Drowning Tides

As much as Claire feared and hated Clayton Ames, this part of their new situation was working out well. He wouldn’t know exactly where they were, and if they saw his drones hovering, Nick had joked, they could shoot them down with the setup for skeet shooting at the back—the aft—of the boat. They could move about at will without cameras and listening devices.

She glanced at the king-size bed decked out in stark black-and-white with gold lightning strikes jagging across the pattern. She couldn’t recall much about the murder of the woman that had happened on this ship, so maybe she should try to find that episode of Nancy Grace on YouTube again. No, she wouldn’t think about all that. She had a lot to do, to get ready for.

She stopped at the doorway to look back once again at the big bed. For the first time she noted there was a mirror on the ceiling over it.

Her insides cartwheeled. She hurried out, closing the door behind her.