Chapter 2 - The Camera in the Ceiling
Gregory’s phone lit up in his hand.
For less than two seconds, the screen faced me.
That was enough.
A message sat beneath his father’s name.
WALTER HARTMAN: DON’T PANIC. CAMERA IS RUNNING. GET HER TO HIT YOU WITH THE BAT. SECURITY WILL SEE WHAT WE NEED THEM TO SEE.
Below it was another message.
IF SHE WON’T BREAK, USE THE CHAMPAGNE.
My eyes moved toward the silver bucket beside the balcony.
The bottle was already open.
Two glasses waited beside it.
I suddenly remembered Gregory pouring mine before we left port.
I hadn’t touched it.
Gregory saw where I was looking.
His face changed.
Not fear.
Calculation.
He turned the phone away.
“You misunderstood that.”
I almost laughed.
“Did I?”
“Ashlynn—”
“Put the phone down.”
His jaw tightened.
“You don’t give me orders.”
Five minutes earlier, that sentence might have sounded threatening.
Now it sounded desperate.
I still held the bat loosely beside my leg.
Gregory looked at it.
Then at me.
Then toward the ceiling.
That tiny movement told me exactly where to look.
Above the television was a smoke detector.
At least, it looked like one.
But there were already two actual detectors in the suite.
This one was positioned differently.
Facing the center of the cabin.
Facing me.
I felt something colder than fear settle into my stomach.
“You’re recording this.”
Gregory said nothing.
“You planned the entire thing.”
Still nothing.
I stepped sideways.
His eyes followed me.
That confirmed it.
Whatever camera his father had arranged was framing the center of the room.
Probably not the suitcase.
Probably not the area where Gregory had first pulled out the bat.
Probably not the moment he threatened me.
Just the part where I defended myself.
Gregory gave me a humorless smile.
“You always thought you were smarter than everyone.”
“No.”
I kept my voice level.
“I just underestimated how stupid you were.”
His face reddened.
Good.
Angry people made mistakes.
Gregory lunged toward the nightstand.
I moved at the same instant.
Not toward him.
Toward the cabin telephone.
He realized what I was doing and grabbed the cord.
The receiver fell between us.
“Don’t,” he snapped.
“Move.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
He yanked the telephone from the nightstand.
The cable tore loose.
For a second, we stared at each other.
Then someone knocked on the door.
Three hard knocks.
“Ship security!”
Gregory froze.
So did I.
Neither of us had called them.
The knock came again.
“Mr. Hartman? Mrs. Hartman? Open the door.”
Gregory’s expression shifted instantly.
It was almost impressive.
His shoulders collapsed.
His breathing became ragged.
His eyes widened.
He suddenly looked frightened.
Victimized.
Then he screamed.
“Help!”
I stared at him.
He stumbled backward dramatically.
“She has a bat!”
There it was.
The performance.
The plan.
Gregory grabbed his cheek even though I had never touched his face.
“Ashlynn, please!”
His voice cracked perfectly.
“Put it down!”
The door shook under another pounding fist.
“Security! Open this door immediately!”
Gregory backed toward it.
He pointed at me.
“She attacked me!”
I dropped the bat.
Immediately.
It struck the carpet with a dull thud.
Then I raised both hands.
Gregory’s expression flickered.
That wasn’t what he wanted.
He needed me holding it when the door opened.
He needed rage.
Chaos.
A former Marine standing over her terrified husband with a weapon.
Instead, I stepped away.
“Open the door, Gregory.”
His mouth tightened.
“OPEN IT.”
Something in my voice must have convinced him because he finally released the latch.
The door flew inward.
Three uniformed security officers entered.
The first was a broad-shouldered man in his forties.
The second was a younger woman carrying a radio.
The third immediately saw the bat.
His hand went toward his belt.
“Everybody stay still.”
Gregory raised both hands.
“Thank God.”
He pointed toward me.
“My wife attacked me.”
I looked directly at the senior officer.
“My husband brought that bat into the cabin, threatened me with it, and tried to provoke me into hitting him while a hidden camera recorded us.”
Gregory laughed nervously.
“She has PTSD.”
I slowly turned my head.
He continued quickly.
“She was in the military. She gets episodes.”
The senior officer looked at me.
“Ma’am?”
“I do not have PTSD.”
Gregory stepped in.
“She hides it.”
“Stop talking.”
The officer’s tone changed.
Gregory fell silent.
The younger female officer moved between us.
“Anyone injured?”
“No,” I said.
Gregory touched his wrist.
“She twisted my arm.”
“Because you swung a baseball bat at me.”
“She’s lying.”
I pointed toward the false smoke detector.
“There’s a camera in that device.”
Everyone looked up.
Gregory went pale.
The senior officer spoke into his radio.
“Get technical security to Suite 1417.”
Then he looked at Gregory.
“Sir, where is your phone?”
Gregory’s hand moved instinctively toward his pocket.
For one second, nobody spoke.
Then he smiled.
“I don’t have it.”
I almost admired the audacity.
“It’s in your right pocket.”
Gregory looked at me with pure hatred.
The officer extended his hand.
“Phone.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Phone. Now.”
Gregory slowly removed it.
The screen was dark.
The officer took it.
“Password?”
“I’m not required to give you that.”
“That’s correct.”
The officer nodded.
“But you’re also not required to remain in this cabin while we determine what happened.”
Gregory looked stunned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re coming with us.”
His confidence cracked.
“My father is an attorney.”
That was news to me.
Walter had always described himself as an investment consultant.
The officer was unimpressed.
“Then he can explain your options.”
Gregory pointed at me.
“She’s the violent one!”
The younger officer looked toward the bat.
“Did she hit you with it?”
Gregory hesitated.
That hesitation mattered.
“No.”
“Did she strike you?”
“She attacked my arm.”
“After you swung the bat?”
“That’s not what happened.”
The senior officer raised one hand.
“We’ll sort it out.”
Technical security arrived six minutes later.
They removed the device from the ceiling.
It wasn’t a smoke detector.
It was a camera.
Wireless.
Professionally installed.
The technician examined it.
Then his brow furrowed.
“This isn’t ship equipment.”
Gregory looked toward the balcony.
The senior officer noticed.
“Who installed it?”
“I have no idea.”
I spoke quietly.
“His father.”
Gregory spun toward me.
“You don’t know that.”
“I saw his message.”
“You saw nothing.”
I looked at the officer.
“The message said the camera was running and told Gregory to get me to strike him with the bat.”
The officer’s expression hardened.
“Anything else?”
I looked at the champagne.
“It said if I wouldn’t break, use the champagne.”
The room changed.
The younger officer immediately crossed to the table.
“Don’t touch the glasses.”
Gregory scoffed.
“You people are insane.”
The senior officer looked at him.
“Mr. Hartman, did you pour either of those drinks?”
“It’s champagne.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Gregory stopped answering.
The officers placed both glasses and the bottle into separate evidence bags.
As they escorted Gregory toward the door, he twisted back toward me.
For the first time, he dropped the frightened-husband act completely.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“No,” I said.
“I made the mistake yesterday.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You think you won because you took away a baseball bat?”
I said nothing.
He smiled.
“My father has been preparing for you much longer than you think.”
Then the security officer pushed him into the hallway.
The door closed.
I stood alone in the honeymoon suite.
The champagne bubbles continued rising inside the untouched glass.
The ocean was black beyond the balcony.
My wedding dress still hung inside the closet.
My shoes sat neatly beside the bed.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I had believed my life was beginning.
Now two security technicians were dismantling a hidden camera from my ceiling.
The female officer remained with me.
Her name tag read RAMIREZ.
She waited until the others were gone.
Then she lowered her voice.
“Mrs. Hartman?”
“Yes?”
“There’s something you should know.”
I looked at her.
“When security received the call about your cabin, it didn’t come from your husband.”
My skin prickled.
“Then who called?”
She hesitated.
“Someone reported that a former Marine suffering a psychological episode was attacking her husband.”
My stomach tightened.
“What time?”
Officer Ramirez checked her tablet.
“Seven minutes before your husband picked up that bat.”
I stared at her.
Which meant Gregory hadn’t simply planned what would happen.
Someone had known exactly when it would happen.
Before it started.
“Who made the report?”
Ramirez looked at the closed cabin door.
Then back at me.
“The caller identified himself as Walter Hartman.”
My father-in-law.
May you like
And according to the ship’s passenger manifest—
Walter Hartman wasn’t supposed to be on this cruise.
