FitzRoy’s brows shot up, and his eyes widened. He recognised the phrase and a squat man at his side reacted in the same way—that had to be his contact.

Vice gave a pert smile. “And Davy Jones sends his, Blackwood.” Gaze still on him, she lifted her chin to one side. “Captain, shall I send him to the seafloor with the other bottom feeders?”

Raising an eyebrow, FitzRoy cocked his head, calculation unmistakable on his face.

Knigh’s stomach plummeted, but he kept his expression impassive. Lords, he’d miscalculated.

Was FitzRoy actually considering letting Vice kill him?

Miscalculation

The back of Vice’s neck prickled. Jaw clenched, she stared at Blackwood, but he ignored her and watched the Captain, expression unreadable.

Arrogant bastard.

What was taking FitzRoy so long? He just needed to give her the go-ahead, and she’d rid them of this troublesome pirate hunter. It would be a shame to damage such a fine specimen, but he’d tried to trick them—to trick her. That flare from the Veritas must have been a signal for the Venatrix, bringing them circling out from behind the island.

Her lip twitched. Nice try, but she was the one who tricked people around here, as proved by the success of her idea to hide The Morrigan’s crew on the Veritas.

If only she’d been able to see his expression when the supposedly friendly ship opened fire! But his eyebrows had risen a little when she’d led the charge—when it came to Knigh Blackwood, that would have to do.

Her gaze drifted over to the Venatrix. They’d aimed well—just a damaged mast and sails, things that could be repaired quickly, then she could be on her way with her ship.

Her ship. Captaincy, at last.

After she’d executed this plan, FitzRoy would have to admit she’d make a good captain, his earlier anger forgotten.

And not captain of just any ship—captain of the Venatrix. Her chest swelled, warm and full.

“Vice,” FitzRoy called.

Smiling sweetly at Blackwood, she stood a little taller. Lords and Ladies, she was ready for this.

“Stand down.”

She blinked.

Blackwood’s grey eyes flicked to her, and his eyebrows rose fractionally in expectation.

“Captain”—sword still pointed at Blackwood, she turned to FitzRoy—“what—”

“I said, stand down, my dear.”

“My dear?” she spluttered. Like she was some meddlesome wife who needed pacifying. She stared at him, but he just nodded. He actually wanted her to stand down.

Blackwood cleared his throat, and she spun upon him.

He held his sword wide, unthreatening. “If I may?” He lifted his other hand slowly. “I’m just reaching into my pocket.”

“Vice.” The low warning in FitzRoy’s voice was unmistakable.

What the hells was going on? Had Fitz gone soft? Shaking her head, she lowered her blade without sheathing it and watched Blackwood pull sealed papers from his pocket.