Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
The speedboat cut through the Caribbean waters, spray misting Kenzie’s face and hair.
This wasn’t the cigarette boat that had rescued her and her crew from the Blue Fantasy.
Cigarette boats were flashy and fast. This was an Intrepid—a practical choice with a wide stance, deep bow, and three outboards hanging off the stern.
Triple engines gave it serious power. Jaz had hidden it near the inlet where they’d landed the day before.
They’d been motoring for forty-five minutes.
Now that they’d put some nautical miles between them and St. Barts, he didn’t push the boat hard, just held her at a steady run, reading the water, adjusting by feel.
He was a natural at the helm, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the strap of the backpack he’d secured before they left the safe house, the one that held all her business records.
Though the rest of their things had been stowed beneath benches, he hadn’t taken the backpack off, treating it like his most important possession.
She prayed he wouldn’t be disappointed, that it contained the information he needed.
She watched him from her seat beneath the T-top. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He was somewhere else entirely—processing Laguerre’s shooting, her revelation about Charlotte, the fact that he’d just blown five years of undercover work.
She wanted to say something, offer comfort or bring up a subject that might change the direction of his thoughts, but the set of his shoulders told her he wasn’t ready. He was too deep inside his own mind, wrestling with demons she could only guess at.
So she shifted her gaze forward, watching the water slice away to make room for them.
As tense as Jaz was, she felt alive here.
She knew it wasn’t logical. If she looked over the edge, she wouldn’t see sand or reef.
The ocean swallowed things whole. The sea was dangerous and unpredictable, but if she went into the water, she could get back out.
If she pumped her arms and kicked her legs, if she fought hard enough, she could reach the surface and breathe.
Skimming across the water, she felt free.
Her body ached with weariness. Just over twenty-four hours had passed since the attack on the yacht, twenty-four hours of terror and adrenaline.
She was so tired. She hadn’t asked where they were going. At their speed and heading, she guessed they would be nearing St. Kitts. Did he have another safe house there?
But they hadn’t gone far enough when something else appeared, a tiny break in the perfect line of the horizon.
Jaz aimed straight for it.
Kenzie had been sailing these waters for years.
She knew the major islands and many of the minor ones.
But this one was unfamiliar. There were seven thousand islands in the Caribbean, most uninhabited—too small to support a population, or they had no fresh water, or they were too remote to be developed.
This must be one of those forgotten specks of land.
As they approached, she gauged the size.
It was maybe half a mile across, thick with all manner of growing things.
Sea grape trees crowded the shoreline, their broad leaves creating a dense wall of green.
Behind them, she could make out taller vegetation—scrubby palms, what might be buttonwood, the low tangled growth typical of these small, wind-battered islands.
No buildings visible. No signs of habitation. No other boats.
The island looked wild. Untouched.
The perfect place to hide.
Jaz aimed for the northeast shore, far from the routes of passing vessels.
The late afternoon light slanted across the water, turning the bushes into dark silhouettes.
The jungle looked even denser than it had from a distance, growing right down to the waterline.
Kenzie saw nothing that looked like a landing spot—just an unbroken wall of green.
But Jaz slowed and angled toward shore.
And then she saw a dock, barely visible until they were almost on top of it. It was painted in muted grays and greens that blended with the surroundings. The floats beneath it were similarly camouflaged.
Jaz cut the engines and let their momentum carry them alongside. Kenzie hopped onto the wobbly dock and secured the lines.
The silence was profound. No engines, no voices, just the gentle lap of water against the hull and the rustle of wind through leaves and branches. Somewhere overhead, a bird called out, the sound sharp in the stillness.
“Where are we?”
Jaz shouldered his duffel and grabbed the small suitcase that held her hastily packed clothes. “Home, I guess.”
The words were hollow, devoid of emotion.
This wasn’t his home, not really. His home was back in Virginia with his daughter and his brother. This was just a hiding place, albeit a very good one.
She followed him into the rainforest. The ground was a mix of sand and limestone, the path winding between natural obstacles as if it had been created by repeated footsteps rather than deliberate clearing.
The air was different here than on St. Barts—heavier, more humid, thick with the salt-and-green smell of untouched coastline.
Insects buzzed in the underbrush and around her head, but she’d lived in the neighborhood long enough not to care.
The light was changing, that golden quality of late afternoon deepening toward the amber of approaching evening.
They walked uphill, climbing steadily a hundred yards, maybe more. Kenzie’s legs burned from the exertion, from days of tension and adrenaline finally catching up to her. Each step felt heavier than the last.
Through occasional gaps in the trees, she caught glimpses of ocean—brilliant blue-gold stretching to the horizon.
They were alone out here. Completely, utterly alone.
The thought should comfort, but a chill slipped down her spine.
A clearing appeared suddenly, in it a house that seemed an extension of the landscape. It was beautiful in an understated way, built of stone and wood painted in soft earth tones that blended with the surroundings.
It looked almost magical, like something from a dream.
Jaz climbed the three steps to the front door and tapped a code into a keypad mounted beside it. The lock clicked open. He pushed the door inward and stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter.
Kenzie halted at the bottom of the steps as if a hand had popped out of the air to stop her.
She couldn’t go in there.
Beyond the doorway, she glimpsed an open living space and kitchen, but not much else. It seemed modern.
And isolated. Completely isolated.
The memory of the kiss he’d forced on her…
No.
He’d protected her. She’d panicked, and he’d done the only thing he could think to do. And it had worked.
Back at the safe house, he’d lost his temper. She’d been sure—absolutely certain—he was going to hurt her. She could still feel the heat of his breath and his icy rage when he’d discovered she knew about Charlotte.
This man had a dark side. He was capable of violence—she’d seen as much on the yacht the day before. And she knew his secret. She hadn’t told anyone, but what if he didn’t believe her? What if he did and decided she was a wild card? How far would he go to protect Charlotte?
Stop it.
He’d given up everything to protect Kenzie. He’d risked his life, his mission, his cover. He’d been nothing but professional and respectful, even when he’d shared her bed with nothing but a ridiculous barrier of clothes and pillows between them.
He was a good man.
He was a dangerous man.
He was an enigma.
And he was watching her now, the backpack and duffel on his shoulders, the suitcase resting on the floor.
He looked exhausted. Defeated. And not at all confused.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet. “For all of this. For bringing you here, for—” He gestured vaguely at the house, the island, the situation.
“I know this is a lot. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me. ”
She wanted to protest, to say that of course she trusted him, that he’d saved her life. But she couldn’t seem to make her voice work.
“I won’t hurt you. I promise you that. I know promises don’t mean much given everything else, but—” He shrugged, an almost boyish movement. “You’re safe here. Safe with me.”
She was acting like a fool. This man had protected her, fed her, given her a place to sleep. He’d sacrificed his entire mission to keep her alive. And she was standing here, frozen like a frightened child.
But she couldn’t make her feet move.
Jaz did what he’d done at the safe house—he gave her space. He closed the screen door between them, then pulled her suitcase into the living room.
“The internet here runs on Starlink.” He gestured toward the back of the house, where wide sliders must lead to a patio or something.
“Satellite-based, so it works even out here. You can connect your phone, call your family.” He dropped the duffel and backpack on a cushy sofa.
“As long as your location services aren’t enabled, nobody should be able to track you through it.
The IP address will show you’re somewhere in the Caribbean, but it won’t pinpoint the exact location. ”
He disappeared from sight. A moment later, a low engine hummed.
He stepped into view again. “Got the generator and AC running. It’ll take a few to cool it off in here.” He flicked a switch, and the light fixture over the kitchen table on the far side of the room lit up.
“You can call your dad,” he continued. “Just don’t stay on too long. And don’t mention where you are—not that you could, since you don’t know exactly.” He peeked at her, and the slightest smile tipped up his lips. “Ah, I’m forgetting who I’m talking to. You probably know exactly where we are.”
Not exactly, but she could direct her father here if she needed to. She’d been paying attention.