Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Jaz hadn’t seen the marina this packed since last year’s regatta. He’d forgotten the race was this weekend.
Fortunately, the marina had a slip for them. He’d used Kenzie’s phone when they’d reached the harbor and called ahead.
All the while, cursing himself for being an idiot.
He should’ve dumped his phone before he’d gotten to his island.
He’d always taken it with him before, but Magras had still trusted him then.
Magras had to have realized the night before when Jaz didn’t show up—and didn’t call or text with an explanation—that he was no longer an ally.
He must’ve tracked it.
Stupid. Jaz was lucky he hadn’t gotten them both killed.
When Kenzie guided the boat into their assigned slip, Jaz hopped off and tied it up.
The familiar docks stretched all around, rows upon rows of sailboats and small yachts swaying gently in the evening breeze.
More bobbed in the harbor. He used to live on this island, back when Jaz the playboy wasn’t a persona but his real life.
Except, in retrospect, he knew that man had been a lie too. He didn’t know who the real Jasper Aylett was, hadn’t known since he was a teenager at his father’s memorial. No casket, no grave. His body had never been recovered.
“Maybe you need to quit thinking you’re smarter than God and start seeing yourself the way He sees you.”
Kenzie’s words swirled in his mind, mixing with all the crazy things that’d happened since then.
How did God see him? As a screw-up? A wastrel, as his brother believed? A useless waste of space?
Did God create useless wastes of space?
Probably not. So…what did that mean? He figured the only solution was to ask Him.
How do You see me, God?
Maybe he needed to be quiet for a minute, listen for an answer. But he couldn’t just stand on this dock and wait for one.
He grabbed his duffel bag and Kenzie’s small suitcase, both reminders of another stupid move. It’d been instinct to grab them, but those precious seconds could’ve cost them their lives.
He should be better at this by now. It was one thing to put his own life in danger, but Kenzie was counting on him to protect her. And he kept messing up.
After checking in at immigration, they headed toward Phillipsburg, the large tourist center and cruise port on the Dutch side of the island of St. Martin—the side technically known as Sint Maarten.
“I know a place we can stay.” Kenzie walked ahead, turning to look over her shoulder. “It’s affordable and away from the big resorts.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Jaz scanned the street, looking for threats, for anyone paying too much attention. “Going somewhere people know you—”
“I trust them.” Kenzie reached back and took his hand, giving it a little squeeze. “And we need a hotel. With the regatta, we’ll be lucky to find anything.”
She was right. They couldn’t sleep on the boat, not when it could be spotted. They could go to one of the resorts, but chances were better he’d be recognized there than in town. Maybe her hotel was the best bet.
“Lead the way.” He didn’t hate letting someone else make decisions, not always having to be in control. He’d been on his own for so long with no support—and his handler’s bored, mistrusting counsel barely counted.
The inn was tucked down a quiet side street, a charming two-story building painted pale yellow with white trim. Flowers spilled from window boxes.
Inside, the lobby was small and welcoming. Warm wood floors, comfortable furniture, photos of the island on the walls. It wasn’t new or shiny or upscale. It was friendly, more like a home than a hotel.
A woman in her fifties looked up from behind the desk, her face breaking into a smile when she saw them.
“Kenzie! What a lovely surprise.” She came around the desk to embrace her. “I haven’t seen you in months.”
“Hi, Mrs. Baptiste.” Kenzie returned the hug, and Jaz saw tension ease from her shoulders. “It’s good to see you.”
“And who’s this?” Mrs. Baptiste’s gaze shifted to him, curious but friendly.
“This is—”
“Nathaniel.” He stuck out his hand, using the name on the passport he’d given at immigration. “Kenzie told me all about this place.”
“We’re here for a couple of days.” She barely glanced at him, showing no surprise at the fake name. “We need a room, if you have one available.”
“We were fully booked, but I had a cancellation.”
“Lucky,” Jaz said.
“Not luck,” Kenzie whispered. “God.”
Ah yes. There was that. Maybe.
Mrs. Baptiste moved behind the desk and tapped on a keyboard. “It’s not a king room—”
“Two beds would be better,” Kenzie said quickly.
The woman looked up with raised eyebrows. “I have a double. It is made for children—two twins. Will that work?”
“Perfect.” He pulled cash from his pocket. “We’ll take it.”
If Mrs. Baptiste thought it was odd that he paid in cash, she didn’t show it. She counted the bills, made change, and handed Kenzie a key on a wooden keychain.
“Room four, upstairs on the left.”
“Do me a favor.” Kenzie leaned in. “If anyone comes looking for us, don’t tell them where we are.”
The woman’s gaze flicked to Jaz. “You are in trouble?”
“It’s a long story.” Kenzie seemed to falter, unsure what to say next.
“Possessive ex-boyfriend,” Jaz said. “We’re working on getting her somewhere safe.”
“I see.” The woman’s eyes widened. “I won’t tell anyone you’re here.”
Kenzie squeezed her hand on the counter. “Thanks.”
They climbed the stairs to the second floor and let themselves in.
As promised, it held two twin beds with crisp white linens, a small table and chair by the window, and a short hallway with a bathroom on one side, a closet on the other.
The decor consisted of beach prints hanging over each bed.
He could see why the clerk had said it was made for children.
The room was tiny compared to most hotel rooms. But it would work.
“Good thinking with the story,” Kenzie said. “I should’ve had something prepared.”
Jaz dropped his duffel on the bed closest to the door and reached for his phone. Wasn’t there, of course. “Have you heard from your sister?”
She glanced at her burner. “She’ll let us know if she finds anything.”
“Can I send Wentz a message so he knows how to reach me?”
“Sure.” She handed it to him, and he tapped a quick text to his handler, then gave her the phone back. “We need to check those addresses before it gets too late.”
“Great. I’m ready.”
He looked her up and down. Cargo pants, T-shirt, hair loose and a little messy after the windy ride. She looked exactly like Captain Kenzie Wright should.
“Thing is, I could run into someone I know, so I need to play my part.” He pulled a shirt from his duffel, expensive and casual. “Can you be Simone again? Or Simone-like?”
“I don’t have the wig.”
“I happen to prefer brunettes. We’ll get you a hat and maybe some sunglasses.”
Her gaze flicked to the window, where the sky was already darkening, and she lifted her eyebrows.
“We’ll pop out the lenses. Will that work?”
“Worth a try.” She grabbed one of the dresses Laguerre had bought for her and disappeared into the bathroom.
Jaz changed quickly, checking his appearance in the mirror above the dresser. The shirt was wrinkled, and he looked tired, but it would do.
Kenzie emerged from the bathroom, and, wow. The dress showed off the curves she usually hid. She’d pulled her hair back in a low twist, severe and elegant.
“Not exactly my style.”
“You make it look good.” He grabbed his wallet. “Come on. We’ll find you a hat on the way.”
The sidewalk teemed with people, couples and families. They were taking in the sights, browsing in the souvenir shops, some on their way to dinner, others on their way home from the beach.
Jaz set the pace. They weren’t in any hurry, just a couple enjoying an evening stroll.
They stopped at the first shop that sold beach gear and souvenirs and ducked inside, headed for an end cap of hats.
He found a wide-brimmed one and placed it on her head, which turned her from hot date to hot date with a giant hat.
She checked herself in the mirror and shook her head. “Women don’t actually wear hats like this.”
“Sure they do.” He waved to the selection. “They sell them, don’t they?”
“Women buy them, but they don’t wear them.” She reached past him and grabbed a different one, still straw but a little more practical.
She put it on and checked herself in the mirror. “This one works.”
It did. She’d taken perfect and improved it.
“Yup, that works.” He was fighting a very untimely wave of desire. “I’ll find you some glasses.”
“Okay. Let me just fix my hair.”
He didn’t stick around to watch that. She was going to be the death of him, not because she was doing anything wrong but because she looked so right.
He found the ugliest pair of sunglasses imaginable and took them to her.
She smirked. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“You’ll make them look good.”
“A supermodel couldn’t make these look good.” She put them on and checked her image in the mirror. “The real Kenzie would never wear these. No normal person would.”
“Then they’re perfect.” He grabbed one more thing he needed and paid for their purchases.
When they were back on the sidewalk, she popped the lenses out of her sunglasses and put them back on.
They were bright green oversized cat-eye glasses, so distracting that nobody would notice her face beyond them.
“I can’t believe you’re making me wear these.”
“I didn’t realize you were so vain.” He peeked at her, grinning at her reaction—slightly offended but fighting it. “Don’t worry. I still think you’re gorgeous, and now there’s less chance some other guy will try to steal you away.”
“You’re impossible.”
“It’s a gift.” From his pocket, he pulled a folded piece of paper, which he’d ripped from his notebook before they left the hotel. These were the addresses of the five yacht management companies on St. Martin that Kenzie had worked with.