Chapter 12
TWELVE
“Thanks for everything.” Kenzie’s voice was a full octave too high as she handed the room key to the clerk in the hotel lobby. “The room was just perfect.”
The man behind the desk smiled politely. “I hope you enjoyed your stay, Ms. Laurent.”
Kenzie nodded enthusiastically, though her mind was anywhere but on this conversation. It kept circling back to the rooftop, to Jaz’s hands, his lips. The memory hit her in waves, making her stomach flip and her skin flush hot.
She didn’t do physical intimacy. Her only experience with kissing came from one fumbling high school guy, and she hadn’t tolerated that for long.
Her only experience with more than kissing was negative.
So she’d never experienced what she’d felt on the roof, like she was dissolving from the inside out, like the ground beneath her feet had suddenly disappeared.
“Ready, gorgeous?” Jaz’s hand settled on her lower back, warm through the thin fabric of her sundress. He had his duffel bag over his shoulder, and his other hand rested atop a rolling suitcase that they’d found in their room when they’d returned to it.
“A prop,” Jaz had explained. “Tourists have suitcases.”
He and Laguerre thought of everything. But how had he gotten into their room? And when?
So much was happening right under her nose that she knew nothing about. It was disconcerting.
Disconcerting? Talk about an understatement.
But not nearly as disturbing…terrifying…as the feel of Jaz’s hand on the small of her back as he guided her through the open doorway to the street.
She’d tolerated his touch before, had known it was all part of an act. That it didn’t mean anything.
It felt different now, charged with something she couldn’t define.
Her attraction to him had felt minor, no more dangerous than a gentle rain. What she felt now was a hurricane. There was no letting go of the wheel with that kind of storm raging.
She’d need all her focus to keep from being dragged under.
She remained in Simone-facade. In a way, it was easier to pretend to be someone else than deal with herself at the moment.
Did Jaz ever feel that way, like the playboy was a nice break from the real him?
How did he live like this?
The morning sun beat down as they made their way back to where they’d met Laguerre the night before. He’d driven away with the Porsche, yet it was parked there now as if it always had been.
Jaz pressed his key fob to unlock it, escorting her to the passenger side, where he opened the door and helped her in.
“Thanks!” Simone’s forced cheer was giving Kenzie a headache.
He smiled as if he could read her mind. After stowing their bags in the trunk, he climbed in beside her. The engine roared to life, and he pulled out of the lot and headed north.
“It’s safe to talk,” he said. “Laguerre found the bug and disabled it.”
“Won’t that alert them that you know they were listening?”
“They’re unreliable, the listening devices.”
“Really?” Not that she knew much about spy craft, but she figured her father would beg to differ.
He looked at her, lips quirked. “Magras had me buy them. Sometimes, I don’t want him to know what his enemies are saying. So yes, as far as he’s concerned, they’re unreliable.”
Wow. Jaz thought of everything.
“You’re pretty good at this secret agent thing.”
He faced forward again, all traces of amusement leaching from his expression.
Maybe he didn’t consider that a compliment. “You’ve kept us both alive, and I’m grateful.”
Jaz’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he navigated a curve in the road. “Not getting us both murdered is a pretty low bar. Most people manage to do that every day without even trying.”
“You’re not most people, and this is no everyday situation.”
That earned a grunt but nothing else.
The scenery blurred past the window, palm trees and colorful buildings giving way to more natural vegetation as they left the town behind.
A few minutes had passed when she asked, “We’re going back to your place, I guess?” She recognized the route.
“The safe house.” He glanced at her. “You’ll stay there while I go to your apartment.”
“What? No.” She shifted in her seat to face him. “If you’re going, I’m going with you.”
“Too dangerous.”
“If it’s too dangerous for me, then it’s too dangerous for you. Besides, you won’t find what you’re looking for.”
“Just tell me where the files are, and I’ll get them.”
“I need to go. There are things I need—”
“Make a list. I’ll grab everything.”
“No.”
He chanced crashing the Porsche to glare at her. “Are you being serious right now?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” She crossed her arms. “I trust you to keep me safe.”
“You shouldn’t. Things could go sideways, and if they do, I don’t want you anywhere near there.”
If something went wrong and she wasn’t there, then she’d never know what happened to him. Would he just…not come back? She’d just sit in his safe house, alone? Uninformed and terrified?
That sounded a thousand times worse than being with him. She didn’t want to take unnecessary risks, but every moment she spent on this island, she was in danger.
What she wanted more than safety was to know the name of those who’d been using her to smuggle drugs—and to bring them down.
So it would be dangerous, yes. But she wasn’t about to sit back at the safe house like some kind of…war widow.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“Fine. You’ll have to solve your little mystery without my files.”
“It’s not a little anything.” Frustration radiated from him like heat from the asphalt. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“Are you?”
“It’s different. I have to do this.”
“So do I.”
“No, you don’t. And don’t tell me you need stuff. We can get you all the stuff you need.”
“I don’t want to be left behind. I don’t want to be out of the loop while you solve my problems for me.” She’d been there and done that—and had been left with zero choices in her own life.
It wasn’t going to happen again.
“You don’t want to stay where you’ll be safe? That’s ridiculous.”
“Why don’t you stay behind, and I’ll go.”
“Be serious, Kenzie.”
“Do you have some kind of special training I don’t know about?” Her volume was rising, and she didn’t care. “You’re an informant, not an operative. What makes you more qualified—?”
“Years of experience.”
“You’ll tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
“I’m telling you to stay—”
“No.”
He growled, the sound matching that of the Porsche’s engine.
He wasn’t asking anything unreasonable. He was trying to keep her safe.
But it was her apartment. It was the only place on this island that felt like home.
She had things there that mattered to her.
Not clothes—she didn’t care about those.
But there was an old-fashioned family photo album Brooklynn had given her when she’d moved to the island.
The bracelet Cici had designed for her and all their sisters.
There was a letter Mom had written her years before, back when everything happened.
A letter that reminded her who she was, and whose she was.
How could she explain the importance of those seemingly insignificant things? Would a man like Jaz understand? A man who’d abandoned his own daughter?
The thought was a plunge in the North Atlantic. How could she be attracted to someone who’d done that? She didn’t even know him, and what she knew didn’t impress her.
To be fair, that was less true every minute she spent with him.
“This is my mess,” she said. “I have a right to be involved in cleaning it up.”
“I’m trying—”
“I know. I know you’re trying to help, but what you’re really doing is deciding what I need, where I can go, what I can do.
Everyone always thinks they know better than I do.
” The baby of the family who couldn’t take care of herself.
Her parents mapping out her life for her.
Jaz deciding she couldn’t stay with her crew.
Now he was deciding she couldn’t go to her own apartment.
“But I do know better—”
“I’m shocked that all your arrogance fits between your ears. What are you, clairvoyant? A prophet?”
“No.” He dragged out the word, probably fighting anger.
People always had good reasons for trying to run her life. They were protecting her or helping her, never bothering to ask what she wanted.
This was exactly why she’d left Maine. She’d shaken off her parents’ expectations and her big sisters’ advice and followed her dreams. And she’d achieved them. She’d built a successful business.
Not that it had worked out exactly as planned, but even so…
She didn’t give in. The idea of not going with him was so horrifying that she couldn’t even entertain it.
After a few moments, he shot her another glare. “You will follow my lead. Exactly.”
“Scout’s honor.” She raised three fingers in a mock salute.
Despite his irritation, his lips quirked at the corners. “You’re impossibly stubborn.”
“It’s a gift.”
That earned a laugh. “To you, maybe. I just hope you don’t regret winning this argument.”
She gave that remark a silent Amen as he pulled over behind a little shack, which she recognized as the garage where they’d found the Porsche the night before. He opened the door, then maneuvered the car inside and cut the engine.
The walk to the safe house seemed much shorter in the daytime, especially considering she wore her boat shoes, not those ridiculous heels.
The morning air was still fresh, carrying the scent of salt and tropical flowers. Though the temperature was hot, it was comfortable in the shade. Birds called from the trees overhead, creating a soundtrack that felt surprisingly peaceful.
Jaz unlocked the door and stepped inside, sweeping the small space with his gaze before gesturing for her to follow. The air was stuffy and warm, and he moved around opening windows, letting in a cross-breeze.