was black glass, cut by the yacht's running lights. I could hear the water sluicing against the hull and the low thrum of the engine holding position.

He'd said I needed air. He'd walked me up the three steps from the cabin in my bathrobe, his palm at my elbow like he was helping. The deck was empty except for the crewman near the bow, turned away, smoking. Or pretending to. I didn't know his name. I knew the other one was behind the wheelhouse, because I'd heard his shoes scrape when Adrian nodded.

It was 1:58. I knew because the clock over the galley door glowed green when we passed it. Two minutes to two.

My robe had a hem that I'd picked open with my thumbnail in the cabin while Adrian stepped out to take a call. Inside the little fold I'd tucked the small waterproof pouch I'd found in the suitcase's hidden compartment, the one meant for a passport. The two tablets were in it now, pressed flat. I had slipped them there on the stairs, fingers shaking so hard I thought I'd drop them onto the teak and lose them. One tablet would have dissolved in seawater. Two would have vanished. Without them I had nothing but my word against his money.

I felt the pouch bump against my ankle when I shifted my weight.

"Lean forward a little," Adrian said quietly behind me. His breath was warm on the back of my neck. "Deep breaths, Mahal. You look pale."

I didn't lean.

The glass he'd brought up for me was still in my hand. Water he said would help. It was half full, condensation cold on my palm. My hand was sweating despite the cold. I held it over the rail, not drinking.

At 1:59, I let it fall.

It didn't just drop. I opened my fingers and tipped it so it hit the metal cleat on the way down. The glass cracked loud against the steel and then shattered on the deck below. The sound rang out across the water, sharp and wrong. The crewman at the bow flinched and turned. The engine seemed louder in the second after.

Adrian's hands tightened instantly, fingers digging into my shoulders. Then he caught himself. He loosened his grip and recalibrated, sliding his hands down to my upper arms, trying to make it look like he was steadying me after a startle.

"Careful," he said, his voice still soft, but I felt the tremor in it. Annoyance. Calculation.

From the wheelhouse, the accomplice made a small sound and held up his hand. Palm out. Wait. I saw it from the corner of my eye. He pointed at his wrist, at nothing, mouthing something. Off by seconds. Not now.

They wanted 2:00. Exactly. For the logbook, maybe. For the story he'd tell later. A precise time looks like an accident.

I used the extra seconds to breathe and to speak. I made my voice thin and small, the way someone who is seasick and dizzy would sound. I didn't look at Adrian. I looked at the crewman who was now watching.

"Please," I whispered. "I need air. Stay. Don't— don't let go."

It was a plea, but it was also an instruction. Look at me. Stay here. The crewman took a step closer, uncertain. He didn't know what he was watching. He only knew a woman in a white bathrobe on the edge of a rail at night was asking him not to leave.

Adrian heard it. I felt him hesitate. His plan needed no witnesses close enough to see hands on my back. He needed the crewman at the bow. He needed me leaning.

He shifted behind me, trying to find his grip again. His left hand moved to the small of my back, right hand staying on my arm. He was deciding whether to pull me back from the rail to reset, or to push while the witness was distracted by the broken glass.

The pouch was secure. The tablets were pressed against my skin, sealed. Even if the worst happened, even if his hands did what they'd planned, the pouch would stay in the hem. It wouldn't wash away. It would be found.

The clock inside ticked to 2:01. We were past it. The exact minute was gone. A small error he'd have to explain.

The water kept moving under us, black and endless.