| could do.” “And?” “I’ve had some time to think. There may be a way out. To begin with, we can’t sit here. Sooner or later we’ll be found.” Her eyes cast down. “I know.” “There might be a way to make everything work—but I can only do it from Geneva.” Her gaze snapped up. “Geneva?” He hesitated. “If I go there, if I start that process … maybe I can find an opening, some other way. But it has to begin there. And I’ll need your help to pull it off.” “My help?” She cocked her head uneasily. “What do you want me to do?” He gave her what was essentially a mission briefing, details he’d nailed down in the silent hours as he’d laid awake and held her. “It probably won’t work exactly as I’ve said, but do what you can, improvise. None of it should be dangerous, but if you see something you don’t like, anything at all, just go to the authorities.” “Is a wife protected from testifying against her husband in Sweden?” “Probably. But it doesn’t matter. Go ahead and tell them the truth. There’s only one thing I need you to hold back—tell them you don’t know where I’ve gone. The rest is in your favor. They’ll threaten to prosecute if you don’t cooperate, but that’s only a bluff. The worst thing you’ve done is take this boat, and your reasons were justifiable.” “How encouraging.” She locked her eyes to his. “But you haven’t |
thick, greasy rail of the boat. She never hesitated, hitting the last board like a long jumper taking flight. She soared over the void with arms outstretched and slammed into the side of the boat. On impact she bounced away, and Christine clawed out for a handhold. Her right hand found something and she clamped down for all she was worth, fingers and nails biting into a coarse mesh. She was hanging over the side, hips and legs dragging through the icy harbor, upper body wrapped to the steel hull. Her hand began to slip, and she groped with the other until she felt a second handful of thick hemp. A docking line. Christine reasserted her grip, then pulled and kicked and twisted until she got a leg up. Finally, she pulled herself up over the rail and collapsed to a wet steel deck. Her ribs stung with pain. Doubled over, she stumbled amidships along the port side. There was no sign of the crew. The boat kept gaining speed, muscling through the water and building a stiff breeze over the deck. Christine collapsed, her back against the wheelhouse, and tried to catch her breath. Only then did she venture a look back. The two men were on the dock, talking and gesturing. One pulled out a phone. She closed her eyes and pushed back against the cabin, drawing her knees into her aching chest. Christine reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone. It was soaking wet |
