Chapter 2: The Emergency Box
I waited until Graham's footsteps disappeared.
Then I moved.
Slowly.
Silently.
Every part of my body screamed at me to panic, but panic was a luxury I couldn't afford.
I needed information.
I needed help.
And most importantly, I needed to stay alive.
I crossed the bedroom and locked the bathroom door behind me.
My hands shook as I opened the cabinet beneath the sink.
Nothing.
Towels.
Travel bottles.
A first-aid kit.
I searched the drawers.
Nothing.
Then I remembered my luggage.
My father's words came back to me.
Don't open it unless you absolutely need me.
I crawled to the closet.
Graham's suitcase was on one side.
Mine was on the other.
I pulled mine out.
The wheels made a tiny scraping sound.
I froze.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
I opened the case.
Dresses.
Shoes.
A jewelry box.
Underneath everything was a false compartment.
I hadn't known it existed.
My fingers found the seam.
I pulled.
The lining lifted.
There it was.
A black metal case no bigger than my hand.
I stared at it.
My father's initials were engraved on the lid.
R.W.
Robert Whitmore.
My father.
The man who had taught me never to underestimate people who smiled too much.
I opened the case.
Inside was a small emergency beacon, a compact satellite communicator, and a folded card.
I unfolded the card.
Three words were written in my father's handwriting.
*CALL IF AFRAID.*
Underneath was a number.
My father's private security line.
I almost cried.
I reached for the communicator.
Then stopped.
What if Graham had planted something?
What if the yacht's systems were being monitored?
What if calling my father alerted them?
I stared at the device.
Then I remembered Graham's voice.
Once she's in the water...
I pressed the power button.
A tiny green light appeared.
The device displayed one word.
*READY.*
I entered the number.
The call connected.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Then a man's voice answered.
“Mr. Whitmore's emergency line.””
I whispered, “It's Claire.””
Silence.
Then the voice changed instantly.
“Claire?””
“Don't say my name loudly.””
“Where are you?””
“On the yacht.””
“What happened?””
I looked toward the bathroom door.
“I think Graham is trying to kill me.””
The man didn't laugh.
Didn't question me.
Didn't waste time.
“Are you injured?””
“No.””
“Have you taken anything?””
I swallowed.
“Pills. Every night.””
“Do you still have them?””
“Yes.””
“Keep them.””
“Why?””
“Evidence.””
I closed my eyes.
Evidence.
That word made this real.
This wasn't a nightmare.
This wasn't seasickness.
My husband was trying to murder me.
And my parents might be next.
“Listen to me,” the man said.
“Do not confront anyone.””
“I wasn't planning to.””
“Do not let them know you called.””
“I won't.””
“Can you reach the bridge?””
“No.””
“Can you access the emergency transponder?””
“I don't know.””
“Don't try. The yacht may be compromised.””
My throat tightened.
“How do I get off?””
“You don't.””
“What?””
“You stay alive until help reaches you.””
“How long?””
A pause.
“Longer than you want.””
I almost laughed.
“I don't have much time.””
“Claire, listen carefully. Your father is already moving.””
I pressed the communicator tighter against my ear.
“What does that mean?””
“He'll explain when he gets there.””
“Gets where?””
The line went silent.
“Hello?””
Static.
Then the voice returned.
“Someone is moving outside your cabin.””
My blood froze.
“How do you know?””
“We're tracking the beacon.””
I looked at the door.
The handle moved.
I killed the communicator.
The lights went off.
I threw myself beneath the bed.
The cabin door opened.
Graham stepped inside.
“Claire?””
I held my breath.
He walked toward the bathroom.
Stopped.
Then came back.
The mattress sank.
He sat on the bed.
“Sweetheart?””
I pressed my palm against my mouth.
He sighed.
“You've been sleeping for hours.””
I didn't move.
He stood.
I watched his shoes through the narrow space beneath the bed.
He walked toward the closet.
My suitcase was still open.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
He stopped.
The suitcase was directly in front of him.
I saw his hand reach down.
Then footsteps sounded outside.
“Graham!””
Victor.
Graham turned toward the door.
“What?””
“Come downstairs.””
“Why?””
“We need to talk.””
Graham looked back at the suitcase.
Then toward the bed.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
He walked out.
The door closed.
I stayed beneath the bed for another minute.
Then another.
When I finally crawled out, my knees were trembling.
I closed my suitcase.
I shoved it beneath the bed.
Then I looked at the clock.
11:18 p.m.
Forty-two minutes.
That was all.
I had forty-two minutes before the storm reached its worst.
Forty-two minutes before Graham planned to take me to the railing.
I needed to know exactly what they intended to do.
I also needed proof.
I opened my bedside drawer.
My phone was there.
I stared at it.
No signal.
Of course.
The yacht's Wi-Fi showed connected, but I didn't trust it.
I opened the camera.
If I could record them...
I stopped.
The cabin door opened.
I spun around.
Graham stood there.
He smiled.
“You're awake.””
I forced a yawn.
“I think the pills finally wore off.””
His smile disappeared for half a second.
Then returned.
“You're feeling better?””
“A little.””
He came toward me.
I backed toward the bed.
“I thought you were sleeping.””
“I was.””
“Good.””
He reached out.
I let him touch my forehead.
“You're still warm.””
“I feel better.””
“That’s good.””
He sat beside me.
His knee touched mine.
“Claire?””
“Yeah?””
“Do you trust me?””
My heart nearly stopped.
I smiled.
“Of course.””
His eyes searched mine.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he kissed my hand.
“We need to go outside.””
“Why?””
“The air will help.””
I looked toward the glass doors.
Rain had begun tapping against them.
Harder now.
“Outside?””
“Just for a minute.””
“I don't think I can stand.””
“I'll help you.””
I looked at him.
The man I'd married four days ago.
The man whose hand had held mine while I walked down the aisle.
The man who had promised my father he'd protect me.
I wondered if he could see the hatred forming behind my eyes.
Apparently not.
He smiled.
“Come on.””
I let my shoulders sag.
“Okay.””
He helped me stand.
I deliberately leaned heavily against him.
“I'm dizzy.””
“I've got you.””
His voice was tender.
Almost convincing.
I whispered, “Graham?””
“Yes?””
“If something happens to me…”
He stiffened.
“What do you mean?””
“I don't know.””
I rested my head against his shoulder.
“I'm scared.””
He kissed my hair.
“You don't have to be.””
His hand tightened around my waist.
Then he whispered:
“Not for much longer.””
I pretended not to hear.
We stepped into the corridor.
The yacht swayed beneath us.
Lightning flashed through the windows.
Graham guided me toward the stairs.
I counted each step.
One.
Two.
Three.
At the bottom, I saw Victor standing near the stern doors.
Helena was beside him.
Both turned when they saw me.
Helena smiled.
“Oh, sweetheart.””
She walked toward me.
“How are you feeling?””
“Better.””
Her eyes flicked toward Graham.
Then back to me.
“That's wonderful.””
Victor cleared his throat.
“Maybe we should wait.””
Graham said, “She can barely stand.””
“I can hear you,” I murmured.
Victor smiled.
“Just concerned.””
Lightning exploded across the sky.
Thunder shook the yacht.
I flinched.
Graham's arm tightened around me.
“See?”” he whispered.
“Almost there.””
I looked at him.
“Almost where?””
His face didn't change.
“Outside.””
I smiled weakly.
“Right.””
We moved toward the rear deck.
Rain struck the glass.
The wind screamed outside.
And suddenly I understood something.
The storm wasn't an inconvenience.
It was their accomplice.
No witnesses.
No visibility.
No easy rescue.
A body disappearing into black water.
A shoe left behind.
A grieving husband.
A tragic accident.
Perfect.
Unless I survived.
Graham opened the door.
Cold rain blew inside.
He looked at me.
“Ready?””
I nodded.
But before I stepped outside, a sound came from the darkness behind Victor.
A metallic click.
Victor turned sharply.
“What was that?””
Nobody answered.
Then a man's voice came from the shadows.
“Step away from my daughter.””
Graham went completely still.
I recognized that voice.
My father.
Victor's face drained of color.
Helena whispered:
May you like
“Robert?””
And Graham slowly turned toward the darkness.
