Chapter 21 #2
“Sure you do. You could be a drug smuggler. That’s a choice you didn’t make.
You could’ve run away. That’s a choice you didn’t make.
You’ve made mistakes, but you didn’t surrender to them.
You didn’t let them define you. I don’t know if your dad sees what you’re doing, what you’ve been trying to do, but God sees it.
He knows your motives. Maybe you need to quit thinking you’re smarter than God and start seeing yourself the way He sees you. ”
Wait, was she calling his self-loathing…pride?
She smiled. “It’s not all about you, Jaz.
God put you here, at this time, in this position, for a reason, and you’re rising to it.
You’re putting your life in danger to make a dent in the drug trade.
Maybe if you take the focus off yourself and lift your eyes to the one who’s got it handled, you might see everything differently. ”
Jaz and Kenzie returned inside and got back to work, though he kept having to refocus on the papers and spreadsheet.
Kenzie’s words replayed on a loop in his head.
She hadn’t encouraged him with empty lies, hadn’t spoken platitudes.
Instead, she’d laid out a solid case for why he wasn’t fully responsible for his father’s death—he doubted he’d ever believe he didn’t bear at least some of the guilt.
And she’d basically told him to get his head out of his…
backside and realize the world wasn’t all about him.
While telling him he was a good man his father would be proud of.
What a woman.
Beautiful, feminine, tough, and honest. And maybe even…right.
Was it possible that God had spared him for a purpose—for this purpose? Jaz had a mission, and it was noble. Maybe it was time to stop thinking of all the stupid things he’d done in his life and just…move on.
“Another Panama company.” Kenzie’s words had him shaking off his unhelpful ruminations.
They were deep in the data, building a comprehensive database of every yacht owner, every shell company, every route Kenzie had sailed. He’d set up the database to share in real time so Wentz could work on tracking down the companies from his end.
“I’ll add it to the list.” Jaz did. “That makes eighteen.”
“Eighteen shell companies in two years.” She shook her head. “How did I not see this?”
“You had no reason to suspect anything.” He glanced at her, saw the self-recrimination in her expression. “You were running a legitimate business. Why would you have doubted the people hiring you?”
“If I’d actually read this paperwork instead of just signing off on it—”
“You’re a sailor, Kenzie. Don’t beat yourself up for not being something you’re not.”
“Hmm.” The sound was noncommittal at best.
Funny how she could see him so clearly yet couldn’t see how she was doing the same thing he’d done for years, taking responsibility for someone else’s choices.
They worked quietly, only the click of her fingers on the keyboard and the scratch of his pen across his notebook breaking the silence. He was building a separate list, cross-referencing yacht names with the deals he’d facilitated for Magras. Looking for overlap, for patterns.
For any thread that might lead them to El Fantasma.
When his phone rang, he glanced at the screen. “It’s Wentz.” He answered and put it on speaker. “What’ve you got?”
“Are you on your island?” Wentz’s voice was sharp, urgent.
“How do you know about—?”
“There are three boats headed straight for your location, moving fast.”
Jaz stood and met Kenzie’s eyes. “How much time?”
“Less than ten—”
“Understood.” He ended the call and grabbed his backpack from the counter. “We leave in thirty seconds.” He started gathering paperwork.
She pushed his hands away. “I got this. Go. Get what you need.”
Jaz bolted to the bedroom, his mind racing. They’d been found. Somehow, despite all his precautions, despite the layers of security, they’d been found.
He yanked open the closet door and pulled the duffel bag from the top shelf. His go-bag, the one he’d packed years ago and hoped he’d never need.
Fake IDs—three different identities. Passports to match. Twenty thousand in cash, mixed currencies. A burner phone. A change of clothes. A Sig Sauer with extra clips.
He’d prepared for this moment, planned for it. But he’d never actually believed it would come.
Jaz slung the duffel over his shoulder and returned to the living room. Kenzie was there, his backpack on her back, her suitcase at her side. She looked scared but ready.
He pulled his Glock from a drawer in the kitchen and shoved it in his pocket, then handed her the Sig and clips. “Just in case.”
She shoved the clips in a pocket, kept the gun ready.
“Stay behind me. When we get to the boat, you start the engines while I untie the lines. If something happens to me, you go. Understood?”
“I’m not going to—“
“Just do it. Call your dad and get out of the Caribbean.”
Not waiting for agreement or argument, he opened the door, listening. The symphony hadn’t changed—birdsong and insects and the breeze fluttering the leaves.
He heard no engines, but that didn’t mean they weren’t closing in. They could’ve been approaching the far side of the island.
Or they might’ve already landed.
He stepped onto the porch, Kenzie right behind him, then turned to lock the door. But what was the point?
Their lunch dishes were still on the counter. His bed was unmade. The generator was running, the AC.
His refuge. The one place in the world where he could breathe. Where he could be himself instead of the playboy or the informant or the ghost chasing a ghost.
Now, it was all gone.
Jaz forced himself to turn and lead the way down the path, moving as quickly as the uneven terrain allowed.
He had nothing left. Nothing but the duffel bag on his shoulder, the woman at his back, and the hope—fragile and desperate as it seemed now—of exposing El Fantasma and getting his life back.