“It fell out when the zipper opened.”
“The photographs?”
“Evidence.”
“All yours?”
“Some. Others came from ship cameras.”
I looked at the wall again.
Suddenly it made sense.
These weren’t secret romantic photographs.
They were surveillance records.
Me boarding the ship.
Me eating.
Me standing near the pool.
Me waiting for an elevator.
And in image after image, the man in the blue baseball cap was somewhere close.
“He’s been following me all week.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t anybody tell me?”
Richard looked ashamed.
“Security hoped he would lead us to the rest of the group.”
My anger came back instantly.
“So I was bait.”
“No.”
“That is exactly what you just described.”
“We never intended for him to get close enough to hurt you.”
“He got inside my cabin.”
“Yes.”
“You let somebody enter my room while I didn’t even know I was being followed.”
Richard didn’t answer.
I laughed bitterly.
“Apparently men lying to me for my own good is still fashionable at seventy-one.”
He flinched.
“You have every right to be angry.”
“How generous.”
“I mean it.”
“Did Claire know you were following me?”
“Not specifically.”
“Did she know I was considered a target?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Claire.
My own daughter.
I loved her more than almost anyone in the world.
But ever since I announced I was taking the cruise, she had acted as if I were crossing the Atlantic alone in a canoe.
She sent articles about scams.
Falls.
Food poisoning.
Travel insurance.
Blood clots.
She had even installed location sharing on my phone and pretended it was for convenience.
I almost canceled the trip just to stop hearing about all the ways I might die.
“She had no right.”
“No.”
