“You don’t have to worry about me, I’m fine,” Bryson said in a hurried voice.
The line went dead before Hannah could answer.
She gripped the phone, the plastic slick with cold sweat. His last, muffled voice echoed in her mind, a chilling whisper in the face of uncertainty.
Belief in him warred with a gnawing fear that things would go terribly wrong.
The leaden sky outside mirrored her mood, casting long shadows across the room.
She took a shaky breath, her gaze falling on the half-packed suitcase sprawled on the bed. Bryson’s location remained a mystery, but at least he was alive, a faint echo in the vastness.
The Queen Elizabeth awaited. She had to go now.
Miles away, Bryson leaned against the headboard of the rough wooden bed, the starkness of the room mirroring the turmoil within him. He met the gaze of the intruder with a weary lift of his hand. “Have they found us?” he rasped, his voice dry as desert sand.
“No,” came the calm reply.
Caleb, his face a mask of stoicism, set down a medical bag. “There’s a special medical team on board but Rodrigo Wilde’s men are scouring the ship for the injured. Couldn’t risk exposure, we just got the supplies.”
Bryson’s brow furrowed. “The plan failed then?”
“No,” Caleb assured his boss, his voice steady as he took a needle from the medical kit. “Wilde’s most trusted Lieutenant sleeps with the fishes. But Mr. Mitchell.”
His voice faltered, a flicker of guilt crossing his eyes. “It was my fault. Last night, I nearly paid the price for my carelessness. I could have gotten us killed.”
Bryson winced as Caleb administered a shot, the sting of pain momentarily eclipsed by a steely glint in his eyes.
“They didn’t see our faces,” he said, his voice hardening with resolve. “Newfort awaits. And by now, they must be sweating harder than we are. If they can’t find us now, they won’t be able to find us when we disembark.”
Caleb hesitated, “Maybe we should find another place to hide for a while. We could use more time to prepare.”
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“No,” Bryson countered. “Hiding won’t buy us time, only delay the inevitable.” His gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, landed on Caleb. “They’re here in our name, Caleb, sullying our name with their filthy trade.
We can’t turn a blind eye to this festering wound any longer.”
Caleb sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I understand your anger. But…”
“You don’t need to try and convince me, Caleb. We’ll find a way to get off this ship tonight, when it’s docked,” Bryson interrupted him.
He set his gaze on Caleb, his eyes stern and resolute. “Wilde is still on the ship. Even if we escape tonight, he won’t let us go.”
Caleb was silent for a moment, then turned to face Bryson, his jaw set.
“Don’t worry about Wilde,” he said, his voice laced with steel.
“We’ll deal with him when the time comes.”