Chapter 9: What Flynn Heard
The steel door swung inward.
Flynn stood in the opening with my phone in his hand. Water glistened on his hair, and the passage lights shivered across his face as the yacht rolled beneath us.
He looked first at me, then at the captain, then at Ellis on the deck.
“Quite a reunion,” he said.
“Put the phone down,” Captain Reyes ordered.
Flynn lifted it instead. His thumb moved across the screen, and a moment later his own voice came from the speaker.
“Two pills every night. I put extra in her soup today.”
He stopped the recording.
The words seemed to stay in the passage after the sound ended. Ellis stared at the deck. Reyes didn’t move. Flynn watched my face, measuring what his voice had done to me.
“You heard all of it,” he said.
“Yes.”
He’d expected denial. I could see that in the small pause before his smile returned.
“You recorded me.”
“I did.”
His gaze dipped to the phone. “You always were good at making something small seem important.”
“It’s important to you.”
Flynn’s expression tightened, just for a breath. Then he stepped across the threshold, bringing the damp, metallic smell of the storm with him.
“I’m going to give you a chance to stop making this worse.”
“You gave me pills and called them medicine.”
“I was keeping you calm.”
“You put extra in my soup.”
“You’d been getting sick.”
“You made me sick.”
I heard the tremor in my voice. I let it stay there. I wasn’t going to make it easy for him to pretend I was a hysterical stranger instead of the woman he’d kissed at our wedding.
“Claire,” he said, softening his tone. “You’re exhausted. You’re frightened. You’re hearing things out of context.”
“There is no context that makes you planning to push me overboard better.”
His eyes flicked toward Reyes, checking whether she believed me, whether she was still an obstacle he could charm or threaten. She stood between him and the passage, one hand near the radio at her shoulder.
Flynn held up the phone. “This is what you have? A recording made on a burner phone?”
“It isn’t the only thing I have.”
That earned a genuine look from him. Not fear. Calculation.
I thought of the documents tucked beneath the lining of my suitcase, the pills folded in their napkin. Evidence he’d assumed I was too foggy to understand. Evidence I’d hidden while he still thought I trusted him.
“You signed the papers,” he said. “You remember that, don’t you?”
“I remember signing something you told me was routine.”
“It was routine.”
“The emergency account authorization wasn’t the only page. You made me sound confused. Dependent on you. Like I couldn’t manage my own life.”
“You were anxious before the wedding. Everyone knew it.”
“I wasn’t the one planning a murder.”
Flynn’s smile disappeared.
“You think anyone is going to believe this story?” he asked. “A frightened bride, sick from the sea, accusing her husband of poisoning her. Your father has spent years protecting you from every consequence. He’ll believe what he wants to believe.”
“My father will hear your voice.”
“And your mother will hear yours.” He leaned toward me. “The papers are signed, Claire. You’re the one who made that easy.”
Behind him, Reyes touched two fingers to the microphone clipped at her collar. Her eyes stayed on Flynn, but her voice dropped to a murmur.
“Bridge. Copy my saved recording to the emergency recorder. Now.”
At the passage junction, a deckhand glanced over. Reyes gave the smallest nod. He hesitated, eyes moving from Flynn to Ellis, then turned and hurried toward the bridge.
Flynn caught the movement. His attention snapped to Reyes.
“What did you just do?”
“Made sure the evidence doesn’t depend on your phone.”
His grip closed around it.
“Captain, you don’t want to get in the middle of a family matter.”
“I’m already in the middle of a crime.”
“You’ve got no idea what’s at stake.”
“I know what I heard.”
The deckhand’s footsteps vanished beneath the groan of the ship. Flynn looked toward the bridge, then back at me. A muscle worked in his jaw.
I could have asked him to stop. For one last second, some stubborn piece of me wanted to hear him deny it—not because I believed he could, but because the man I’d married had once made me feel safe. I understood now that longing was not proof. It was only the part of me still catching up.
“You’re not the man I thought I married,” I said.
“No,” he replied. “I’m the man who knows what happens if you keep resisting.”
“Is that what happened to my parents?”
His eyes narrowed. I had named the danger; I hadn’t told him what I knew about the boathouse message or how much of the plan had been exposed. The uncertainty unsettled him more than any accusation.
“Your parents should have stayed out of this.”
“They’re my parents.”
“They’re a complication.”
The word landed harder than a shout. My mother’s face rose in my mind, framed by the kitchen window at home, and I had to press my nails into my palm to keep my fear from taking over.
Reyes shifted, blocking Flynn’s route. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”
Flynn glanced at Ellis. “You going to let them ruin everything?”
Ellis didn’t answer. His hands were empty now, his face drained of color. His silence didn’t undo what he’d done. It only meant Flynn couldn’t count on him to make the next move.
Flynn took my wrist.
“Let go,” I said.
“You need to come with me.”
“Captain Reyes told you to stay away from me.”
“And you think she can keep you safe?”
His fingers tightened until my pulse beat against his grip. I looked down at his hand, then at him.
“I think you’re afraid the recording will reach someone you can’t control.”
For the first time, his composure cracked. He pulled me toward the doorway.
Reyes caught his sleeve. Flynn jerked free, shoving the door back with his shoulder. It slammed against the bulkhead, and the passage rang with the impact.
“Don’t make me drag you,” he said.
“I’m not going because I believe you.”
“I don’t care what you believe.”
That was the moment something inside me let go—not hope for my marriage, but the exhausting effort to find a gentler explanation for his cruelty. I didn’t have to understand him to resist him.
May you like
Flynn tightened his hold and turned me toward the narrow crew passage. The deck lurched, and the distant thunder became a deep, steady roar around the hull.
“The storm’s here,” he said. “We’re going aft.”
