I do not own Blindspot or its characters.

Jane and Kurt exchanged shocked glances, and it was clear that the same thought was foremost in their minds: Fischer's threat. "What happened?" Kurt demanded of the hapless crewmember as they raced down the corridor to the elevator.

"Someone fell overboard, Captain." The man spread his hands helplessly as Kurt's look begged him to elaborate. "That's all I know at this point."

The ship was turning around as they arrived on deck, and the rescue boat was being deployed. Fortunately, most passengers were already in their cabins for the night, but a panicked few huddled around watching. Along with Rich Dotcom and his entourage.

Rich strolled over to them as soon as he spotted them, apparently unfazed by what was going on. "Oh good," he said, noticing that Jane was still wearing the dress she'd had on at dinner. "I'm glad that you weren't dragged out of your nice warm bed for such a . . . minor inconvenience."

"I'd hardly call a person falling overboard a minor inconvenience, Rich," Kurt expostulated, relieved that none of the passengers were near enough to hear him. The man really needed to learn to guard his tongue. He could feel Jane's fear radiating from her even several feet away, and he desperately wished he could put an end to their damned ruse and just hold her. Instead, he gave voice to the question on both their minds. "Do we . . . do we know who it is yet?"

"That Fletcher fellow we had dinner with," Rich said in a tone of voice that made it clear he still considered this a nuisance. "And no one falls overboard on my ships, Weller. The man jumped. I saw him do it myself."

No way in hell, Jane thought, but she bit her tongue with an effort. Jonas Fischer was too much of a narcissist to do the world such a favor as ridding it of his presence, but until she figured out just what had happened—and what the hell her next move should be—she wasn't about to risk linking herself to Fischer.

"He probably didn't even survive the fall," Rich continued in such a bland tone of voice that Jane's eyes narrowed as she studied him. For a man so . . . invested in other people's lives, he was incredibly calm at the moment. Too calm. If she didn't know better, she would think . . . She pushed the thought from her mind as Rich went on.

"But I understand there are protocols to follow." Rich nodded to the rescue boat now speeding off in search of Fletcher. "Your first mate—Patterson, isn't it?—already notified the proper authorities, and they're en route." He shook his head. "Poor man. He was just commenting at dinner how lonely he was, but I didn't think he'd do something like this." He looked at Jane. "Did he give you any hint that he was suicidal when you took him on the tour of the ship after dinner?"

Homicidal, maybe. "No," Jane replied, before deciding to stick as close as possible to the truth, adding, "But we didn't take a tour of the ship. We had only just gotten started when we stopped to talk for a few minutes, and then he changed his mind about the tour and went back to his cabin."

"He was an odd one, if you ask me," Rich commented. "Positively no sense of humor. It's no wonder he didn't have any friends."

Jane's brow furrowed. That flew in direct contradiction to what Fischer had said when he'd threatened her. "How do you know he didn't—"

"Oh my dear, men like Fischer—excuse me, Fletcher; I never was much good at names," Rich corrected himself, hiding his smile when Jane and Weller exchanged wide-eyed glances at his deliberate slip-up, "—men like him don't have friends; they have associates who are paid to do their bidding. The downside to that, of course, is that when someone comes along who makes them a better offer, they can leave you hanging out to dry." He winked at Jane.

Was he saying . . .? Jane's emotions were in turmoil as she struggled to process her rapidly changing fortunes. Just a few minutes ago, she had thought that she might have no choice but to revert to her old ways, to take out Fischer and his cronies to protect her loved ones, and then spend the rest of her life behind bars, but now . . .

Now it appeared Rich had neutralized the threat for her. For them.

Jane numbly leaned against the railing and watched as the rescue boat's crew desperately searched for the missing man. She could feel Kurt's eyes on her as he conferred with Reade, who had been summoned to treat Fischer if he were found alive, Sarah having accompanied him, and she longed for this to be over, to be able to return to the security and sanctuary of their cabin where she could avail herself of the comfort to be found in his arms.

"Congratulations," Rich said as he came up next to her, and she raised an eyebrow on him questioningly. "On your and Weller's relationship. Oh, don't bother to deny it. The two of you have really had me going with this ridiculous charade of yours, but it's obvious now that I look a little closer. You're much more devious—and better actors—than I thought."

"High praise, coming from you," Jane returned, not making any attempt to deny his observations. Rich might think he had everything figured out, but they still had a few tricks up their sleeves. Or one big one, at any rate. "Your plan to get Kurt and me together was a stroke of genius."

"Yes, well, I can't take all the credit for that," Rich said even as he preened. "Your friend Zapata was a big help. But I like to think I did my part to look out for my friends."

"And is that what you were doing tonight?" Jane asked quietly, making a mental note to have a long chat with Zapata the first chance she got. "'Looking out' for your friends?"

Rich met her gaze innocently. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Janie. I was simply out for a stroll tonight because Boston was off conferring with Chef Oliver about some special meals he wants to fix when I saw that poor man climb onto the railing and take his final flying leap."

Just how close had he been when he saw that happen? Jane wondered, but she knew it would be pointless to ask. Rich had his story, and he was clearly sticking to it. And the better question would be why he had done it anyway. Something else she would probably never get answered. But Rich surprised her when he resumed speaking.

"You don't remember Markos, do you?" he asked. He smiled at her surprised look. "Yes, the two of you have met before. A long time ago, a very long time ago. Before you became Remi."

Jane stared at him. She'd shared most of the details of her past when she'd interviewed with him, but she'd never told him her name. "How did you . . ."

"Oh my dear, your hiring on with me was no accident," Rich told her. "I'm a cruise line owner by profession, but my real passion is computers. I, er . . . well, let's just say I may or may not dabble in hacking from time to time."

"You're . . ." Jane struggled to breathe. "Are you . . .?"

"AshwellCreekKennels, at your service," Rich told her, referencing the user name he'd been going by when they first met on that online message board. Not that their "meeting" had been a coincidence either. "I'd been keeping an eye on you for some time when you reached out for help on there that first time, and I started keeping an even closer watch on you after you went undercover with the FBI. Once the last of Shepherd's men died in prison, freeing you from witness protection, I hacked your phone and started sending you help wanted ads for my cruise line. You were a little slow on the uptake, but you eventually bit."

How could she not? Those ads had been everywhere. Jane couldn't help but smile at the remembrance. "But how?" she asked. "Why . . .?"

"Because of what you did for Markos," Rich told her. "Oh, I know, you don't remember, but he never forgot. You stood up for him one day at the orphanage and took his punishment without hesitation. He wanted to thank you, but you were never seen after that day."

Because Shepherd had bought them, Jane realized. She recalled Roman telling her once that Shepherd had chosen them because of her ability to take a beating without flinching, but she had never known what precipitated the punishment.

"Markos and Cade are more than just friends," Rich continued. "They, er . . . occasionally act as bodyguards, and Markos saved my life about five years back when I was . . . well, we don't need to get into that. Anyway, Markos had been trying to find out what happened to you for years, and he was aware of my, er . . . skill with the computer, so he asked me to try to see what I could dig up on you in lieu of a monetary reward. It took some doing, but I was eventually able to track down one of the few guards from the orphanage still living, and Markos . . . persuaded him to tell us what had happened to you. We'd been trying to figure out how to extricate you from Shepherd's control for a while when you took matters into your own hands."

"Everything okay over here?" Kurt asked, keeping a respectable distance from Jane, but giving Rich a hard look as he approached. The two of them had appeared to be having a pretty intense conversation for quite some time.

"Just fine, Stubbles," Rich assured him. "And there's no need to stand that far away from the little missus here on my account. I know the two of you have kissed and made up—or you would have if you were actually fighting."

Kurt simply raised an eyebrow, refusing to give Rich the satisfaction of so much as an affectionate look between them to confirm he was right. At least not yet. Jane gave him an almost imperceptible nod, and he relaxed slightly. He was just about to speak when the walkie talkie in his hand crackled to life.

"Captain? They found Mr. Fischer," Patterson told him. "But it sounds like he's in bad shape. He's drifting in and out of consciousness, and the medic on board thinks he may have severe internal injuries. He doubts he'll last through the night."

"Well, that's unfortunate," Rich said, and Kurt narrowed his eyes, suspecting he was referring more to the fact that Fischer had survived the fall than the news his death was imminent, but he didn't have time to worry about that now. He motioned Reade over as the boat approached.

Fischer was unconscious as they lifted him from the boat onto a stretcher, and the group gathered round as Reade began to assess his injuries. "Wait a minute," Reade said, startled, as he got a good look at Fischer's face. "I know this man. He—"

They were all a bit startled when Fischer's eyes flew open. His gaze landed first on Rich Dotcom, and his eyes widened almost fearfully before moving on to Reade, then Sarah and Kurt, and finally Jane herself. "Congratulations, Remi," he rasped out. "I guess you win, after all. You're definitely . . ." He coughed, and a spasm of pain crossed his face. "Definitely not as boring as I thought. I underestimated you." He coughed once more, and then he was gone.

Jane felt like sinking through the deck as two sets of very confused eyes turned to her.