They heard a deep boom as the ship’s horn sounded.

“We’re getting underway,” the man said. “Probably best to stay in the cabin until we’re out of the harbour. If you need anything, my name’s Claude. I’ll come and see you in the morning and I’ll give you the full tour.”

“Thank you,” Milton said.

Claude—who Milton suspected had benefited the most from the twenty thousand dollars that had bought their passage—gave a little bow of his head, backed out into the corridor and shut the door behind him.

“This is better than I thought,” Sakura said.

She was standing within inches of Milton and he could smell the shampoo in her hair.

“We’ll be fine,” he replied with a wry smile.

She turned to face him, stood on tiptoes and, before he could do anything to stop her, kissed him softly on the lips. Milton paused, letting her lips brush his. He realised that he didn’t want to stop her. He felt her fingertips pulling at the top button of his shirt. It opened and her hands moved to the next one.

“You don’t need to—”

She silenced him with another kiss, harder this time and with more urgency.

She undid the last of the buttons on his shirt and pulled it off. He closed his eyes as she traced her fingers lightly over the scars on his chest. He felt her caress the round dimple from a 9mm round that had nearly ripped through his liver. She traced the linear scar that had been the gift of a Macedonian thug who had been determined to open him up with a knife. She ran the tips of her fingers across the IX that was inked over his heart.

“What does this mean?”

He opened his eyes and looked down. “It’s a reminder of someone I knew.”

“How?”

“He was a good man trying to make up for things he regretted. His example is one I try to follow.”

“Like now? Like you’re doing with me?”

“Yes,” he said.

She kissed him again and then reached for his hand, leading him toward the bed.

59

Katsuro followed the man as he turned onto the path that led to the staff area behind the pool. He stayed back as the man opened the door to the kitchen and went inside. Katsuro waited for a minute until he was sure that the area was quiet and then followed. He pulled his pistol, slid his finger through the trigger guard and then gently pushed the door.

It opened.

The room inside was a large kitchen. There was a prep station, a sauté station, a pizza station, and a salad station. The man had grabbed a cloth and was wiping down a large stainless-steel counter.

Katsuro cleared his throat.

“Kitchen’s closed,” the man said, not looking around.

“I’m not hungry,” Katsuro said.