Page 85 of Beyond Protection
"Good."
She turned to Claire. "We're taking everyone inside. Cabin's warmer."
Ma reached for my arm, pulled me down, and kissed my forehead. Quick. Fierce. "You're a good boy. Don't make me bury you."
Then she was gone.
The deck felt bigger without them. Colder.
"She's right," I said. "We're not handling this."
Eamon moved closer. "Yes, we are."
"I let her get close. Pike Place, now here—"
Eamon reached for my chin. "She's been planning this for eighteen months. She's good. That's not your fault."
The boat shuddered as the engines shifted gears.
We were running out of time. Soon we'd dock and she'd slip away.
"There." Eamon nodded toward the right.
Gray coat. Different woman. Taller, drunk, stumbling.
Not her.
"Another one." Michael's voice.
Gray coat near the cocoa stand. Younger. Filming friends.
Also not her.
"Fuck." I turned in a circle. "How many people wear gray coats?"
"Enough." Eamon set his jaw. "If she wanted to blend, gray's the right call. Neutral. Forgettable."
"So we're surrounded by decoys."
"Or she's not here and we're chasing ghosts."
The lights on shore drew closer. Passengers queued near the gangway.
I turned toward the bow.
And saw her.
Same coat. Same build. Same controlled movement—economical, precise.
She stood near the forward railing. Phone raised, but the angle was wrong. It didn't point at the city. It pointed at us.
"Eamon."
He'd already seen. He reached for my elbow. "Stay here."
"Like hell—"
"Mac. Stay."
