The Final Storm

01. Seeking A Sister

He flexed his fingers. "Indeed."

With a slight inclination of the head, he offered me his arm. I took it and, together, we strode out of the office building. During the next few hours, we visited seven shipping companies in succession, some of which did indeed not belong to my dear husband and were less than happy about receiving a surprise visit from Mr Rikkard Ambrose. But, in the end, they all gave up their passenger lists. Apparently, an irate Mr Ambrose in big brother mode could be quite convincing. Yet, ultimately, it all turned out to be fruitless.

Why?

Adaira's name was not on any of the lists. Not that I had really expected it to be. Adaira was a smart girl, more than smart enough to come up with a fake name. But even once we had questioned the various companies' personnel and given them Adaira's description, we still drew a blank.

Wham!

The door of the last shipping company slammed open and Mr Rikkard Ambrose stalked out onto the street. It wasn't long before I followed in his wake, doing my best to keep up with him with my considerably shorter legs.

"Was that the last one?" I quietly asked.

"Nearly." His fists clenched. "There are a few smaller companies we have not checked yet, but Adaira is not likely to even know about those. Naturally, we will check them anyway, but..."

"But we probably won't find anything."

In the long shadows cast by the sinking sun, I couldn't see my husband's face to try and read his expression. Not that he would have any expression, most likely. Yet his silence told me enough.

"Come." Gently, I linked my arm with his. "Let's go home. We'll continue tomorrow."

He didn't move.

"Mr Ambrose?"

He still didn't move. Didn't.

"Mr Ambrose? Shall we go home?"

"I...might have rented out our house when we left for the Caribbean."

Suddenly, my grip on his arm wasn't quite so gentle anymore. "Did you, now?"

"It was just sitting there, empty and unused."

I took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then I slowly explained, as if speaking to a five-year-old, I explained: "That's because it is a home. A home is supposed to be empty when you are away, so you can move back in when you return. Is this idea too complicated for you, Sir? Do I have to draw you a diagram?"

"No need," he replied graciously, as if that was the point of my little speech.

I gifted my dear husband with a bright smile. "You, sir, are sleeping in the dog house tonight."

"Mrs Ambrose...the dog house is on the grounds of our house. You know, the one I rented out?"

My eyebrows twitched. "I would say that you'll be sleeping on the sofa tonight, but I suppose we don't have one of those, either."

"Not as such."

"All right." Heaving a sigh, I pinned him with my gaze. "Where is the nearest hotel you own?"

My husband opened his mouth. "It's—"

"And by 'hotel', I mean five-star hotel with luxurious suites and soft beds! Our son will not be staying in some no-name hovel."

Immediately, he closed his mouth again. Taking a deep breath, he made a wordless gesture at Karim, who pulled open the door to the carriage that had been waiting for us. Before he could even think of helping me up the stairs, I was already inside and cuddling Berty.