Chapter 4
FOUR
It was dark by the time the speedboat slipped into the hidden cove. Kenzie took in the secluded dock, tucked away from the main ports of St. Barts, far from the eyes of tourists and locals alike. So much for her relief at returning here. She had no idea where they were.
Jaz and his team conversed in French, talking too fast for her to translate. She spoke excellent Spanish, but her French was rough.
The first mate—she’d heard Jaz call him Laguerre—hopped to the dock and, with a smile and a flourish, extended his hand to help her off.
Kenzie hesitated, pride bristling at the idea that she needed help with something as basic as stepping off a boat. But the man’s eyes, gentle and unexpectedly kind above a weather-beaten smile, offered no mockery, only polite invitation.
Behind her, the Hispanic guy barked something that had her wincing. Her French wasn’t great, and her Spanish-accented French was nonexistent, so she had no idea what he’d said, though she got the tone loud and clear. The man hated her.
Laguerre’s eyes widened, gaze flicking from her to the man behind her.
“Martinez,” Jaz snapped. “Basta!”
That she understood. Enough.
Kenzie took Laguerre’s hand, eager to put distance between herself and the angry Martinez.
Laguerre’s grip was strong and steady, anchoring her as she stepped onto the dock’s bobbing planks.
The sudden firmness beneath her feet made her realize how rattled she still felt, as if no solid ground existed in this new world she’d entered.
She walked to the sandy shore and took a few moments to breathe in the familiar air. Nobody was shooting at her.
Jaz spoke to Laguerre and his other men. He was strong and solid, not at all the man she’d first believed him to be. But that didn’t mean he was safe.
She expected the men to tie up the boat, but after a quick conversation, Laguerre hopped back on and pushed away from the dock.
Leaving her alone with the playboy-turned-soldier.
Worry and fear were bubbling inside her, but she knew better than to let them show.
Jaz watched the boat motor out of the cove, then faced her.
“I need to call my father now.” She didn’t wait for his permission, just pulled her phone from her pocket.
“Don’t turn it on unless you want the cartel to find you. They know you survived, and they know you have information. They need to take you out.”
There was a punch in the gut. Maybe she’d realized that on some level, but to hear it said aloud… There’d be no resuming her life now.
How would this play out? Would it ever end?
“Sorry. I’m trying to…” Jaz stepped close, hand outstretched. “Use mine.”
She glanced at his phone, then back at him. “Why is yours safe and mine’s not?”
“Because they don’t know who I am.” He wiggled it a little. “It’s secure.”
She shoved her useless cell back into her pocket and reached for Jaz’s phone, but he wrapped his fingers around it. “Be careful what you say. No details about where you are or who you’re with. Nothing about the yacht explosion. Nothing about me.”
“I know how to make a phone call. And I’ll tell my father whatever I want. I trust him a whole lot more than I trust you.”
Probably the wrong thing to say, considering she needed the man’s phone. And anyway, it didn’t matter what she told her father. If he wanted to find her, he would.
Jaz gave Kenzie the cell, and she turned away from him, taking in the dense foliage, the narrow dirt path that presumably led somewhere beyond the trees. No houses. No lights. No sign of civilization. Just the dark water behind her and unknown wilderness ahead.
She was completely isolated—with a stranger. But he’d saved her life. And he seemed to understand why the yacht she’d been hired to transport had been attacked. He’d not only understood, but he’d put himself and his friends at risk to protect her.
For now, she had no choice but to trust him…a little. Which meant not telling her father anything. Because if she did, Gavin Wright would have a team of special operators here in minutes. Dad would whisk her home and protect her. And tell her exactly what to do and how to do it.
She’d learned her lesson on calling Dad when she was in trouble.
No. She needed to know what was going on first. She’d bring her father in if she had to, but not until she had more information.
With a plan in place, she tapped in Dad’s number, then paused, index finger hovering over the call button.
“Just get it over with,” Jaz said behind her. “We need to move.”
She pressed the button, and the phone barely rang before her father answered. “This is Gavin.”
“Dad, it’s—”
“Kenzie! Thank God. Where are you?” His voice, usually controlled, vibrated with tension.
“I’m fine—”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She inhaled deeply, salt air filling her lungs. “There was an incident.”
“An incident?” His voice dropped lower, taking on a dangerous edge. “The Blue Fantasy exploded. The Coast Guard reported pirates. Drug smugglers. Tell me where you are right now.”
Of course Dad knew what boat she’d been transporting. He always knew everything.
Kenzie turned to look at Jaz, who stood a few feet away. Though his face was impossible to discern in the shadows, his body language screamed tension.
“I’m back on St. Barts.”
“How did you get there? Who are you with?”
“It’s a long story, Dad, and—”
“Kensington Abigail Wright.” His voice was deadly calm. “Tell me what’s going on. I need to know—”
“I’m safe, Dad.”
“Safe with whom? What happened?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
“Well, I don’t, but I’m fine.”
He paused a beat. “Are you being held against your will?”
“I’m calling you, aren’t I?”
She flashed back to childhood, to the phrase she was supposed to use if she’d been kidnapped. I’m having the time of my life.
At least she was in no danger of saying it accidentally.
“You’re in trouble,” Dad said. Not a question, and the more she protested, the more he’d dig in his heels. “I’m sending a team. Keep that phone with you.”
“Absolutely not. Dad, you’re going to have to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
That was the only lie she’d told him. She had no idea what she was doing. If what Jaz had said was true—if she’d been tricked into shuttling more than a fancy yacht—then she’d been a fool, and not a clever one.
It was almost funny, in a bitter, cosmic sort of way. She’d spent years on the water because it was the only place she felt safe. She’d built a business so she could control her own life, just to wind up a pawn in somebody else’s elaborate scheme.
The fear that had settled like a lump of ice in her chest when she’d first spotted that speedboat full of thugs melted into something hotter and more volatile. She’d been used. And she was furious.
She wasn’t going to let this be the story of her life—Kenzie, always a victim, never the victor. Always a passenger, never the captain.
Kenzie, unwitting mule for drug cartels.
She turned to study the man at the edge of the wilderness.
Dad would extract her and protect her.
If her instincts were right, then Jaz would help her get to the bottom of this. Help her take down the people who’d dared to use her.
If her instincts were right.
Dad blew out a breath on the other end of the line. His tension was almost as palpable as Jaz’s. “Fine. For now. But I’m tracking your phone. No need to turn it on. I’ll find you. If you need help, you call me. You know I’ll be there.”
He would. He’d proved that. “Only if you promise to stay out of it unless I ask for your help.”
“Kenz—”
“Dad.”
He sighed. “Fine.”
She knew his heart better than any of her sisters ever had. “I love you, too, Dad. I’ll keep in touch.” Kenzie ended the call. It was good to know that, no matter where she went in the world, her dad had her back.
So did her Heavenly Father. He was the one she needed to trust.
Jaz gestured toward the narrow path that led into the trees. “This way. Feel free to turn on the flashlight.”
She did, following him along the dirt path. Her skin itched, and all she wanted was a shower and clean clothes. And answers. Definitely answers.
The path wound through dense bushes, tree branches reaching out like fingers in the growing darkness.
Jaz moved ahead of her with only the faint moon lighting the way.
He seemed familiar with every twist and turn.
The playboy she’d met in St. Barts seemed like the type to complain about the bugs, the humidity, the rugged terrain. This man seemed perfectly at home.
After a few minutes, they emerged into a small clearing. A cottage was nestled among the trees, blending into the forest. No lights shone from inside. No welcoming glow. Just another shadow against the night sky.
“Home sweet home?”
“Sometimes.” Jaz climbed the three steps to the porch, tapped a code into a keypad, and then after a quiet click, pushed the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s secure.”
Kenzie hesitated at the threshold.
Closed doors. Dark spaces. A man she didn’t know. Her pulse kicked up for reasons that had nothing to do with drug cartels. She’d learned the hard way what could happen in an isolated place with a stranger when you let your guard down for even a moment.
Jaz flipped a switch, and soft light illuminated the interior. “Like I said, it’s not much.”
From the doorway, she could see a small living area with a worn couch, a chest that served as a coffee table, and a kitchenette tucked along the far wall.
The place had the impersonal feel of a rental but without any of the usual tourist touches.
No beach-themed artwork or decorative shells on the coffee table.
She surveyed the room, looking for something she could use as a weapon. Something heavy and easy to grip. “I’d rather go home.”
Silently, he moved to the kitchenette, giving her space. Maybe giving her room to make her own decision.
Or trying to trick her into thinking he was trustworthy. That she had a choice.