Sebastian's POV
“Sir, that’s nautical suicide,” Elias retorted, the frantic tapping of his fingers coming through the line. “No one in their right mind goes sailing with a hurricane warning on the coast…”
“I don’t pay you seven figures a year to evaluate the mental state of the woman carrying my son, Elias,” I hissed, pressing the phone to my ear so hard the plastic cracked, threatening to splinter under my grip. “I pay you to give me answers. Gianna isn’t suicidal. She’s a survivor. And if my dogs say her scent trail ends at this damned wooden post at the water’s edge, it’s because she climbed onto something that floats. Find it. Now.”
The wind howled, whipping my soaked cashmere coat and throwing a curtain of icy drizzle against my face, but I didn’t move an inch. I kept my gaze fixed
