Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
A crash echoed down the street, followed by the raised voices of men shouting in French.
Jaz tightened his grip on Kenzie’s hand as they rounded the corner toward her apartment.
The sun pressed down on them, the air thick with humidity. Perfect timing—siesta hour. The guards assigned to watch the building would be hot, tired, and bored after sitting in position all day with nothing to show for it.
Jaz spotted the first man immediately—slouched in a weathered sedan with tinted windows, his attention fixed on the minor collision twenty yards away. Two of Laguerre’s friends were putting on quite a show, gesturing wildly and shouting in rapid French about damage to their vehicles.
“Glance over,” Jaz murmured. “A casual look, but keep walking.”
She did, looking mildly curious and adorable in the baseball cap and gigantic sunglasses.
What was it about this woman? Was she telling him the truth? What connection—?
Focus.
He forced his gaze to the staged accident. “What a way to ruin your vacation.”
“Right?” She sounded casual enough. “Maybe they live here, though. They speak French like locals.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
He guided Kenzie between two houses to the alley that ran behind her building.
The house she lived in was owned by a business he’d never heard of, which was owned by another business, which seemed to invest in real estate.
That was as far as he’d gotten in researching it, figuring she rented anyway, and the owner didn’t matter.
She lived in the basement apartment, not in the larger house above. That much he knew, having watched her use the key to get inside.
He’d never gotten close enough to check it out—he wasn’t a voyeur. It was bad enough he’d followed her home.
He’d already felt guilty for invading her privacy, and that was before he’d gotten to know her. She was more than just a source of information now. He cared about what happened to her.
And hoped she wasn’t actually working for the other side. What had she been about to say? Something about a connection? What connection?
The questions brought to mind their kiss on the rooftop—the softness of her lips, the way she’d momentarily melted against him before tensing up again.
Focus.
This woman was going to get him killed just by…by existing too close to him. Keep your head in the game. If he didn’t, he risked getting them both killed.
They passed another guard, this one in the alley—a man sitting on a stoop, leaning back beside a door of the multi-unit apartment building across from hers, face shaded by a wide-brimmed hat. He pretended to be asleep, but Jaz wasn’t fooled.
A moped sped past, the driver tossing something that landed just out of the guard’s view. Jaz knew exactly what it was—a large hunk of meat. Right on schedule.
Within seconds, stray dogs appeared, drawn by the scent. Barking and snarling erupted as they fought over the unexpected feast.
Jaz glanced back, ostensibly at the commotion but really checking the guard. The man had sat up to watch the dogs. Probably the most exciting thing he’d seen all day.
Kenzie took the lead, slipping between her building and the neighbor’s. She stopped at a window near the ground, crouched, and worked on pushing it aside. “Help.”
He bent beside her and added his weight to hers. The window slid open.
They needed to talk about security. On the other hand, anybody who’d tried to open it would assume it was locked. It wasn’t like it slid easily.
Kenzie slipped through first, then gracefully landed on the kitchen counter and hopped to the floor. He followed, leaving the window open behind them. He checked his watch and started a mental countdown. Three minutes. That was all the time Laguerre had promised him.
The apartment was tidy, meaning no cartel had broken in to search it. Small favors for Kenzie.
It was small but surprisingly nice—expensive, even. How did she afford it? On this island, only wealthy people lived in places like this. Transporting yachts couldn’t pay this well.
The kitchenette held modern appliances on one side of the room.
A small living area with a couch and coffee table filled the other side.
Behind the couch stood a desk with a chair pushed beneath it.
One of the desk drawers looked the right shape for a filing cabinet.
If her papers were in there, if she’d lied to him…
But Kenzie didn’t even pause at the desk, just moved down the hall. He did the same, slowing to look at the beautiful photography on the walls. They were landscapes, probably from New England, since she was from Maine. Had she taken them?
He hurried to follow her. Both of them kept silent just in case the place was bugged. The bedroom was equally tidy—a double bed with a navy quilt, a small dresser, and a nightstand that held a lamp and a worn Bible. Photographs lined the dresser, but he didn’t have time to study them.
She grabbed the Bible and tossed it to him, along with a small photo album that had been beneath it. He took off the backpack and slipped the items inside while she stood beside one of the headboard rails.
He watched as she pulled a plastic end cap off, yanked out a piece of foam and then a sealed plastic bag with papers rolled inside. She tossed it on the bed and moved to the second one.
After a glance at his watch, Jaz caught her eye and flicked his gaze to the footboard rail, raising his eyebrows in question.
She gave a go-ahead nod, and he followed her lead, finding another packet of papers.
Impressive. She’d been right—he’d never have found them on his own.
She retrieved papers from the fourth rail and handed them to him.
While he was putting them all in the backpack, she silently moved back to the kitchen.
He followed and watched her open the cabinet beneath the sink.
It looked like all under-sink cabinets did, moist and a little icky.
She pulled out a plastic caddy filled with detergents and dirty rags. Under a can of abrasive cleaner, there was a container. He leaned in to read the label. Silver cleaner?
She twisted off the top and pulled out a silicone pouch. She pocketed it, returned the cleaners, and closed the cabinet door. After giving the room a quick glance, she met his eyes and nodded.
Time to go, with about twenty seconds to spare.
She hopped up on the counter and scrambled out the window. He followed, and they returned to the alley behind the buildings.
The dogs were still fighting over the meat.
Jaz glanced at the guard, who was focused on the canine battle.
They turned away from him and continued their stroll, hand in hand, down the alley, moving at a casual pace despite the tension coiling in Jaz’s gut. The backpack was heavy now with the papers and Bible, but his step was lighter. They’d done it. They’d gotten what they needed without incident.
A faraway ding—the sound of an incoming text.
Then a sudden shout split the air.
Jaz whipped his head around to see the guard sprinting toward them, hand reaching beneath his jacket.
“Run!” He gripped Kenzie’s hand, and they bolted, feet pounding against dirt and gravel.
Behind them, the man shouted something. Another set of footsteps told him the second guard—or were there more?— had joined the chase.
Jaz pushed harder, pulling Kenzie along. Her breath came in sharp gasps, but she kept pace, her grip on his hand fierce.
They reached a narrow side street, and a car careened toward them, its tires squealing as it took the turn into the alley too fast.
Jaz yanked Kenzie out of its path, both of them pressing against the side of a house. Jaz took out his weapon, ready to fire at enemies if necessary. But he caught sight of the driver.
Laguerre. He straightened the truck and hit the gas.
A gunshot.
Someone screamed.
Not Laguerre! Keep him safe, please!
Jaz didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He and Kenzie sprinted to the borrowed SUV, climbed in, and raced away.
All the while, his brain screamed, Let him be okay. Laguerre was the only friend he had on this island, in the world, really.
Please, let him be okay!