Jack had no love for being on land. Well, except that one time Tia convinced him that he wore the Black Spot. Laughed her ass off, she had, when she learned that Jack spent almost two months ashore, terrified to even touch a dinghy without a jar of dirt in hand.

Or, unless the land in question was Tortuga. Ah, but the delights that be there for a man. Contrary to popular belief, he did have a thing for Scarlet. No matter how many times she slapped him around. He still wasn't quite sure what he'd done to deserve it every time he visited. Just another delightful, if marginally unpleasant, mystery of a beautiful woman.

But sadly, Fig Tree was no Tortuga. Sure, the Pearl could reprovision here- only on the needs, savy - and the crew could find some space for rum and women. But it just weren't Jack's flavor.

Far too...civilized.

He glared around the mostly empty decks. A sailor loafed about the forecastle, belching occasionally. It made Jack very much doubt that the man was actually doing as tasked, but he wasn't in a yelling mood.

His lady love, his freedom, the Pearl, needed looking after instead.

The heavy rumbling of cart wheels sounded up the large gangplank.

"Captain! Oh, Captain Sparrow!" A thick, lazy, vaguely French accent accompanied the words, slurred with a bellowing laugh.

Jack had always found Mr. Meeks to be a...well, an acquired taste. "Ahoy, Mr. Meeks."

The man - average build, receding hairline, wearing far too much florals and fringe - paused on the gangplank, swatting at the laborers pushing the cart to stop, making a dramatic show. "Permission to board your fine vessel, captain? I have everything that your heart - and crew - could desire for another, successful voyage."

The man knew just how to flatter ol' Jack. "Aye, a'course. Sooner we conduct our business, and see your business squared in me stores, the sooner we can set topsails, savy?"

Meeks brushed the side of his nose with a knowing smirk. "Savy, monsieur captain. Always savy." He gestured wildly to his laborers and the cart continued to heave onto the deck. Not that there were much room for it, really. But Meeks and his men managed it every time that the Pearlstopped in St. Kitts.

But never at Basseterre, mind. Too many noose-happy navy types and port authority inspectors for Jack's comfort. But Fig Tree had a deep coastline and no such scruples. Jack could easily get behind no such scruples.

Meeks continued to prattle on, brandishing his clipboard about. "Oh, captain - all these weather reports. Another hurricane, blah blah. Well, we've rebuilt before and we will again. I must say, your lady, ze Pearl , it still quite handsome, n'est ce pas?"

"Aye, mate. That she is."

"Well, I'm thrilled that she has you. And that you have me! Truly matches made in heaven." Meeks held out the clipboard with the printed manifest. "This is everything that came in the request. I trust it is to your satisfaction?"

As much as Jack hated being handed anything that wasn't a bottle of rum or something he could hock for high profit, he took the clipboard, scanning over the list. At first, seeing to the task of restocking the ship all by his onesie had proved quite dull, but Gibbs lost his privileges after being hoodwinked into accepting a hold full of nothing but onions.

And, honestly, it was still a dull task. But, honestly, there was no one else Jack trusted. The long month of permanent onion breath still haunted him and made him full-body shudder on occasion.

He reached for the pen stuck in the top of the clipboard, scrawling out a nonsensical signature. "We have an accord, Mr. Meeks."

"Brava! Magnifique, merci captain." Meeks accepted the clipboard back with a half-bow. "We won't be but a jiffy to unload."

Jack hummed, still finding the concept of waiting a jiffy tug at his restlessness. Distant music rose up from the shore, accompanied by the occasional loud holler.

Meeks' soft chuckle drew his sidelong glance. "Please, captain. Do not let me keep you from the party. Queen Sheeba's on stage tonight, so I hear."

"Not a chance, mate." Jack flashed a smile, just enough to glint with gold. "Tell me, what news out of Basseterre."

"Eh, ze bastards," Meeks sneered, disgusted as he glanced over to check his men conveying and loading goods. "They've raised the price of toilet paper on me. It's toilet paper, for fuck's sake! It ain't made of fucking gold. But they say there's a cotton shortage, so fuck 'em. And those EITC bastards - cordoned off a third of the port, just waiting on the maybe arrival of their newest, fanciest, fartiest ship, ze Icarus ."

Jack cocked a wry brow. "Why, ye don't say."

"Aw, ze Icarus - always laden with the finest silks or jewels. Or wine, I even heard. Every port she puts in, always gets special treatment, or so the porthands grumble. One'd think after the Persephone, that those EITC fucks would have learned their lesson, but I suppose it's good news for you, oui!"

"Of course, anything's possible. I'll keep me eye out."

Meeks rolled with laughter, his eyes bright even in the low light. "I know you will, captain! I know you will!"


"We'll put into Providenciales in two days' time." Groves recounted. "Powell will see the restocking of medical supplies, and Simmons will assist the deck loading operations. Any further questions?"

Silence fell around the wardroom.

Norrington looked around, nodding in acknowledgement. "Very well. Dismissed."

The mix of petty officers rose from the table, a general din of conversation filling the warm room in the meeting's aftermath.

She glanced up at Norrington as he rose. "You should be pleased. The company and the Crown are both still supportive of this venture."

"I am. Please do reassure them of my gratitude."

"I already have. But, conversely, this won't last forever."

"I certainly hope not." They shared a smile that spoke to all that they had left unspoken. The knowledge that once this voyage ended, it would either spell the continuation or termination of his command. The knowledge that if this didn't work…well. Cutlena Beckett didn't fail.

"Captain and first mate to the bridge ." The ship-wide PA system chimed. "Captain and first mate to the bridge. "

Norrington cut a sharp glance to his officers as he moved for the door. "All hands to stations. Stand ready."

Of course, she followed them.

Activity buzzed around the radar station, the lead on duty and another sailor peering down at the blips on the screen.

Groves joined them, tugging at the shirt collar sticking to his skin in the humidity. "What do we have?"

"Contact – coming up on our stern. One point on the starboard quarter. Three klicks and closing fast."

Groves looked over at Norrington, reading the assent in the commodore's cool gaze. "Engines ahead full. Let's give her a chase."

She frowned. "Ahead full? If we're being pursued, we want them to catch us."

Norrington shook his head swiftly. "If we make it too easy, we'll raise their suspicions before they even get in range."

She sighed, still doubtful. If this was indeed a pirate - or hell, Sparrow himself - and they let him slip away, there would be hell to pay. She crossed her arms about her chest, doing nothing to hide her questioning disapproval. Steady vibrations whirred up through the floor as the Icarurs' engines roared to life beneath her feet.

Norrington looked up to the helmsman. "Adjust course. North-northwest." He walked over to the comms station, reaching to open the ship-wide channel. "All hands, man battle stations and prepare for enemy fire. Stand ready to reveal on my mark." He released the receiver, glancing back to the radar station. "Report on position?"

"Still closing. One klick out now."

Groves reached for the pair of binoculars hanging from his chair and stepped out on the walkway into the bright afternoon sun.

Her heart started to pound, recalling the battle with Togg. Why wasn't the pirate ship shooting at them? Why had a warning shot not even crossed their bow? Norrington hadn't even let the Providence get this close without firing a warning shot.

"She's flying the jolly roger." Groves stepped inside. "There's two men arming the deck mounted machine-gun. More are making the boats ready."

Norrington nodded, looking over at her. "You wanted a pirate attack. Looks like you're going to get it."

A spray of gunfire, bullets pinging off the metal hull and bridge, pelted the ship.

She jumped instinctively at the sound. "What happened to firing a warning shot across the bow?"

"I think that was meant to be the warning shot." Norrington turned to the helmsman. "Reduce speed, a quarter-full. Better to let them think they scared us."

With wide eyes, she watched the pirate ship grow larger out the bridge windows. It was almost right on top of them now, slowing her approach in a wake of white waves. It looked comparable in size to the Icarus , but far smaller than the Providence or even Togg's ship had been. The hull was a nondescript gray, not the black color from reports about the Black Pearl . Disappointment shot through her.

Norrington looked hungry enough, though. It was still an opportunity to take down a pirate, after all.

He raised the radio receiver again. "I want shots placed to her communications array and along the waterline. On my mark."

All they could do now was wait. Another volley of machine gun fire pinged off the hull and bulkheads as the ship came up on their starboard beam.

A bullhorn squawked to life. "Merchant Vessel Icarus! Prepare to be boarded !"

"Mark."

The bridge stayed as quiet as it had before the order. In fact, the delay was strange – the relative calm on the bridge when surely the crew was scrambling to throw open the portholes, run out the guns and sight their shots.

Five shots rang out in quick succession, sending up thick sprays of water and bright, fiery plumes. At least three shots contacted at the water line, rocking the pirate ship violently with the explosive force and creating a pronounced list as water poured in. Another shot hit the deck, a black cloud of smoke billowing up into the clear sky. Pirates scurried on the decks, unprepared and shocked by the surprise, savage assault. The last shot took out the machine gun on the forward bow.

She swallowed, taking in the attack with wide eyes. What kind of guns had Norrington specified for the Icarus again? To say nothing of the topnotch men in the crew who so ruthlessly executed the commodore's commands. If this was what they had to look forward to with more pirate attacks, then, let them come.

Justice could finally be served in the Caribbean.

The rest fell into place rather quickly. Boats lowered from both ships as the pirate ship took on water, rolling hard to port, dangerously close to capsizing. Groves oversaw the transporting of survivors – prisoners – aboard the Icarus and to their accommodations in the spacious brig built into a former cargo hold.

The captain – last to leave his doomed ship, last to board the Icarus – stared in constant defiance as she and Norrington approached. She couldn't deny the satisfaction in the victory. The commodore and his men had met all expectations.

The pirate captain looked unremarkably average, dressed in black jeans and a gray t-shirt. Only the handcuffs stood out. She'd honestly expected more. He did have an exotic look about him, though, tanned skin with ebony hair. Spanish, perhaps?

Groves stood alongside him, speaking in low, serious tones. "…will be held as a prisoner of His Majesty's government until your arraignment."

"His Majesty's government? Who the fuck does your captain think he is?" The pirate captain's voice was deep with heavy Latin accents as he shook his cuffed hands, flipping dark hair out of his dark eyes. "He has no right -"

Norrington cut him swiftly off. "No right to continue letting you roam free on the high seas."

The pirate's dark eyes cut to the commodore with a scathing glare. "Another pompous English asshole. You know, it's not called the English Main."

Norrington shrugged his brows with feigned amusement, looking to Groves. "Clever. I'll have to remember that one."

The other man railed against his handcuffs. "You've no authority to hold me, bastardo!"

Groves chuckled softly. "You really don't know who he is do you?"

"No. And I don't care to know him."

"Very well. I'm not inclined to tell you my name anyway." Norrington looked to the tablet in his hand, wholly unconcerned as he started scrolling through photographs and criminal records. Every so often he glanced back up at the captain and back down to the tablet.

Groves looked between them. "Will you give your name this time?"

The pirate turned his stony gaze on Groves, otherwise unmoving.

Norrington scrolled through another record, glancing back up. "It's no matter, really. We'll have it one way or another. But I'd lay good money that you're Javier Mendoza." He nodded to Groves with the flash of a gin. "Take him below, lieutenant."

"Of course, commodore."

The pirate fixed his glare on Norrington, top lip curling in a snarl. "Commodore? Commodore James fucking Norrington?"

"I can't help it if you don't recognize me."

"You motherfucker! You have lost all honor! All valor of a fair fight! You - you killed Miguel! And lost my ship!" Groves started to pull him away, despite his struggles. "I hope you get what's coming to you! At the end of my knife one day! Unless someone else has the pleasure of killing you first!"

Norrington turned away from the man's taunts, brushing by her without sparing a glance and heading back towards the bridge. She stared after him, still hearing the pirate's echoes. How many death threats had Norrington received over the years? Obviously enough that if they did bother him, he certainly didn't let it show.

Something on that thought bothered her.


Despite the pirate captain's harsh words, the swift victory had indeed been pleasing. It proved even more pleasing to turn the criminals over to the garrison upon arrival at Providenciales. Discreetly, of course.

But that's what the empty shipping containers were for. It had been easy enough to divide the crew among the deck-level containers, and carefully transport them to the dock. A garrison detachment would be along in a few hours, well past sunset, to release and transport them.

She had to give James credit. He played the whole affair quite masterfully. Totally and fully in command. She couldn't deny the thrill of arousal that raced through her in recalling him, so confident and strong on the bridge. It was an increasingly distracting line of thinking – wondering at having him in an intimate setting. Would the touch of his hands be as sure as the commands on his voice?

Her lips curled to an amused, self-satisfied smile as she leaned forward, bracing her forearms against the railing. The view from their cove of choice for the night offered clear, starry skies. Ship lights winked on the horizon, inviting all manner of idle speculation. Was one of those ships their man? The infamous Sparrow? Would they be able to take him as swiftly as they took Mendoza?

"You know, it's too bad we had to leave Providenciales so soon."

She turned at the sound of Theodore' voice, looking over her shoulder with a small smile. "Is that so?"

"Mm, quite." He walked alongside her, mimicking her lean on the railing, glancing out over the water. His arm just brushed hers, the heat from his skin noticeable in the pleasant evening air. "It's always good for morale to celebrate a victory."

"True. The crew is to be congratulated for their performance. That all timed out rather perfectly." She turned with a proud grin. "I couldn't be more pleased with the success."

He met her gaze in the low light. "You're to be congratulated as well, you know. This whole venture was your brainchild. Your superiors better give credit where credit is due."

"It'll take more than one pirate ship for the Crown and company to be satisfied. But this is a bloody good start."

"It's still worth celebrating. In fact," his lips pulled to a playful smile, "if we were back in Providenciales, I'd take you out someplace – music, dancing, drinks."

"And what makes you think I'd say yes?"

A low note burned in his voice. "You turned me down that first night…but I remain hopeful."

The smoldering heat from her earlier thoughts surged at the implication as her gaze drifted idly to his lips. "That's what makes you sure I'd say yes?"

"Would you really say no? We've been trapped on this ship together and you're not pent up? To say nothing about how much I fucking want you."

The ship's lights caught mesmerizingly in his brown eyes. He stood so close and her body thrummed with arousal, feeling his breath gust her skin. How had she forgotten how handsome and utterly disarming he was?

His lips covered hers before she knew it. He kissed like a tease, like savoring something long forgotten. It was tentative, so full of promise and anticipation. She exhaled with a moan, her mouth falling open, and it was all the further invitation he needed. The kiss deepened as she tilted her head, the warm, velvety slide of his tongue mimicking so many other actions that she hungered for.

Her hand curled around his arm to drag him closer and he moved forward, angling his stance to slot a thigh between hers. Another moan slid from her mouth at the friction as her hips rolled against him. He answered in kind, holding her tight through a feverish kiss with a voracious want. Desperation. A rushing recklessness. But where was the control? The commanding authority?

She broke from his lips with a gasp as the thought hit her. It wasn't really Theodore she wanted pressed against her from chest to groin right now. Fuck, but she wanted James Norrington to wrap his tongue around hers, to fight her for submission. And maybe she'd give it to him - yield and just let him devour her with all the surety he possessed. Then again, wouldn't it be equally delicious to have him at her mercy until she shattered everything calm and collected about him?

"I'm sorry, Theodore. But no...it's. It's just not." She shook her head, meeting his eyes with the plain realization. "I can't."

His brow furrowed in surprised confusion as he stared back at her, trying to discern the truth from her eyes. "I...I don't understand. But I'd like to understand."

A blush started to grow on her cheeks as she bit her lip that still tingled from his touch. "I'm afraid there's no gentle way to say it."

He quirked a wry brow. "I'm a big boy. I think I can take it."

"Well," she sighed, "you're just not the one I want. Maybe you were when I first got here, but...that's changed now."

"Well, if it's not me anymore, then obviously it must be someone else."

She stared back, careful to keep her face neutral. She'd never voiced anything aloud to others or herself over her...interest in James, and she wasn't about to start now. But something must give her away because Theodore started to chuckle, low and slow. Like it couldn't be more obvious to him.

He shook his head, knowingly. "He is impressive, even I'll give him that."

"No."

"No, no - if he weren't my ranking male officer, I might just be interested myself."

"It's nothing like that."

"Mmm, sure. And yet you won't go to bed with me because…."

"Because I'd just be using you as filler." She snorted. "Literally. And you deserve better than that."

"Do I?" He paused, gaze dragging from her eyes down to her lips. "What if I accept your disclaimer?"

She cocked a brow, tilting her head to glare incredulously at him. "You're that desperate to get laid?"

He chuckled, leaning forward to nuzzle against her neck. Whatever cologne he wore did smell so very tempting. What would it taste like on his skin? Her hand curled around his arm as his lips suckled her earlobe.

"So long as you don't call me James." He chuckled throatily, the sound a rich current that rushed straight to her core.

"Lt. Groves." The commodore's cold voice washed over them, slamming through the fog of desire.

She bit her lip, frustrated as Theodore disentangled from her. A sideways glance confirmed the commodore's rigid form, his face tight with flinty displeasure.

Theodore straightened his shoulders, not quite standing at attention. "Sir."

Norrington cut him with a hard look. "We may not be in uniform, Lt. Groves, but I expected far better from you. Even on this sham of a ship."

"Yes, sir."

"Hit your rack."

"Yes, sir." He snapped off a quick salute, still holding his shoulders high as he walked away without a backwards glance.

She licked her lips, still tasting hints of Theodore as his retreating footsteps faded. "You needn't be hard on him. It takes two, you know. And his attentions weren't unwelcome."

"Is that why my name was brought into it?"

She shrugged, unsurprised that he had heard. "What can I say? Familiarity breeds attraction? Proximity promise, and temptation maddening."

He cocked his head, eyes narrowing shrewdly as he took a step forward, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Why Miss Beckett. If I'm not mistaken, have you just compromised your entire purpose here? Quite a conflict of interest when emotional entanglements and fraternization come into play."

Her jaw tensed. "Of the two of us, my word and reputation are not the ones in question. So play that card at your own peril."

He held her gaze, unflinching, as the line of his shoulders stiffened.

She couldn't resist a teasing smirk. If she couldn't seek release of her pent-up frustration with Theodore, then why not share the love? "I will admit, though – it's delicious to imagine you on your knees."

"On my knees?" He quickly crowded in closer, drawing her gaze up. Her breath caught at the deep husk in his voice, the dark of his pupils swallowing the green irises. "My dear Cutlena, you don't really know me at all, do you?"

Her audible gasp didn't go unnoticed by either of them. It pulled the most wicked smirk to his lips that she yearned to snog off his face.

He took a step back, tipping his head. "Goodnight, Cutlena."

The breath punched out of her as she watched him go, her body burning maddeningly with need.

The touch of her fingers barley quenched it.

She cursed the cabin ceiling.


Thunder rumbled the bridge windows, but no rain fell. The latest weather report indicated that this storm was little more than a passing cloud and not related to the tropical storm that tracked north of them. She sipped her tea, continuing to listen to Theodore and the navigator over the peals of thunder.

"Our present position off Dominica puts us in good standing to keep to the leeward sides of Guadeloupe, Montserrat, St. Kitts. We'll still encounter the churn between islands, but that's not to be avoided."

Theodore sighed, shaking his head. "That will help some. The shipping lanes are all so disrupted from that tropical storm. St. Kitts' watch reported unusually high volumes of traffic, so we'll have to be careful. How many more days will that add before we arrive in San Juan?"

"One day."

"One day." Theodore moved over to the communications console, opening a channel. "Engineering – report on fuel reserves."

The disembodied response came over the radio, crisp and efficient. "Yes, sir. A moment ." Theodore's finger tapped against the receiver, an impatient gesture as thunder rolled outside. "Sir – at full open, we have 30 hours run time of fuel ."

"Copy that. Bridge out." He nestled the receiver back in the cradle before walking back over to the nav console. "With these seas, we won't be lucky enough to run full open."

The navigator already punched numbers into his calculator. "At full open, we're 27 hours run time from San Juan. At half-open, we're 43 hours run time."

Theodore's lips pulled to a concerned frown, his brow furrowing. "So optimally, running at full open. Else we might very well be paddling in."

"Captain on the bridge!" The call rose up and everyone properly stood as Norrington swept in.

Even after all these months, the sight of him in the merchant captain's uniform was amusing. So unrefined in its appointments – case in point with the flashy epaulettes – and so unlike his crisp naval uniform.

He stopped at the nav console, looking to Theodore. "Status report?"

Her gaze drifted to the window as Theodore recounted their current position, the weather, the fuel situation. All the official business that she'd been hearing all morning. A peal of thunder rattled the nearest window, drawing her attention. Was the seaman sure the storm wasn't headed this direction?

"…run ahead, half-full. If these seas hold, then we'll just have to consider putting in at Basseterre for fuel before San Juan. I'm sure the company won't mind a delayed delivery of non-existent goods. Right, Miss Beckett?"

She turned back at Norrington's words, lips pulling to a clipped smile. "Non-existent or not, there are always schedules, commodore. But if the safety of the ship and crew demand a delay, then I will discuss with our port authority."

"Very well. Weigh anchor, have engineering stand by. Let's put this storm behind us and skirt the one in front of us."

Theodore nodded, acknowledging the order before calling out more commands to spur the bridge crew into action.

She sipped at her tea, swiveling in her chair. It was always more fun to watch other people scurry around.

A radio channel buzzed. "Anchor watch reporting – ship off the starboard bow, rounding the island! No visible colors at this distance, but she has the Flying Dutchman's masthead."

Her breath caught. The Flying Dutchman ? Could it really be Davy Jones ahead?

Theodore reached for the receiver. "Come again, anchor watch? You say the Flying Dutchman ?"

"Yes, sir! Ship with the distinctive demon maw, gaping sailfish bow."

Norrington reached for the nearest binoculars, stepping up to the front window of the bridge, adjusting the magnification. She followed, pushing up from her seat to move closer to the window, staring at the dark figure of the ship just clearing the far point of the island. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, waiting on the commodore's verdict.

Theodore's voice sounded over their shoulders. "Did we just get lucky, sir?"

Norrington lowered the binoculars, the corner of his lips curved with excitement. "I should say so. Ahead full – do not let her get away. All hands to stations."

Her brow furrowed. They couldn't attack Jones. That would jeopardize everything the man was doing to find Sparrow. She turned to Norrington with a sharp, commanding look. "This is not your battlecruiser."

He cast her a fleeting, dismissive look. "We are well equipped for a frontal assault."

"Except that we are a merchant vessel and have no business approaching a known pirate ship."

"Our mission is to eradicate piracy. I cannot in good conscience turn away when one is so readily in our sights."

She stepped closer to him with all the power of intimidation she possessed. "Isn't that the same attitude that cost you the Dauntless ?"

The barb was cruel, but it had to be said. The man needed a reminder of the high price his blind recklessness had previously carried.

He glared back at her, his jaw tense, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. "Lt. Groves, you have your orders. Ahead full."

She held his gaze in the face of his defiant challenge. Well, if this was the way he wanted to play it – then she had no choice.

She turned from him without a word, returning to her laptop and throwing open her email. The words flew from her fingers, heedless of the orders and men making battle preparations around her.

Kraken - Ahead full and outrun the ship off your port bow. Do not engage. Failure to immediately comply will terminate the deal.

She punched the send button, hoping she wasn't too late. The Icarus ' engines picked up beneath her feet, and Theodore spoke in the radio in low, hard tones. Ordering men to their stations. Confirming operational statuses.

"Bridge! She's pulling away. " The anchor watch came across the radio. " Repeat – the Dutchman has turned quarter stern and pulling away."

Theodore frowned. "Why wouldn't she attack?"

Norrington ignored him. "Continue pursuit."

The first officer stepped over. "Sir, I know you're aware, but our fuel reserves are low. We do not have sufficient supply to give a sustained chase and reach Basseterre."

"Distance now six klicks and increasing." The radar operator's voice dropped like the final nail in a coffin.

A look of defeat just managed to hide the telltale signs of rage on Norrington's face. She couldn't help but smile, triumphant in satisfaction. Let that be a lesson to him if he tried to countermand her again. Had he still not learned that she did everything for a reason?

His piercing gaze landed on hers and her smirk sharpened. The man could be angry all he liked, but he'd have no choice now but to call off the ill-advised chase.

He took a breath, collecting himself. "Remove yourself from my bridge, Ms. Beckett. Or I will have you removed."

Indignant surprise contorted her face. "How dare you. This is my ship."

"And at sea, the captain is the law." He leveraged all of his own considerable, intimidating authority. Not that she found it intimidating, but surely it made junior officers wither. "Leave my bridge. Now."

She drew a breath to speak, but thought better of it, closing her mouth to a tight line. The rest of the bridge had fallen dead quiet, watching the intense exchange. She broke from the commodore's stare, glancing idly about.

Slowly, the corner of her lips lifted. She may have just won the war, but she'd let him win this battle. Turning for her station, she snapped up her laptop and left the bridge.

Her quarters were preferable to the bustling bridge, anyway. Especially for rewriting this report. Detailing his single-minded obsession with hunting Jones even in the face of onboard fuel scarcity. That surely wouldn't sit well with the admiralty back in London. But at least a pattern had emerged. Who knew his commitment to his duty ran beyond professional obligation into obsession. But isn't that what also made him such an effective commander for someone so young?

A heavy knock on the door jarred her focus. How long had she been writing? She glared up at the door, knowing it could only be one man.

She leaned back in her chair. "Not right now."

"If you do not grant permission, then I will use my keys." Norrington's voice was just as cold and sharp with coiled anger as it had been on the bridge.

She sighed, steeling herself. "It's unlocked."

His movements were stiff as the door opened and he walked into the dim, warm light of her cabin.

He fixed her with a hard, calculating stare. "Are you in league with Jones? It's no coincidence that you type at your laptop, and the Dutchman retreats from a non-threatening vessel minutes later."

She sat up straighter, not seeing a reason to lie. She knew that her actions on the bridge revealed everything about her subterfuge. "Contingency plans were in place before I even landed on the Port Royal tarmac."

"So I never even stood a fucking chance?"

She started on his use of the swear word. She didn't think that he had it in him, even though he was a navy man. Using such a common word seemed beneath him, but damn, there was something about it. She smirked, unable to help the tease. "If you didn't, then why are we out here?"

He shook his head, anger - and was that hurt? - coloring his gaze. "What else aren't you telling me?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

"What leverage do you have on Jones?"

"Now why would I -"

"Please, Cutlena. Do you respect me so little?"

Well, that certainly wasn't true. He had proven his competence, intelligence and commitment many times over. "I have the utmost respect for you, James. Maybe not when you're throwing me off your bridge, however."

"I will remove anyone that I suspect of treachery."

"Treachery, hmm? Considering I was never sent here to be on your side, it's hardly a betrayal."

He forced a hard swallow, exhaling stiffly. "Jones. How are you using him?

She pushed up from her chair. "I have his heart, so to speak."

"How so?"

"One of our spies landed on his ship last year, and Jones' cabin was most revealing. He had a wife, hidden away in some dark corner of San Dominique. We found her and revealed ourselves to Jones. She will swing as an accessory to his crimes if he does not support the company."

He looked back at her with cold disgust. "You have his heart. And you don't have one. I knew you were cruel, but this…? And to think, I was foolishly considering that maybe..once this was over…."

His words punched through her, taken by surprise. He'd been quite distant since discovering her that night with Theodore, and the loss of their budding camaraderie stung more than she wanted to admit. Part of her yearned to speak out - to correct him - to reassure him.

But that line of thinking was costly. She shook her head, sighing in determined resignation as she leveled him with an honest look. "I don't fail, James. I can't and I won't. Whatever it takes." She shook her head again, watching a heavy emotion that she didn't want to name settle in his green eyes. "So, please don't expect an apology."

Silence fell as their gazes held. Her blood heated the longer she looked at him, increasingly torn whether to ask him to leave or just end the misery and snog him senseless.

At length, he sighed a weighty, final sound. "I know. But that's who I am, so I will." He took a step back. "I'm sorry, Cutlena." His footfalls thundered in her ears, and the urge to call out to him gnawed at her. But she stayed still, staring after him as the door closed firmly in his wake.