Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Kenzie paced the tiny hotel room, her arms wrapped around her middle. The walls pressed in, shrinking with every pass.
She’d tried sitting. Tried deep breathing. Tried praying. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Jaz’s face, that last glance back before he’d disappeared with her father.
He’ll be fine. They know what they’re doing. They’ll be fine.
But soon enough, Jaz would be on a yacht with the most elusive cartel leader in the Western Hemisphere, all alone.
What were they thinking?
This would never work. It was reckless. It was crazy, but they were off, doing it anyway, because Jaz wanted his life back and Dad… Dad needed to protect his family.
Okay, she got it, but still…
A sob caught in her throat. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, but the tears came anyway, wetting her palms. She didn’t even know why she was crying. Fear. Exhaustion. Not knowing. Not being able to do anything but stand here uselessly.
Lord, bring them back. Please.
A knock made her freeze mid-step. She spun and crossed to the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Splat, Michael’s friend.”
She pulled the door open.
A man stood in the doorway. Dark skin, black eyes, black hair, and a thick beard.
He looked Hispanic and was dressed like a local fisherman just in with a catch—grubby shorts, T-shirt with a stain on it.
But his expression was all business as his gaze swept past her.
He stepped in and closed the door. “Where’s your dad? ”
“They had to leave.”
“Okay. I’ve got a car three blocks east. This place has no parking lot, no driveway. Definitely not ideal.” His lips quirked. “When Wrong calls, I know to be prepared.”
“Wrong?”
“Michael. Get your stuff. We need to move.
She gripped the handle of the suitcase, now stuffed with her ditch bag and everything she’d gathered in the last few days. Jaz’s sweatshirt was draped over the top.
“Stay close,” Splat said. “Do exactly what I tell you. Once we’re in the car, we’re golden.”
This all felt like overkill to her, considering nobody knew where she was. “Lead the way.”
They stepped into the corridor and descended the stairs to the lobby.
From behind the counter, Mrs. Baptiste called, “Everything okay, Captain Kenzie?”
“Yup. All good.” She was halfway out the door, propelled by Splat’s hand on her back, by the time she added, “Have a good night.”
The evening air, thick with humidity, hit her when they stepped outside. They reached the sidewalk, packed with people—tourists in bright shirts, talking and laughing, having the time of their lives.
“Race week,” Splat said beside her. “Half the Caribbean is here.”
Inside her hotel room, she’d thought Splat’s caution was too much. But out here, every brush of a stranger’s arm, every jostle of an elbow, sent her heart rate spiking.
Splat had a grip on her arm just above her elbow and kept her right by his side. He was tall, which helped him scan the area.
She had to practically jog to keep up with him.
Movement near the road caught her eye, two men up ahead, emerging from behind an SUV. Something about the way they walked—purposeful, predatory—made her stomach clench.
“Splat—”
The word barely left her mouth before he…crumpled. His knees buckled, his hand slipped from her arm. It seemed like he fell in slow motion, his body folding onto the pavement like a puppet with cut strings. There’d been no sound, no…nothing.
She started to crouch, to check on him. But—
Run.
Her legs obeyed the command before her brain caught up. She dropped the suitcase handle and spun, shoving through the crowd. “Help. Let me through.”
One woman looked at her with curiosity, but nobody else reacted.
Kenzie had barely taken three steps when fingers clamped around her bicep like a vise. Something hard pressed into the small of her back.
“Do not shout again.” The voice was close to her ear, the words accented. “Unless you want to end up like your friend.”
Behind her, someone yelled for help. She twisted, but the crowd and the man propelling her forward blocked her view.
“Walk.” Something hard and cold jabbed into her spine, urging her to move faster. “And smile. You’re having a lovely evening.”
The second man flanked her, close enough that their shoulders touched. To anyone passing by, they probably looked like friends. Three people enjoying a tropical vacation.
Her mind raced, trying to figure out what had happened. She hadn’t seen blood, but had they shot Splat? The crowd. The noise. Nobody had heard anything. She hadn’t, either.
They must’ve stabbed him. Or used a silencer. With this crowd, they must’ve been close, right on him. Which meant…Splat didn’t have a chance.
These men had killed him in the middle of a packed sidewalk, and no one had noticed.
And now they had her.
Panic clawed its way up her throat, choking her. She couldn’t have screamed if she’d wanted to. But if she didn’t…
Then she’d be kidnapped. She had no idea what would happen next. She barely dared to consider next.
Dad doesn’t know where I am. Jaz doesn’t know.
When they returned to the hotel, they’d assume she’d made her flight. They’d wait for word. Not until she didn’t land in Boston would anybody realize something had gone wrong.
The men steered her around a corner and down a quieter street where the crowds thinned. A black SUV idled at the curb.
“Get in.”
She thought about screaming. Fighting. But the gun was still pressed against her spine, and Splat’s limp body was burned into her memory.
Kenzie climbed into the back seat.
The air was frigid, the AC blasting.
One of the guards crawled in beside her and slammed the door. The other sat in the passenger seat.
The driver moved them into traffic, and the SUV became just one vehicle among thousands.