Redstone wasn’t consistently in the top five highest-rated places to work because it was easy. It was Josh himself, and his reputation, that made a Redstone job among the most coveted. He hired the best, let them do what they did best, paid them well, treated them all with fairness, and mostly stayed out of their way. But above all he let them know that if they needed it, the full power of the Redstone empire was behind them.
“Why don’t you head for open water?” Josh said.
Gabe drew back slightly. “What?”
Josh shrugged. “Take her out. Clear your head.”
Only Josh Redstone would make an offer like that, to take a hundred-and-forty-nine-foot luxury yacht, complete with a media room and helipad, out for a spin as if it were a new car rather than the latest, and as yet unnamed, design from his fertile and incredible mind.
“Thank you,” Gabe said automatically, “but—”
“You saying you don’t do your best thinking at sea?”
Gabe’s mouth quirked. “You can take the boy out of the navy, but you can’t take the navy out of the boy?”
Josh grinned. “Something like that.”
Neither of them mentioned that in Gabe’s case, he hadn’t been taken out of the navy, he’d quit. Gabe knew he’d had no choice, and Josh, when he’d learned the full story of what had driven a man who’d once chosen the navy as his career to leave, had answered in the best possible way: he’d offered Gabe a way out that didn’t require him to leave his love of ships and the water behind.
“I’ve got to head back to my office,” Josh said, and Gabe knew the reluctance he heard in his boss’s voice was real. Josh was not an office-bound executive, even at Redstone Headquarters, which was as much a paragon of comfort and thoughtful design as this boat was.
“Take her out,” he said again. “Put all this on the back burner, focus on something else for a while. It’ll help you work through it, where chewing on it up front won’t.”
Gabe smiled at the rustic simile, thinking again of those who made the mistake of assuming the drawl and the down-home manner were all there was to Josh. It amazed him how anyone could look at the size and scope of Redstone and think that anyone less than a genius could have built it, but people were often ruled by their own filters and perceptions, a fact Josh frequently used to his advantage. And since his naval career had come to a crashing end because of such people, Gabe couldn’t help but appreciate Josh’s talent in that area.
“And,” Josh added as he went down the gangway steps, “if you need anything, if Redstone can help, call.”
Gabe nodded, knowing that what would have been a casual offer, never really intended for acceptance from most people, was something quite different coming from Josh Redstone. When he offered help to one of his huge family—which meant anyone who worked for and with him—he meant it.
In the seven years he’d worked for Josh, overseeing the smallest but one of the most loved—by Josh, anyway—divisions of the empire, so small it didn’t even have its own name but rather existed as a sideline of the aviation division, he’d both seen and heard of the kinds of things Redstone had done for its people. The cruise he’d captained for the bereaved family had only been the latest in a very long string of things done that Josh took for granted; if you were Redstone, Redstone helped when you needed it.
Later that morning, when Gabe stood out on deck, having let the eager young first mate take the wheel for a while—although the boat had the newer, joystick type of controls, Josh was enough of a traditionalist to have also included the wheel—he had to admit his boss was right. Being out here, on blue water with the smell of the salt air and the sounds of the sleek red-and-gray vessel cutting powerfully through the water, soothed his mind and soul in a way nothing else could.
By the time they were back at the dock and he was overseeing the cleanup and making his log entry, he was resigned. He would do as the Waldrons had asked; he wouldn’t fight them. Gwen’s pain had been too real, too palpable, and he couldn’t stand in the way of anything that might ease it, no matter how ambivalent he might be about it.
Besides, he thought, it might be a relief to him as well, when people asked, to be able to say with some truth that she was dead. It was so much more finite than “She vanished,” less painful than “She walked out on me without a word,” and certainly less uncomfortable than “I have no idea where my wife is.”
Of course, even if Hope were declared legally dead, it wouldn’t resolve anything for him. He knew too well that it would always be there, hovering, that her “death” would be of legal status only, that he would be forever no closer to knowing what had really happened. No closer to knowing if she’d had an accident, or if the worse-case scenario that haunted him was true, that she’d been murdered and dumped somewhere.
But after eight years, he’d gotten better at living with that. He’d learned—
“Captain?”
He looked up from the ship’s log entry at Mark Spencer, the young first mate he’d given the wheel to earlier.
“I thought you’d gone for lunch.”
“I was, but…there’s someone here to see you, sir,” Mark said, seeming oddly nervous.
“The Waldrons?” he asked, hoping they would understand why he’d disappeared out to sea after they’d left.
“No. A…woman.”
The way he said it, as if he’d had to choose among many descriptions, alerted Gabe. Whoever it was, she’d made an impression. Hiding the first real smile he’d felt coming on since his in-laws had arrived this morning, he stood up.
“She asked for you personally, by name,” Mark added, unable to mask the curiosity in his eyes. Gabe read the speculation there, knew what the younger man was wondering; had their reclusive, loner captain been holding out on them?
Not likely, he muttered inwardly, and the smile that threatened this time was wryly self-knowing.
“She give you a name, Mark?”
“Cara. She said you’d know.”
Any urge at all to smile vanished. It seemed his painful day wasn’t over yet.
“Where did you put her?”
“The main salon.”
“Go see if she needs anything, a drink, food,” he ordered, wanting a moment alone to deal with this next surprise.
“Already done, sir.” Mark’s formal tone told him his voice had been a bit sharp.
“Good job,” he said, careful to keep his own tone even this time.
“I’m Redstone,” Mark said simply.
That got him the smile, and it was genuine. “Thanks, Mark. Please tell her I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Yes, sir.”
The young man executed a turn snappy enough to earn him approval from any Naval officer, and left the bridge.
Cara.
