Chapter 7 #2
“Everything with you is complicated.” She turned back to him, exhaustion etched into her features. “I want to go home.”
“I know. We’ll get you off this island and back to your family—”
“No, I mean, I want to go to my apartment in Gustavia.”
“Out of the question.”
“I need clothes. My things. I can’t just—“
“Your apartment is being watched.”
She stared at him. “What? How do you—?”
“The cartel that attacked the Blue Fantasy will assume you went back to the States. They’ll wait for you to return.”
“They died in the explosion.”
“Maybe all the ones who attacked the yacht did, but there was at least one in the speedboat. He’ll have reported back.
It’s a huge network with countless people.
We have to assume they know what happened, that somebody on the scene was in communication with the higher-ups.
They probably know you survived, in which case, they will search for you. ”
Her eyes widened, and she looked toward the sea again, like she wanted to walk right in and escape.
He gave her time to process. He’d been so focused and distracted since the moment he’d seen through the binoculars those pirates boarding her ship. He hadn’t given Kenzie nearly enough information, nor any time to deal with all that had happened. “I know this is hard. I’ll try to explain—”
“I should have gone back to the States. I would have if you hadn’t—”
“I know, Kenzie. But you have information I need.”
“I don’t.” She lifted her gaze to his, her face pale in the moonlight. “Even if I did, I could have told you everything on the Coast Guard ship.”
If only it could be so simple. But if she’d been taken aboard, he wouldn’t have had the authority to question her.
It was only because of his DEA handler that the Coast Guard didn’t take him and his friends into custody.
And they would not have been treated like honored guests but pirates who’d blown up a yacht.
“I’m going to keep you safe. Because the yacht exploded, Magras doesn’t have all the facts yet.
It’s not as if the enemy cartel is reporting to him.
He does, however, know you were contracted to transport the yacht, and he knows about the drugs on board.
If he knows you survived—which he might or might not, I don’t know—then he’ll believe you were involved, that you must’ve leaked the information, that the pirate-thugs spared you for a reason. ”
She processed that, nodding slowly. “But I didn’t know anything about…anything.”
“I believe you. And Magras believed you were an uninformed mule. But somebody leaked the Blue Fantasy’s planned route—”
“I would never—”
“—and you survived, which makes you look guilty.”
Her lips pressed closed, and she shifted to look at the water again.
He did the same, watching the waves hit the shore. It seemed rhythmic and predictable, yet the sea was anything but. Sort of like his life, which was one thing on the surface but was completely different below. So far, he’d survived by thinking fast and being an exceptional liar.
Not exactly marketable skills, assuming he ever got out of this. The longer he swam with the drug-smuggling sharks, the less he believed he’d ever escape.
“I wish I could go back in time.” Kenzie’s words were a whisper, barely audible and maybe not spoken for him to hear.
“Everybody involved thought you were innocent before the pirates. Even if they still believe you had been innocent, you know now. You know too much. Because of that, you’re a threat.
They need to find you.” He kept his voice gentle but firm.
“At least one cartel knows you’re alive.
They’ll keep watching for you, hoping you go home. ”
“How do they know where I live? It’s not like I use a local address.”
“Kenzie.” He tried to find the right words, words that wouldn’t shatter her further. “You’ve been transporting drugs for these people for a couple of years.”
“What? No.” Her lips pressed together as she processed that. “I’ve only been in business for…less than three. You’re saying, all that time…?”
“I think so, yes.”
“No.” She wasn’t disagreeing. She was expressing horror.
“They know everything about you. Your address, your phone number, your bank accounts.”
He watched the realization dawn, color draining from her face even in the dim moonlight. Then she shook her head. “Not everything. If they knew everything, they’d have targeted somebody else.”
“Why do you think that?”
“My father.”
“The one with the special set of skills.”
“Your words, not mine. But yeah.”
“Who is he?”
“He used to be a CIA special operative. Now he owns a defense contracting company, working closely with intelligence agencies. He has resources. If they’d known that, they wouldn’t have targeted me.”
Jaz had also done a lot of research on Captain Kenzie, but he hadn’t uncovered that information. “You keep your association with him hidden.”
“At his request. He has enemies and believes I might be vulnerable to people who want vengeance on him.”
“Whatever you did to disassociate from him must have worked.”
“I didn’t do it, he did. He was trying to protect me, but if they’d known…”
Maybe she’d have been safe.
“How did this happen?”
He had no answers that would satisfy her.
“I never meant for any of this. All I wanted was a life on the water.”
“I’m sorry.”
She stared at the surf for a long time before she spoke again. “I can’t go home. I can’t get my things. I can’t check on my plants. I can’t—” She stopped abruptly and faced him. “My business records, all my client files. They’re all at the apartment.”
“Surely you back up to the cloud. We can access them—”
“They’re paper records. I own a laptop. Owned a laptop—it was on the yacht. But I’ve always preferred pen and paper.”
Just his luck that he’d need information from the only old-school, non-tech-addicted twenty-something woman in the Western Hemisphere.
She’d held it together through the attack, the explosion, the party, the meeting with Magras. But now, standing on this dark beach with nothing but the truth between them, it seemed everything had caught up to her.
Her shoulders shook, and though she’d turned away, a tear glistened on her cheek. She swiped it away, but more followed.
He couldn’t just stand there and watch her fracture.
Jaz pulled her into his arms.
She collapsed against his chest like she’d been waiting for permission to fall.
He held her, one hand on her back, one cradling her head, wishing the hair that caught in his fingers were her silky, natural strands, not that of the blond wig. She was trembling, breathing hard, fighting tears and failing.
She fit in his arms as if she’d been made to be there. It didn’t feel strange, though it should have. They’d been touching all night—his hands on her waist, her thigh, her face. But that had been a performance, touches designed to sell a lie.
This was different.
This was—
She stiffened suddenly, pushing against his chest. He released his hold, and she backed up, nearly stumbling on the sand.
“Sorry. That was… We don’t have to do that here.” Her voice was tight.
“We weren’t—”
“We don’t have to pretend. Play the role.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “No one’s watching.”
“I was trying to….” Trying to help—and obviously failing. He dropped his arms to his sides. “Sorry.”
“Habit, I know,” she said. “You’re used to playing your part.”
But that was the problem. He hadn’t been playing any part. Hadn’t been thinking about covers or performances or maintaining the act. He’d just wanted to hold her and comfort her. To be something solid while her world fell apart.
She was an asset, a source of information, a means to an end.
When he’d heard whispers that a rival cartel had gotten wind of the transport, when he’d realized they might target the Blue Fantasy—and that the pretty female captain would be aboard—he’d known he’d needed to act.
He told himself it was because she had information he needed.
But would he have motored to the rescue of another captain?
Probably not.
He’d always liked Captain Kenzie, even if he’d only known her from afar and through research.
She was beautiful and accomplished and tough.
No matter how many times he’d attempted to strike up a conversation with her, she’d never seemed the slightest bit interested.
Even the night before, when he’d intruded on her solo dinner and laid on the charm, she’d wanted nothing to do with him.
She was different, and he felt…
He shoved away the dangerous, unprofessional thoughts. If he was going to stay alive, if he was ever going to bring down Magras and El Fantasma and escape this life, he needed to focus.
“I’ll get you whatever you need.” His voice was back to business. “Clothes, toiletries. Just make a list.”
“I want my stuff, Jaz. My things.” Frustration colored her words. “My favorite jeans, my books, my…” She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”
He did, though, better than she knew. He’d sent almost all of his own things back to Virginia years ago when he’d first gotten into this mess. Most of his clothes, his photos of his precious four-year-old, Charlotte, even his father’s Rolex, etched on the back with an inscription from his mother.
My love forever.
Forever hadn’t lasted long enough for his parents.
Dad’s death had been Jaz’s fault. Mom’s, too, though in a less direct way. If Dad had been alive, she’d have fought the disease harder. She’d have survived.
Mother had always quipped that Jaz’s antics would be the death of her. She’d been more right than she could have guessed.
“I can’t fix any of that.” Jaz’s words were hard and angry. He couldn’t fix what Kenzie was dealing with now, just like he couldn’t fix what he’d done in the past. “Make a list of what you need, and I’ll get it for you.”
She looked at him for a long moment, and he wondered what she saw. The informant who’d blown up a yacht? The playboy who’d charmed his way through the party?
No matter what, she didn’t see Jasper Aylett, the boy who just wanted to go home.
“Will it ever be safe?” Her voice sounded timid, so different from the woman he knew her to be.
He wouldn’t offer false hope. Maybe, if she had solid information, it would lead to El Fantasma’s true identity. Maybe her information could help bring down Magras and The Ghost.
But maybe not.
“We should go.”
She nodded, defeated, and he reached for her hand to help her navigate the sand.
She flinched at the contact.
Right. No touching. She’d made that clear.
He pulled back, putting distance between them again. “When we’re in the car,” he said, “watch what you say.”
“I get it. You’re worried about bugs.”
“Magras is thorough. He’ll want to know what we talk about when we think we’re alone.”
“How do you live like this?”
“One day at a time.”
“That’s not living, Jaz. That’s surviving.”
She wasn’t wrong, but he’d made his choices five years before when he’d turned informant instead of going to work for a criminal. Before that, when he’d let said criminal get his hooks into him. Trying to escape one mess had landed him smack in the middle of another one.
He’d given up his true identity to stay safe.
He’d given up Charlotte so she could have a real life, protected from Magras’s grip.
He’d chosen survival over living a long time ago.
They walked back along the sandy path in silence. The Porsche materialized in the darkness ahead, moonlight glinting off its curves. Kenzie paused at the passenger side, smoothed the dress, rolled her shoulders back, and slipped into character, which at the moment meant a wide smile.
“Your chariot, milady.”
She giggled as he opened her door and helped her in. He circled to his side, slid behind the wheel, and started the engine. “Told you it was beautiful at night.” The suggestive tone felt ill-fitting and uncomfortable.
“You were right.” She sounded tired but played along. “Thank you for showing me.”
He pulled back onto the main road. The hotel he’d chosen was on the far side of the capital, tucked away from the main tourist areas.
He’d texted Laguerre, requesting he secure a reservation in the name of Simone Laurent and check in.
It was a modest hotel, affordable. More importantly, Laguerre’s friend worked reservations, and the guy didn’t ask any questions.
Jaz would prefer to take Kenzie back to his safe house, but he needed to sell this to Magras, should the man check up on her story.
Now, Jaz and Kenzie just needed to get there, and they should be safe.
For the night, anyway.