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James had been counting the days since Gibraltar. Not on a calendar — that would've been too official, too much like the Navy — but in the way a man counts cigarette ends when he's run out of fags and

The salt crust on James's collar hadn't fully dissolved under the steam of his third shower since docking, and that seemed about right — four months at sea left residue that no amount of scrubbing cou

The bass thudded through the floorboards of The Blind Tiger like a second heartbeat, and James felt every pulse in his sternum. He'd been at sea for eleven weeks straight, and London was hitting him l

The champagne was flowing before nine in the morning, and nobody saw anything wrong with that. "Why the hell not?" Charlotte said, lifting her flute toward the ceiling of the hotel suite while bubble