Chapter 42 · Burn the Collateral

Danny wouldn't get in the boat.

"I'm not leaving you with him." He kept one boot braced on the wet timber of the dock, one fist knotted in my jacket sleeve. Six weeks in hiding, and he'd dropped twenty pounds. His face looked hollowed out with a chisel.

"Danny. Get in the damn boat."

"Mar, listen to me—"

"You stole four million dollars." I didn't raise my voice. The boathouse reeked of stagnant water, rot, and high-octane fuel. "You don't get a vote."

Behind me, Dominic leaned against the frame of the sliding door. The black coat hung off his left shoulder because the fresh bandage underneath was already soaking red again. He hadn't said a word in two full minutes. He just watched the mouth of the cove.

Out past the breakwater, the harbor patrol sirens rose, then dipped. Thin. Metallic. Like someone dragging razor wire across glass.

"Eighteen minutes," Dominic said. His voice was gravel. "Then every camera on this estate wipes itself clean and every deadbolt pops. After that, nobody can prove who stood on this dock."