Chapter 7: The Fire at Home
The dead hiss went on until Reyes reached over and lowered the satellite handset from my ear.
“Try him again,” I said.
“I will.” She was already working the console. “But not through the internal line.”
“Then use the bridge line.”
Her eyes flicked to mine. “Claire, the bridge line is what he took down.”
I gripped the edge of the chart table. “Find another way.”
Across the bridge, Flynn stood beneath the white overhead lights, pale and composed. His gaze rested on me—not angry, not worried. Patient, as if he knew the storm would finish what he had started.
“You heard the announcement,” he said. “My father is down. You’re wasting time.”
“You don’t know that,” Reyes replied.
“I know he was in the aft passage.”
“You know what the intercom said.” She moved between Flynn and the console. “Stay where you are.”
A sharp chime sounded. The intercom crackled overhead.
“Medical team to the aft passage. Repeat, medical team to the aft passage.”
Reyes snatched up the radio. “Bridge to medical. Confirm the location and condition of the patient.”
Static answered.
Flynn’s expression barely changed, but his eyes moved toward the bridge-wing door.
“Someone’s calling for help,” he said.
“Someone is issuing an unverified order,” Reyes replied. “That is not the same thing.”
A crew member hurried in from the passageway, rain shining on his shoulders. “Captain, the response team’s been sent aft. They’re asking for a route.”
“Who sent them?”
He hesitated. “The alert came through as a medical priority.”
Reyes studied the console. “It did not originate from this bridge.”
Flynn spread his hands. “So now you think I’m controlling the ship?”
“I think you’re standing beside a panel you touched, after the internal line went down.”
His practiced calm slipped for half a second. “You can’t hold me here while my father might be dying.”
“I can keep you from interfering with my crew.”
The crew member’s radio chirped. He listened, frowned, and raised it again. “They’re getting sent in circles. The aft passage is marked clear on one screen and blocked on another.”
The ship gave a deep, uneasy groan as the swell struck its side. I pictured my father in the dark at home, calling for my mother. The thought made every second on that bridge feel stolen.
“Get me the shore connection,” I said. “Now.”
The crew member hurried back to the console. Reyes followed him, tapping through a sequence of menus. Flynn stayed behind her, but I saw his hand drift toward the bridge-wing door.
“Don’t,” Reyes said without turning.
He withdrew it.
On the console, a line of text flashed and vanished. Reyes tapped the screen again. “What was that?”
The crew member leaned in. “A stored message. It came through the crew network before the line dropped.”
“Bring it up.”
Flynn’s face hardened. “That system is restricted.”
“So is the bridge,” Reyes said.
The message appeared in a small window. Its sender was listed as Graham Shaw. The recipient: Ellis Rusk.
The first sentence blurred before my eyes, then steadied.
The man is at the Vale boathouse. He starts the fire when the aft camera goes dark. Make it look like an electrical fault. If Arthur and Judith come down, keep them there. Nothing left to connect us to the transfer.
My fingers went cold against the table.
“Read it again,” I whispered.
Reyes didn’t. She turned the screen so I could see the words for myself.
The boathouse sat down the slope from our house. My father had told me he was there. My mother was somewhere in the dark, and I had no idea whether they were together or whether either of them had made it outside.
It wasn’t a warning meant to scare them.
It was a trap.
“They’re setting the fire to destroy evidence,” I said. My voice sounded thin. “And to keep my parents from getting out.”
Flynn took one step toward the console. Reyes raised her palm.
“Back.”
He stopped, but his gaze stayed on the message. “You don’t know who wrote that.”
“It came from your father.”
“Anyone can put a name on a message.”
“You knew they were at the house,” I said. “You said they wouldn’t be asking questions for long.”
His mouth tightened. For the first time, the smoothness left his face completely.
A metallic clatter sounded from the corridor. The crew member turned toward it. Reyes reached for her radio, and Flynn moved.
He shoved through the bridge-wing door.
“Flynn!” I cried.
Reyes lunged after him, but a gust slammed the door back against its frame. She caught it with one hand and pushed into the passage. The crew member followed, shouting for security.
I started after them.
“Claire, stay here!” Reyes called.
I stopped only because my legs had gone unsteady. Somewhere beyond the door, footsteps hammered away into the storm.
The crew member’s radio crackled. “Captain, he’s gone aft!”
Reyes came back into the bridge long enough to seize her radio and answer. “Lock the aft access. No one opens a door for Mr. Shaw.”
A reply dissolved into static.
I clutched the edge of the chart table. “Call my father again.”
“We’re trying.”
“Try until someone answers.”
Reyes’s face tightened. She understood that I wasn’t asking for comfort. Still, she crossed to the satellite console and began again.
A shadow appeared in the doorway behind us.
I turned, expecting Flynn.
Ellis Rusk stood there, rain beading on his dark uniform. He held a master key in one hand. The other hovered near his radio, as if he couldn’t decide whether to call for help or prevent it.
Reyes lifted her radio. “Put the key down.”
Ellis looked at me instead. “I opened the service route.”
“You opened it for Flynn,” I said.
His jaw worked once. He didn’t deny it.
“You sent the medical team to the wrong passage, too,” Reyes said. “Didn’t you?”
“I didn’t send them anywhere.”
“But you knew the route was open.”
His eyes dropped to the key. “I thought I could control where he went.”
“You helped him get there,” I said.
His shoulders hunched, but I couldn’t make myself pity him. Not while my parents were somewhere in the storm and a man he had helped was moving through the yacht toward me.
“Where is Flynn?” Reyes demanded.
Ellis finally looked up. “He’s taken control of the aft deck.”
The words landed harder than the ship’s next shudder.
Reyes raised her radio again. “All crew, keep clear of the aft deck. Secure the service doors. Do not let Mr. Shaw approach—”
The radio popped with a burst of static. Ellis flinched at the sound, then stepped closer.
“Captain,” he said.
“Don’t come any closer.”
His face had gone gray. He glanced at the open message on the console, then toward the dark windows where rain blurred the sea into one unbroken blackness.
“It’s too late for the camera,” he said.
I stared at him.
May you like
Ellis closed his fist around the master key.
“The aft-deck camera is already dark.”
