“I’m running the George Hill loop, then a quick swim in the bay,” she said. “You up for the swim?”
“I might join you for the swim,” he said. “Wake me up when you get back from the run.”
All of that meant no, and it had nothing to do with getting a bad night of sleep. Daniel had stopped exercising regularly a few months ago, a really bad development. He needed rigorous physical exercise and constant distraction to keep his mind focused on the present. Without it, his mind turned inward. To dark places she had never managed to access. Places she had no interest in visiting.
Daniel had stood at the edge of the abyss at some point in Yugoslavia, staring into a vast darkness meant to swallow him. He’d made that much clear, without going into specifics. Bumping into her outside of a Belgrade nightclub had saved him from jumping into the blackness that had already consumed most of the Black Flag operatives assigned to the Balkans. She’d seen him like this a few times before, but never for this long. It was time to revisit an idea they had batted around a few months ago.
“Maybe you should get some more rest. I’ll make us a nice breakfast when I’m done,” she said, kissing his forehead.
She’d broach the topic over gourmet coffee and omelets.
“That sounds good,” he said, burrowing his head into the pillow.
Jessica walked to the balcony and shut the slider, locking the door. A faint beep sounded from a compact digital tablet on Daniel’s nightstand. The home’s security system had registered the change in door status. A few minutes later, dressed in black triathlon shorts and a pink tri-top, she descended a wide, open-riser metal staircase to the gray marble foyer.
In the kitchen, she flipped the switch on the stainless steel espresso maker and downed a tall glass of cold water poured from a bottle-fed water dispenser. A double shot of espresso and a few glasses of spring water would fuel her five-mile run. She refilled the glass and left the kitchen, headed for the two-story bank of windows covering the eastern side of the villa’s great room.
Bright orange rays of light reflected off the far wall, illuminating a collage of colorful Caribbean-inspired artwork. A deep blue Dubai leather sectional faced the window, flanked by two polished chrome arc lamps, encompassing the entirety of the great room’s furniture. She walked deeper into the room, pausing to shield her eyes from the blazing horizon with her unoccupied hand. A few seconds later, the room dimmed as the bottom of the sun disappeared behind one of the low-lying cloud masses.
Jessica walked to the window and scanned Lockrum Bay. The tall bobbing mast of a blue-hulled sloop immediately caught her eye. A Hinckley Sou’wester 52 sat at a storm-reinforced mooring a few hundred yards offshore. Just the sight of it gave her hope. She’d come up with the idea a year ago, soon after insisting that they take sailing lessons and follow up with a two-week bareboat charter out of the British Virgin Islands. Daniel took to sailing like a natural, embracing its dynamic nature and the constant need for vigilance.
The two-week taste of sailboat life far exceeded Jessica’s expectations. Not only did she feel far more relaxed and liberated than she could ever remember, but Daniel had caught the sailing fever. It had started with mojito-fueled conversations about what it would be like to freely sail around the Caribbean for a few months a year, and ended with the purchase of a rarely used sailboat built by one of the most reputable names in the business.
They’d cruised the islands for three months after the purchase, pausing to conduct some business for Sanderson in South America. Ugly business that nearly got all of them killed. Daniel hadn’t been the same since. Something had shifted in the dark recesses of his mind, brought too close to the surface for his comfort. She needed to get him back on that boat — permanently.
Jessica took a sip of cold water and grinned. La Ombra, Italian for ghost or shadow, swayed gently in the bay. Ghost. Exactly what they would become once they sailed for the horizon and never looked back.
Chapter 6
Daniel contemplated the warm remains of his espresso before downing it moments later. When his glance returned to the water’s edge, Jessica had disappeared below the jagged rocks bordering the narrow strip of beach. She’d reemerge shortly, swimming through the light morning chop toward the sailboat moored in the cove. He couldn’t wait to spring his surprise on Jessica.
From the moment she suggested sailing lessons out of Saint Martin, Daniel understood what she was after. Disappearing, or at least making it as difficult as possible for anyone, friend or foe, to find them. Relocating to another anonymous fortresslike house halfway around the world only solved part of their problem. They needed a new lifestyle. One that kept them challenged, with infinite possibilities, none of which required their current skillsets. Cruising the world fit that bill perfectly.
Never in the same place for longer than the weather dictated. Full freedom to choose the next destination. Rigorous at times. Inherently unavoidable but manageable elements of danger, both predictable and capricious. He had read hundreds of firsthand accounts about couples and families sailing the world, all reinforcing the unspoken decision Jessica and Daniel had reached by passionately embracing a series of extensive sailing lessons.
The next step had been obvious. They needed a boat capable of comfortable transoceanic passage, and if they were really going to do this, they would do it right. Extensive research pointed to several well-established boat builders, one that caught his eye immediately: a Maine-based boatyard renowned for building top-of-the-line, luxurious sailboats coveted around the world. While he was likely initially drawn to the Hinckley line of yachts by the link to Maine, where he and Jessica had first tried to build a normal life, the matter was settled by the discovery of a gently used Hinckley Sou’wester 52 for sale in the British Virgin Islands.
As a newly minted sailing couple, they were in well over their heads with the fifty-two-foot vessel. They’d fared better than either of them had expected during their three-month shakedown cruise, but island hopping across the Caribbean was hardly the final test for what they had in mind.
Daniel chuckled at the thought. Just a few months ago, he’d spent the better part of two days tied to a chair in a Montevideo slum, praying that Jessica was still alive after their mission tanked. Now he was worried about sailing a luxury yacht to points unknown. He’d gladly trade the former burden for the latter. If reefing the sails in the face of stormy weather or navigating a treacherous pass was life’s new stress, he could live with that. He was pretty sure Jessica wouldn’t have a problem making that transition either. It had been her idea, after all. She just didn’t know how quickly he intended to make it a reality.
Their days on Anguilla were numbered, quite possibly in the single digits if she literally and figuratively was on board with his plan to sweep her away from a life that had grown comfortably toxic to their relationship, and their survival.
Jessica reappeared in the water, her arms cutting through the surf toward La Ombra. Her recently acquired habit of swimming to the boat every morning after a long run had forced him to modify the original plan. He’d quit running with her in the morning to see if he could break the new routine, but he only seemed to reinforce it. She’d swim out every day, sometimes twice, trying to lure him out of his “funk,” as she described it. He couldn’t possibly load the boat with the supplies without her knowing, and he wanted everything to be a complete surprise. Not an easy feat when you were married to a covert operative easily your better.