"Are you sure you want to do this?" the private eye asked as we made our way towards the valet parking lot. Slinking past wealthy donors dressed in Chanel evening gowns and Dolce and Gabbana tuxes.

"We don't have a plan. We aren't being methodical. I told you before that a good detective doesn't leap before making sure they're landing on solid ground. What if it goes wrong?"

I could tell Jack was trying to appeal to my more thoughtful nature. But the moment I saw South get in the car with his dad, all of my wavering Libra sensibilities vanished.

There wasn't time to weigh options and think before leaping. It was time to trust my gut and jump—just like Lydie would've done.

"Things are already wrong," I hissed through my teeth. Arms crossed to keep my hands from shaking. "Would you let someone you loved die because you needed to make a plan?"

"Would South want something to happen to you because you didn't?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then went back to silently stewing.

Jack gave me a satisfied look before handing the valet his key tag and a fifty-dollar bill—the portrait of cool and confident. Casually readjusting the blood red rose at his lapel. I wondered if he was always so unshakeable or if it was something he'd learned over the years.

I, on the other hand, was not. Waiting for Jack's shiny Volvo to pull up had my already frayed nerves on end. I needed to keep moving. Keep searching.

Two of the longest minutes of my life passed before we were sliding inside Jack's car and driving through the Fredericksen's front gates.

I watched the massive estate disappear behind us, fighting back an overwhelming sense of dread. No matter what happened tonight, I knew there was no going back to my old life.

I would never be the same woman that arrived at Spencer's Art Gala, hopeful and ready to be whisked away on the adventure of a lifetime.

After tonight, I knew there would be a new Camilla. One that was trying to burst out of her cocoon right now. Not the one my dad and mom wanted me to be—careful and sweet. Not the one my sister wanted me to be—daring and bold. But the real me, even if I wasn't sure what that meant.

"Where are we going?" Jack asked, navigating down the busy stretch of road. "Where would Les take him?"

Summer tourists were out in full force to see the mansions of Newport lit up in all their grandeur. Walking down the street hand in hand, staring up at gilded fortresses.

"Do you think he'd bring him back to their home? There are gates and security cameras. He probably feels safe."

Jack shrugged. "Maybe. But Les comes off as someone who doesn't like to bring his dirty laundry home."

Again, my inexperience was showing, and I was glad to have Jack with me. Even if I was still wondering where the hell Connor had scurried off too.

He's with Lianna. Not your problem.

"Have you tried tracking his phone?"

"Tracking his phone?" I asked. "Is that a real thing?"

Jack smirked at me, one hand gripping the steering wheel. "You've never tracked a man's location before?"

"No! Why would I do that?"

"Jealousy, insecurity, and a lack of trust drive people to do crazy things. It's one of the reasons private detectives stay in business."

Jack made a sharp turn into downtown traffic, and I braced myself with my bad hand. An unavoidable curse word escaped my lips. "Plenty of people keep tabs on their darling spouses with a simple cell phone tracer."

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I watched Sex/Life. I saw the husband tracking his wife as she ran to her ex-boyfriend's house.

But, I'd never needed to track a boyfriend before—granted, I also never dated one long enough to care where he was. Tracking South's phone seemed like a violation of privacy. But, I was willing to make an exception, considering I was pretty sure my boyfriend had just been kidnapped by his father.

"Give me your phone," Jack said. "I'll do it."

I handed over my cell, and Jack pulled to the side of the road near Easton's Beach. I waited with anxious breaths as he used some app I'd never heard of to trace South's cell phone location.

"Well, this is... strange," the detective finally said.

"What do you mean, strange?"

I snatched my phone out of Jack's hand and studied the blue circle indicating the approximate location of South's cell phone, which was hovering over The Yacht Club.

South was at the Newport Yacht Club?

"Surely they aren't polishing regatta trophies," Jay quipped as he put the car back in drive and made for the harbor.

"With Les for a father, who knows. The man is obsessed with status. I heard that he's even demanding invitations for membership be withdrawn just because he disapproved of the family."

I stared down at my hand, remembering the way South stitched me back together. He was nothing like his father. Kind and thoughtful. But, not in the annoying way some guys could be—smothering and overwhelming—but in his own way.

"It's a miracle his kids came out as normal as they did," I added quietly.

Not that anything about South was normal. Cherry lollipops and early morning runs. His passion and his vulnerability. He could tie and knot and start a fire and pitch a tent. And he made me feel like I could do anything I wanted, even if he had to carry me part way.

"So you're saying it's a good thing that he was in the Navy and wasn't around to influence them?"

I ran my finger over the hidden cut and winced. My finger came away with a red smear. "I suppose so."

We pulled into the Yacht Club's parking lot and got out of the car. My hands were shaking as I stared down at the screen and the blue circle shrinking to a place around the back of the club, closer to where a few of the more prominent yachts were docked.

The humid air clung to my skin, and my feet were slipping inside my heels. My heart was beating so fast, I thought Jack must be able to hear it as he walked silently beside me. Curious eyes darting all around.

The two of us had gotten quiet. Listening for any sounds of struggle or raised voices, but there were none. The well-lit parking lot and back lawn peaceful as waves washed against the dock.

Then, I saw it. And for the first time since South had left, when I was in his arms, and he'd told me he loved me, I had a glimmer of hope.

Honor, the Tenney family's small yacht was tied right up front along the quay wall. Deck lights on.

A reluctant smile lifted one corner of my mouth. Could he be on the boat?

My steps quickened. Hope spreading like wildfire. Jack lengthened his strides to keep up with me.

My heels echoed as I raced over the metal dock. The blue circle indicating the approximate location of his phone was hovering right here.

"I don't know if this is a good idea, Camilla," Jack warned as I climbed onto the back deck.

I didn't answer him. I was too busy staring at the bottle of champagne sitting in a sweaty silver bucket. Two flutes waiting beside a small notecard.

I looked around, my grin spreading.

This couldn't have all been a setup--could it? No. South wouldn't have gone to all the trouble. He wouldn't have sent me on some chase around town and had me half worried.

Would he?

I plucked the cream-colored card off the table.

Meet me behind the club. Just inside the double doors. I have a surprise for you.

Nothing about South Tenney was usual, I reminded myself. But, he had told me to stay at the Fredericksen's. He had said he knew what his dad wanted.

Still... the yacht, the champagne, the card. It was everything we were planning. One last night on the boat together. One last night to forget about all the worries of the future and just be with each other.

Jack was watching me with a tired look on his face. "Camilla, why don't you let me take you back home? I'll keep looking for South, and I'll call you as soon as I find him."

I shook my head. Confused. "No, look. He's here."

With care, I walked off the small yacht and onto the dock, flashing the notecard like it was Exhibit One in a court case.

Jack blew out a long breath. "I think I saw a set of double doors back behind the boat shed."

We walked through the damp grass, up the lawn, and towards the boat shed where the one and two-manned sailboats were kept. I couldn't help but remember watching South and Sandra out on the water, racing towards the sunset.

I was going to miss Sandra so much when we moved to Virginia.

Jack approached two slightly rusted doors that had been left ajar. It was dark inside, and the hinges screamed when he pulled back one of the doors.

The smell of the place hit me first. The sharp scent of gas mixed with the stale scent of musty sails, then the overwhelming odor of rotting fish.

We searched for a light using the flashlight on my phone, but it was dark and cluttered inside the room, and I nearly tripped over a pile of stinking rags.

"South?" I said. Trying to hold on to the hope burning in my chest. Trying to keep its flame alive as I walked blindly through the storage room.

"There's a door over here," Jack answered. His voice a bare whisper. "I can hear talking on the other side."

I followed the sound of his voice and pointed my phone's flashlight in his direction. I saw the door he was describing and crept closer. Together, we listened to muffled voices.

It was hard to understand what anyone was saying over the stink of gasoline and old motor oil and my heavy breathing, but I heard one sentence clearer than the rest.

"What's wrong, pretty boy? You don't want to be one of us? I thought you fancied yourself a killer?"

There was a grunt and a groan, and in a heart-stopping moment, I knew this wasn't some magical meetup. There was a secret room behind this door, and my boyfriend inside.

I went to open the door handle, but Jack stopped me. Grabbing my wrist before I could get my hand on it.

"What are you doing? We have to save him."

Jack shook his head, his grip on my wrist tightening until it hurt. "No. We can't. We aren't the police, and we don't have backup. I'm only a private eye, and you're only a yacht club girl."

Anger shoved my fear out of the way. A yacht club girl? Seriously? We were a team—he wanted me to work for him.

"What do you mean? Isn't that what you do? Find out who the bad guy is and get them?"

"Bad guy?" Jack asked. Almost smiling. "Who said I find bad guys? I work for a client. I don't make judgments on who is bad and who is good. Is the cheating wife I take pictures of the bad guy—or is the husband who hired me to spy on her. It doesn't matter to me. All I see are marks, and all I care about is—"

"Collecting secrets," came a slightly amused voice from near the double doors.

A voice I recognized all too well.

My breath seized. A flash of heat raced up my neck, followed by the pulse-pounding rush of adrenaline.

Overhead industrial lights flicked on. Buzzing like a menacing hornet and revealing the monster himself—Admiral Les Tenney.

He looked so much like South, save for the wrinkles and the gray hair. Nearly as tall, but not as broad in the chest as his son. Les was the ruined shadow of the man South was.

"This is why I told you not to act on impulse," Jack scolded. A layer of guilty sweat and anxiety coated my back. "I told you not to make decisions based on emotions."

I didn't want to hear Jack say I told you so. I didn't want to hear anything right now but the sound of South's voice. I had to know he was okay.

"Let me see him."

Les Tenney's grin was as lethal as the gun in his outstretched hand. "If you want to see my son, Miss Isley, open the door."

A/N

It makes me so sad that Camilla thought South might just be waiting on the boat.

She can be so naive at times.

Two chapters left.

xx
AJ