They Drank My Father’s Champagne and Toasted My Death. They Forgot Whose Daughter I Am
I pulled the phone out of the false bottom with shaking hands and blessed him with my whole heart.
Chapter 7 — Recording the Blueprint
I opened the voice recorder, started it running, and slid the phone deep into the pocket of my robe.
Then I went out onto the terrace.
Our suite had a small private deck, and it sat directly above the main lounge where they were still gathered.
I lowered myself flat onto the cold teak boards and pressed up against the railing, out of sight, and the freezing, salt-heavy wind tore at my face and my hair — but it carried their voices straight up to me, and the little phone in my pocket caught every word.
“The drink for tonight — that’s dealt with?” Flynn asked.