Chapter 3
THREE
“Just calm down, Jaden.” Doyle sat on the edge of the fountain—after dousing the fiery containers—and pulled him over. “It’s okay.”
“Miss Tia’s really hurt.” Jaden’s voice emerged small, broken, and Doyle remembered the trauma these children had suffered five years ago. Inside, Jaden might be about ten years old.
Doyle felt about ten years old the way his insides shook.
He’d heard the girls screaming even before Tia had shouted, was on his way back inside the compound—leaving Austen and Declan and Stein in the yard—and his EMT training just kicked in.
Oil burn. Towel. Then water.
The poor woman got drenched. So much for the teamwork moment on the balcony earlier when he’d almost made her laugh.
Doyle patted the stone next to him for Jaden to sit. “She’ll be okay. Burns aren’t fun, but she’ll heal. But... you do know that when an adult asks you to stop, you should listen. We’re not trying to wreck your fun. We’re trying to keep you safe, right?”
Jaden nodded.
Some of the other boys—Lionel and the Parnell twins and Rohan—stood with stricken looks on their faces.
Except, they weren’t looking at him.
He followed their gaze and— oh no .
Kemar had Jamal by the back of the shirt, pushing him down the stairs, a backpack in his hand.
“Kemar!” Doyle stood up, headed across the courtyard, and planted himself at the bottom.
Jamal was crying, tears streaking down his face. “I don’t wanna go!”
“You’re going.” Kemar shook him.
Breathe. “Where are you going, Kemar?”
“Away from here!” Kemar spat at him, and Doyle dodged to the side.
“Hey—calm down.”
Kemar pushed Jamal the rest of the way. “You’re not giving my brother away to... to anyone. He belongs with me.” He dragged Jamal across the yard by the shirt, toward the side door.
“No, Kemar. The orphanage has custody of your brother. And you. You can’t leave!” Doyle took off after them, ran to the gate, slammed his hand on it before Kemar could open it. “You can’t leave.”
“I’m sixteen. By island law, I can leave.”
Doyle clenched his jaw. “Okay. Yes. But Jamal can’t.”
“He can. With me.”
“No. You’re not his legal guardian?—”
A scream lifted from the medical clinic, just outside the gate. Even Kemar’s eyes widened.
Doyle pushed through the gate, running to the building. He slammed through the open door into the lit hallway and stopped.
Sebold held Tia by the neck, her back against the wall, a knife pressed against the hollow of her throat. His mouth bled at the edges.
“Let her go!” Doyle advanced on him, but Sebold turned, aimed the point at him.
“You won’t get to me before I slice her.” He pushed the knife to her neck again.
Doyle stopped, held up his hands. “Let her go. Take what you want?—”
“I want what’s mine. I came for my machine.”
He sighed. “It’s not your machine,.”
“I want what she owes me. Twenty thousand dollars.”
Sebold wasn’t watching her, and suddenly Tia slapped his hand away, kneed him hard, and spun away.
The knife clattered against the far doorway.
Tia scrabbled farther away from Sebold, and Doyle reached for her.
Sebold landed on her, hauled her up, and found his knife. He pressed it to her neck again. “Stop! Stop!”
Doyle’s hands went into the air. “I’m stopping!”
Kemar picked right then to come in behind him. “Kemar, run!”
Sebold motioned to Kemar. “Pick that up, kid.”
A suitcase lay on the floor in the hallway.
“No—no. Please. You have no use for an ultrasound machine—” Tia’s voice seemed more angry than afraid.
Sebold slapped her, and Doyle shouted. “C’mon!”
Blood darkened her blouse, the tip of the knife finding flesh.
“Listen. Take the machine,” Doyle said. “Take whatever you want!”
Tia spat at him. “You’re a sick man.”
C’mon, Tia! Don’t make him angrier!
Blood dripped down her collarbone, her eyes fierce.
Kemar picked up the suitcase. Outside, shots sounded.
Sebold didn’t even flinch. Oh no—maybe he had S-7 guys here.
Jamal hadn’t moved from where he stood by the door, and now he looked at Doyle, his brown eyes wide.
“Get out of here, Jamal.”
“No!” Kemar turned to Jamal. “Come to me.”
Jamal shook his head.
“Come here. ”
“No!”
Kemar lost it. He shouted, threw the ultrasound machine at Doyle, then rushed him.
Doyle hit the suitcase away from him, but Kemar had him. He slammed Doyle against the door, outside into the yard. Got his knee on his chest and punched him.
Doyle didn’t hit kids but this was enough .
He grabbed Kemar, rolled, and pushed him face down in the dirt, his arm in a submission hold.
Kemar screamed—maybe rage, or pain, or even frustration.
“Don’t, Mr. D! Don’t hurt my brother!” Jamal bounced around them, crying. “Don’t hurt him.”
And right then it occurred to Doyle—where was Keon? Or any of the other security they’d hired?
He needed help. “Taj! Andre!” Shoot ? —
Kemar started screaming.
“Stop it. Nothing’s broken.” However, Jamal started screaming too. Aw. Doyle rolled off Kemar just as the clinic lights flicked off.
Then, more gunshots and shouting from around the compound, and Sebold barreled out of the building, holding the suitcase.
Tia! Doyle couldn’t move.
Not even when Kemar got up, grabbed Jamal, and tried to hit Doyle as he ran by.
Doyle came to life, dodged him, pushed him away—and ran for the building. “Tia!” He slapped on the lights by the door.
Tia sat on the floor, blood on her face, her chest. A man—no, his brother Stein —crouched over her, holding a cloth to her neck.
What—?
Stein looked up, a grim expression on his face. “I heard the screaming, and I told Declan and Austen to go back to the house. When I came back, you were gone—and that’s when I heard the shot. I found one of your guards out by the edge of the wall, and I figured... maybe I’d try to flank whoever was in here. Sorry he got away, but it was him or her.”
Her.
Tia sat holding the towel, her jaw tight, eyes dry despite the tear stains down her cheeks. “He took my machine.”
Doyle swallowed, looked at Stein, back at her. “Yeah. Yes, he did. Um... I think we can get another one.”
She stilled. Shook her head. “No. He took the X-ray machine.”
“What?”
“Yeah. While he held me, a couple of his guys carried it down and loaded it on our truck. It’s gone.”
He really liked that truck, too.
“I’m sorry.”
“Declan will buy you a new machine,” said Stein. “And a new truck.”
She pushed Stein’s hand away and stood up.
Doyle knew that look. “Tia?—”
“Declan doesn’t need to know. The last thing—the very last thing—I need is for him to think I can’t handle this job. I don’t need any favors.”
“We were robbed. That’s hardly your fault.”
“I agree with him—” Stein started.
“You don’t get a say.” Her eyes sparked, hard on Stein. “You should have gone after him. I was fine?—”
“You looked a lot worse. I thought he’d slit your neck.”
“So now he’s gone, with our ultrasound and our X-ray machine?—”
“And Kemar and Jamal,” Doyle said, hanging a hand on the back of his neck. The conch stirred in his gut, foul.
“What?” Tia looked at him. She’d removed the towel. Nothing a stitch or two couldn’t handle. Maybe a butterfly. “He took the boys?”
“To be accurate, Kemar took Jamal.”
Her mouth tightened. She shook her head, then looked at Stein. “I think Kemar was in on it.”
“Feels like it, the way Sebold ordered him around.”
“He loves Jamal. He’ll protect him.” She looked away, a sort of fury in her expression. “We need to call the authorities.”
“I don’t know what they can do,” Doyle said. “S-7 is heavily armed, and the small police force is afraid of them. We could try to get some outside help, but...”
“What about you, Mr. Navy SEAL. Can’t you help?”
Stein cocked his head. “You heard the heavily-armed part, right? I will try to figure out something, but I am not a one-man army. I was part of a team.” He glanced at Doyle, his mouth tight, and looked away.
Huh.
Clearly, Stein had thoughts he wasn’t sharing.
“We can’t just let them steal from us and kidnap—or coerce—our children. If we don’t stop them, who will?”
And maybe it was her words—almost the same ones that Juliet had spoken so many years ago: “If we don’t go, who will?” —or possibly the look on her face, the anger, desperation, horror?—
But just like that, the swell of grief rifted over him and his knees buckled. Doyle turned, covered his face with his hands.
Deep breaths.
Silence.
“Bro?” Stein said.
“Yep,” Doyle said.
The waves hit him less often these days, but when they did, they could still take him down.
He put his hand on the wall, trying to find himself. Looked at Tia. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll figure this out.” He glanced at Stein. “You think Declan and his guests are safe?”
“They’re locked inside his compound. I can check everything on my phone.”
“You mind hanging out at the monastery?”
“No problem.”
He opened an exam-room door and flicked on the light. A metal table sat in the middle of the room. He helped Tia onto it.
Stein stuck his head in. “Quick patrol, then I’m locking down the convent.”
“Monastery. Go.”
Tia wore what an expression of what looked like relief on her face.
Oh. Yeah. Stein had that SEAL charisma that women seemed to like. Whatever. If they really knew the man...
Aw, that wasn’t fair. Stein was a great guy. Just came with baggage.
Shoot, so did he.
He found gauze and butterfly bandages and chlorhexidine in a cabinet, put them on a tray, and snapped on gloves. Then he found a swab and started to clean her wound.
Just a nick on her throat, but an inch higher and...
“I’m okay, Doyle.” She caught his wrist. “If it weren’t for?—”
“Stein, I know. He’s Superman.”
“You. You distracted Sebold. I was already getting away when Stein came in.”
“I don’t care how you got away. Just that you did.”
She winced, one eye closing as he dabbed the wound.
“You’re pretty tough, Tia Pepper. What’s your secret?”
Her eye opened. “I don’t like to lose.”
Interesting.
“And I refuse to be afraid.”
“A little sting,” he said as he added the chlorhexidine to the wound, and she drew in a breath. “Sorry.”
He unpeeled one butterfly bandage, then the other, and closed the wound. Added antibiotic to a gauze pad and pressed it over the injury. Pulled out tape and bit it off.
“You’re pretty good at this doctor thing.”
“Thanks. Two years of medical school.” He put the tape over the gauze.
“Really?”
He moved over to the burn on her arm. “How’s it feeling?”
“Hurts like a bear.”
He smirked. “Let me see if I can find any silver sulfadiazine cream.”
“It’s in the pharmacy, across the hall.”
Leaving her, he headed into the pharmacy.
Oh no.
Glass was scattered across the floor around the narcotics chest, the lower door ripped open.
“Did you find it?” Her voice lifted from the next room.
“Looking. Stay there.” He searched the shelves and found the cream in a box, returned to the exam room.
She’d actually obeyed him, stayed sitting on the table. He examined the burn. “It doesn’t look too deep. I’m just going to put the cream on for now and cover it. We’ll take another look tomorrow.” He used a wooden spatula to apply the cream, then covered it and again taped gauze into place.
“Why’d you quit?”
He looked up at her. “Quit?”
“Medical school.”
“Oh.” He sighed. Shook his head. “It’s a long story. I guess the short of it is that I... I just lost the desire to go.”
She frowned.
“It wasn’t a calling?”
He met her eyes, not sure, and then, for some reason: “I was called to be a missionary. Being a doctor was how I was going to get there.”
“Wow. A missionary, huh?”
He had gathered up the debris and now dropped everything into a canister. “Yep.” He took off the gloves, dropped those in too. “All set?” He found a smile.
But inside, a hole had opened up, and along with it, the strangest urge to... No. She didn’t need to know the sordid, broken past.
He’d come here to start over. Not weep over what could have been.
When he turned back, she’d slid off the table, headed out into the hallway. Wait ? —
“Tia—”
“Oh!”
Shoot.
He swung into the hallway, spotted her staring into the wreckage of the room. She shook her head, looked at him. “When were you going to tell me?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Now?”
Her mouth tightened. “I’m going to get everything back.” Her eyes found his. “Including Jamal.”
“No, you’re not.”
She gaped at him.
He stepped toward her. “Sebold is an evil, ruthless man. He will kill you.”
She blinked at him. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Doyle, but... you’re not the boss of me.”
Aw.
She pushed past him, out into the reception area, then into the night.
He closed the door, then locked up the clinic.
And as he watched her disappear into the monastery, he knew he couldn’t watch another woman he cared about die.
* * *
He wouldn’t sleep anyway.
Stein checked the lock on the gate of the compound, having walked the perimeter and checked the two other entrances—one by the kitchen and one at the church.
Now he folded his arms and leaned against the building, one foot on the wall, looking out to where Declan’s house perched on the hill.
He had already texted the security lead there—a man named Zeus—and updated him on his overnight stay at Hope House, as well as secured reinforcements.
In the valley, along the harbor, the homes of Esperanza lit, tiny lights against the curve of the sea, under the vault of night. He liked it here—the salt in the wind, the smell of the sea, the heat on his skin—and he’d started to unwind, finally, from the chaos in Barcelona, where he’d nearly, inadvertently, let his boss get run over by a Vespa.
A Vespa ridden by a woman he thought he’d forgotten.
Okay, in truth, he’d never really forget Code Name Phoenix, if that had truly been her back in Caledonia. Hard to forget someone who saved your life.
Then left you for dead.
Maybe it wasn’t her . He’d started to think he’d dreamed up the entire thing—the girl named Avery who possessed the same mysterious green eyes as Phoenix, who’d made friends with Declan. A woman who looked very much like someone he’d met at his sister’s wedding.
His brain was playing tricks with him. Especially in the wee hours of the night.
So, better to not sleep. Tomorrow, he’d reach out to Jones, Inc., a private security team in Minnesota that his cousin worked for, and see if they could send down support. At least until Stein figured out how to get the S-7 crew off the backs of Hope House.
Tia had stormed into the monastery, hot about something, and now Doyle came walking over, blowing out a breath.
“You good?” Stein asked.
Doyle nodded. “Yeah, she’s fine.”
“You, bro— you .”
Doyle raised an eyebrow, then sighed. “Yeah. Sebold left with a couple kids from the orphanage, not to mention some expensive medical equipment, so there’s that?—”
“And nearly stabbed Tia.”
Doyle’s mouth tightened.
“Stay away from that guy.”
Doyle held up his hands. “You don’t have to convince me. I’m not signing up to get into a battle. Tell it to my codirector.”
Stein tamped down a smile. Still, “Seems that you two have an interesting relationship.”
“If you mean she can’t stand me, and that maybe I feel like I’m getting in way over my head every time she walks into the room—yes.”
“You get in way over your head all by yourself, little bro.”
Doyle gave him a look.
Stein lifted a shoulder. “Just saying... Ever since...” Oh... well, “Just, it seems for the last few years you’ve been all jump-in-and-then-figure-out-where-you’re-going. Like this gig. Did you even know where Mariposa was on a map before you jumped on a plane?”
Doyle frowned. “Did you?”
Right.
His brother met his gaze, hard. “We’re both just trying to figure out what’s next. You do it your way, I’ll do it mine.”
Stein nodded. “You’re right. Sorry.”
Doyle sighed. “No, I’m sorry. Thanks for circling back around tonight.”
“Something didn’t feel right.”
“Good thing you still have those SEAL instincts.” Doyle thumped Stein’s arm as he headed past him into the compound. “Tomorrow we’ll buy a security system. You can’t sit outside all night every night.”
“No worries.” Because, again, he wouldn’t sleep anyway. He checked his smartwatch. Zeus had said he’d send relief in a couple hours.
Now Stein walked over to the steps of the medical clinic and sat down in the shadows. Ran a hand over his knees. They still swelled sometimes, especially after a hard workout.
“You do it your way, I’ll do it mine.”
He wasn’t sure what his way was, really. For a long time, he’d hoped it meant getting back in the game, rejoining his team.
He just hoped to keep one step ahead of whoever wanted a piece of Declan Stone.
“I think someone is after you, sir.”
The conversation he’d had with Declan after he’d been released from the Hospital of Barcelona, as they’d been packing to leave, returned to him as he sat in the cool of the Mariposa night, the wind stirring the grasses.
“It was an accident, Stein,” Declan had said as he limped around his room, packing, his nose in a bandage, his hands wrapped in gauze.
“Sit down, sir,” Stein had said, and taken the clothing from Declan’s hands. He’d turned into a valet, but after spending over a month with Declan, he liked the guy. Which frankly, was a perk of the job.
That and the fact that Declan treated him more like a friend than a bodyguard, giving Stein a chance to get close enough to really watch his back. And speak the truth. “I don’t think it was an accident.”
“Then what?” Declan had sat in a nearby overstuffed chair, leaned forward, looking at his hands. Probably considering taking off the bandages. Stein would have taken them off already if it were him, and it seemed his boss might be cut from the same cloth despite his wealth and, frankly, IQ. He’d learned a lot watching the man teach at the AI symposium in Barcelona.
Declan Stone was some version of Elon Musk, complete with patents and world-changing technology. Which meant, “I think someone is after something—like your bio-encrypted vault.” He’d then gone on to describe how Avery had swiped Declan’s bloody gauze. “Probably enough to synthesize a bio key.”
That had sat Declan upright, and he’d gotten on his phone, and suddenly, their flight plans changed to Montelena, a small country north of Italy, nestled in the Dolomites, the location of the world’s most secure cryptocurrency and digital-tech hard-storage vault.
Whatever Declan had retrieved, he’d brought to his estate in Mariposa and locked in a hard-storage, off-the-grid vault located under his home, deep in the lava rock.
So maybe he’d turned a little Howard Hughes in that moment as he’d locked the vault with his bio key. Stein hadn’t asked.
And Declan hadn’t offered any information as to what he might have been securing.
Not Stein’s business. His job was to keep Declan alive, and so far, so good. Especially since his sister Austen had shown up, just like that, to guide a dive to a sunken ship for Declan’s high-end friends.
High-end potential donors to Hope House, the orphanage founded and funded by Declan, which made Stein like him even more.
They were safe. Surrounded by a town that treated Declan like the local hero. And in his concrete, built-in-the-rock fortress with house security—no one was getting in.
Relax.
Still, ever since arriving, and especially over the past week, a feeling had woken him in the middle of the night. As if he was being watched. Which was crazy because his room was on the third floor, just down the hall from Declan’s, with a view of the estate, and nobody could get up those sheer walls. Or, for that matter, peer into the room from outside, as the estate sat on the highest point of the island, not counting Cumbre de Luz, the sleeping giant, so...
Calm down.
Last night he’d gotten up and walked through the darkness to the balcony. Stared out over the ocean. And yes, if anyone had wanted to take a shot at him, they could have. But as he stood there, Phoenix had walked into his brain and sat down.
Looked at him, a spark in her green eyes, and said, “Are you going to get in my way, Frogman?”
A memory, one he’d tried to ignore, or bury, and now it dislodged and floated to the top, and for a long moment, he was back in Krakow, Poland, at a safe house, trying to figure out if he had to shoot the woman who’d saved his life.
After all, she had stolen the asset he’d sneaked in to grab. The asset who, at that very moment in his mind’s eye, sat in the back room, probably freaking out. But that seemed right, given their under-siege escape through the embassy tunnels and out into the back alleys of Old Town Krakow to a house built like a fortress with a secure back entrance.
She still wore the canvas pants, the tech vest, and shirt—looking very commando—but she put down her gun and opened a fridge and tossed him a water bottle.
He caught it and looked at her. “Not sure yet.”
And then she smiled, something of playfulness in it, or perhaps challenge. And it just sparked something in him.
Stop.
The voice had thundered through him then, just like now, and Stein brought himself out of the memories and back to the darkness. To the humid Caribbean night, the stars bright, the moonlight on the silvery grasses.
No one had been watching him. And the woman in Barcelona couldn’t have been Phoenix.
Really.
He’d watched her die. Or at least, disappear into an explosion, so...
Light glinted out in the grass. Or maybe not light, but...
A reflection of light. Like field glasses.
Or a scope.
He pulled out his own binoculars and searched the road, the field, his heart thumping. Nothing.
Stood up.
Searched again.
There. Another glint of light near the edge of the property where it dropped down into the valley.
The hairs rose on his skin. He pocketed the glasses, then walked over to the compound and let himself inside, locked the gate, and then pulled up his radio and called Zeus as he climbed to the second floor of the monastery.
“Control, this is Patrol One. How’re we doing on that relief crew? I have a visual on a potential optical reflection from the road to the house.”
Zeus’s voice came over the walkie, deep and low, his island accent thick. “Copy, Patrol One. Can you confirm the source?”
“Negative on source confirmation. The reflection was brief but distinct. I am adjusting position for better observation and cover. Requesting support. Maybe drone deployment?”
“Acknowledged, Patrol One. We’ll get remote surveillance in the air. And relief is on the way. Maintain your position and keep visual cover. Stand by for further instructions.”
Fine.
He lowered the walkie, clipped it to his belt.
Stood, arms folded, staring into the darkness.
And maybe it was crazy, this feeling like...
No. Crazy or not, she was out there. He knew it in his gut.
And the answer was yes—yes, he was going to get in the way.
* * *
The knife pricked her throat, and that’s when Tia shot straight up, out of a sound sleep-slash-nightmare, a scream in her throat.
Her heart pounded against her chest, and she put a hand to it.
Overhead, in the semidarkness, her fan churned the early-morning breeze, and light filtered in through the gauzy curtains at the window.
So, no more sleep for her. Tia got up, brushed her teeth, braided her hair, then pulled on a pair of shorts and a top, flip-flops, grabbed her phone, and headed down to the kitchen.
Rosa stood at the stove, stirring a pot of cornmeal porridge in coconut milk. Fresh papaya lay on a board, the deep orange-red juices puddling under slices. “You’re up early, Miss Tia.” The woman, mid-forties, wore an apron around her ample middle, her hair up in a do-rag. “How are you?” She indicated Tia’s bandages.
“Better than I look.” Maybe. Because Tia had woken with a plan.
She’d pay Sebold out of her own money. She just needed to wait for the bank to open.
Stealing a slice of papaya, she helped herself to the fresh coffee, brewed in a tall metal coffee maker. She added some cream, then took another slice of papaya and headed out the side door to the rising sun.
A small stone patio jutted off the kitchen, and she sank into one of the metal bistro chairs, setting her cup on the round table. Dew glistened on the garden—crisp green cucumbers, bright red tomatoes, yellow squash, still small on the vine—and the scent of freshly furrowed earth imbued the air.
Beyond that, the chickens in the yard clucked, a few still in the roost.
Tia sipped her coffee, trying not to sink into fury, her gaze on the back door of the medical clinic. Her own words rumbled inside: “Declan doesn’t need to know. The last thing—the very last thing—I need is for him to think I can’t handle this job.”
Okay, she knew that pride seeded those words, but...
“I don’t like to lose.” Not quite accurate, really. She didn’t like injustice. Or fear.
Didn’t like being controlled by emotions that caused her to make stupid decisions. Like saying yes to marrying a man who didn’t love her.
She took another sip of her coffee, then pulled out her phone. Sent a text to her sister.
Tia
You up, Pen?
Dots, and then they vanished. The phone buzzed and Tia pressed speaker. “Hey.”
“How’d the party go?”
She imagined Penelope dressed in a fuzzy robe, at her kitchen table, maybe nursing a coffee too and reading through the latest murder headlines on her tablet. Her dark hair would be tangled and messy—and of course, her little sister wouldn’t care in the least because she possessed a sort of easy beauty, although she knew how to glam up too.
Tia was more practical, utilitarian with her approach. But being on the island had sort of given her the easy beauty of her sister—she’d cultivated a tan, raised a few freckles, and added a glow to her skin.
“It was good, I think. I have a couple donors coming by later today to tour the clinic. And it’s an all-week event. Declan invited them for both fun and fundraising, so we’ll have more chances to talk.” She glanced at the clinic. “I did have another run-in with Sebold.”
“What?”
“Yeah. He broke into the clinic, took the X-ray and the ultrasound machines.” She touched the wound at her neck, glad she wasn’t on video.
“You’re kidding. What did the police say?”
“I haven’t talked to them. Stein said they wouldn’t be a big help—they’re afraid of the S-7 gang.”
“Stein—as in Conrad’s older brother?”
“Yes. He’s here with Declan Stone—I think working security.”
“Where was Doyle?”
The question stirred the image of Doyle, horrified, desperate, standing in the reception area, a look of fury in his blue eyes.
The man just fueled something in her.
Like, frustration. “He was there. Told Sebold to take the ultrasound and go.” She still couldn’t believe he’d said that.
Then again, Doyle didn’t have his entire future riding on this gig. Sure, she could return home, take over running the family’s charitable organization, EmPowerPlay, but the truth was... she needed to break free of the trauma hovering over her life in Minneapolis. Even the stigma of being a Pepper. She wanted a career that she made on her own, without the favor of her family connection.
Although, clearly Doyle knew who she was. However, maybe he didn’t know about Edward.
“How well do you know Doyle?”
“He was at Boo’s wedding in January, but we didn’t really talk. The family sort of drew a circle around him. They’re pretty protective.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with his fiancée dying a few years ago. Conrad told me that she was in an accident on the way to the wedding.”
“You’re kidding.”
“That’s all I know. Conrad doesn’t talk much about it.”
She sat back, drew up one knee. “Doyle said he was going to be a doctor. And a missionary. Do you think the accident is why he dropped out of medical school?”
“I don’t know. But you certainly put your life on hold after Edward was murdered.”
Her entire body jolted at that word— murdered . Especially since, for the better part of the last three years, she’d believed his death to be an accident in a fire.
“Yes, but I’d broken up with him before that,” she said quietly.
“I know. But it was still devastating. You loved him.”
Had she? Of course, yes, but three years had given her clarity. Maybe she’d loved him because he was the sensible, convenient yes . The yes that had made her feel safe.
But maybe true love wasn’t safe .
She had Penny to blame for that thought, but she didn’t want to stir up the past, so she made a sound of agreement. “Mm-hmm.”
“So, what are you going to do about the lost equipment?”
“I’m going to buy it back.”
A beat. “Really?”
“What’s a trust fund for if you can’t use it to ransom medical equipment from the local brutes?”
She though Penelope might chuckle, agree with her, but?—
“This Sebold guy sounds dangerous.”
“He just wants money. And I have money. Maybe it’s time to start using it.”
“I just think you need to let Stein—or even Doyle—handle this, Tia.”
“Listen. Doyle is... he’s a little impulsive. Follows his ‘gut.’” She finger quoted the last word, even though Penelope couldn’t see her. “I need someone who can keep their cool.”
In the chicken yard, the rooster crowed.
“Just don’t get in over your head.”
“I’ve got this,” Tia said, and finished her coffee. “How’s the new podcast season going?”
“I’m working on the story of a serial killer in Alaska. Boo gave me the deets—he’s been at it for about twenty years, and they just recently caught him.”
“So, no more unsolved mysteries for you?”
“Trying to figure out if Conrad is going to propose now that the Blue Ox season is over is enough mystery for me.”
Tia laughed. “And?”
“He’s acting a little weird. And he’s about the worst secret keeper. But you’ll be the first to know.” Her voice changed as if she’d just picked up the phone. “Be careful, Tia. You don’t have anything to prove.”
Tia refused to argue with her. But indeed, she had everything to prove, probably mostly to herself.
She wasn’t going to be a woman who let fear rule her life.
“Love you, Pen.” Tia hung up, finished her coffee, then returned her mug to the kitchen. It smelled of the cinnamon and nutmeg Rosa had added to the porridge. Now Rosa poured johnnycakes onto a griddle, the oil sizzling.
“Those smell good.”
“I pulled fresh honey from the bees out back.” She pointed to a jar with a honeycomb inside. “Have a cake.”
Tia slathered a hot johnnycake with the honey, folded it, and came over to Rosa, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You spoil us.”
Rosa patted her arm. “Don’t do anything rash, Miss Tia. Remember, the Lord will fight for you.”
Oh. Clearly her voice had carried. “Maybe he already has.” Hello, trust fund. She gave Rosa a squeeze, let her go, and headed upstairs. She grabbed her fanny pack and passport, sunglasses, then went to the garage.
Grabbing one of the old dented scooters, she wheeled it out and took off for town.
The wharf woke early, fishermen heading out to sea in the predawn hours, and now a few already unloaded their catch onto the docks, spraying off the decks of their small fishing trawlers, others weighing their haul. The scent of fish and brine rose, along with the salt of the sea. She motored down the cobblestones of Main Street. A few shops had opened, and the scent of accras—salted cod made into fritters and fried—stirred in the breeze. She parked in the shade of a palm tree and went across the street to the bank.
Knocking, she spotted Neville Moreau, bank president, inside. She waved, and he came over and unlocked the door.
“Miss Tia. How can I help you?”
“I need to make a withdrawal from my account.”
He nodded and brought her to his office.
She’d started the account when she first arrived, just in case.
This was just in case .
Neville accessed her trust account, then sent the money to Mariposa Trust and Commerce.
An hour later, she had the cash, tucked into her fanny pack and secured to her body. As she drove back to Hope House, it occurred to her that she’d need a driver for the truck once she liberated it. Or she’d simply exchange it for the scooter.
It didn’t have to be complicated. Pay off Sebold, get her equipment back, and yes, she’d bargain for Jamal too. Doyle had filed a report with the local authorities, but they didn’t seem to share her sense of outrage.
Or maybe they just knew that the hope of getting Jamal back was slim. Besides, she’d seen Kemar. She knew what she’d do if the threat of losing her sibling grabbed hold of her heart. Frankly, she’d been there, done that, so yeah, she got it.
But the X-ray machine saved lives. And it would take months to redo the paperwork for a new one. Even if she did buy it herself.
Pulling up to the side gate outside the clinic, Tia took off her helmet, set it on the bike. The sun had crested the far horizon, casting Hope House into shadow under the rise of Cumbre de Luz. The ocean roared just over the cliffside, the waves thundering against the rocks. A gorgeous day in the Caribbean.
She could do this. She keyed in the gate’s code, opened it, and walked through the thick walled entrance.
“Seriously?”
She jerked, turned.
Doyle stood, his arms folded, wearing a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of faded jeans, hiking boots. As if he might be going for a trek through the rainforest. His hair hadn’t been combed, and the swath of whiskers on his jaw seemed darker.
He seemed darker. No smile, just a tight purse of his lips as he cocked his head. Didn’t move.
“What?”
“For one, you’re not pregnant, so my guess is that’s a fanny pack full of cash.” He gestured to her midsection.
“What of it?”
He gave her a grim shake of his head. “Why, why, why are you so intent on getting yourself killed?”
She stared at him, her mouth open.
He shook his head, his hand up in surrender. “Okay, fine. If that’s the way you want to play this, let’s go.”
“I can do this by myself. Or I can take Keon.”
“Keon is working for them.”
“What?”
“Yeah, he disappeared last night—left his post and probably let them into the clinic. Stein found his room emptied out. The guard who was injured was one of the temporaries I hired, recommended by the local magistrate, so not on the take.”
“Keon betrayed us?” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “He was?—”
“Bought off? Maybe. Scared? Probably. I don’t know. But Stein is working on getting us a new security crew. Meanwhile... for the record, this is a bad idea.”
“It’s the only idea.”
“ Tia! For the love of Pete—do you have no recollection of what happened last night?”
“Are you serious? I have every recollection! I hardly slept?—”
He winced, just a little, around the eyes.
“But I refuse to let Sebold win?—”
“Isn’t that what paying him off is? I happen to remember a certain conversation as we drove down to the harbor. One that cost me my thousand-dollar dive watch.”
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
“That’s not the point.” He took a step toward her. “You give in to bullies and they keep coming back.” He lowered his voice. “Let’s hire security, and use that cash to get us a new X-ray machine.”
“It’s the principle.”
“Your principles could get you hurt. Or killed.”
“Without principles, we have nothing.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Yeah, I get that. But... maybe a higher principle is don’t get killed .”
“You want Jamal back?”
He crossed his arms. “Stein and I have a plan.”
“What, you’re a Navy SEAL now? Please.” She unstrapped her money belt. “There’s fifty thousand dollars in here. Enough for both of our machines and Jamal.”
A flicker of surprise, and he looked at the bag. Back at her.
“It’s just a dive watch,” she said and lifted her shoulder.
He sighed. “He’s going to want more. Give a mouse a cookie?—”
“Right now, I just want the X-ray machine. We’ll cross the ‘more’ bridge later.”
He sighed. “Fine. But let Stein and me handle this.”
She strapped the pack back on. “No. I’m the director, I should do this. Show Sebold that I’m not afraid of him.”
“Codirector, and he won’t care.”
“I will.”
He considered her for a moment. “Right. You refuse to be afraid.”
She nodded.
“A little fear might be a good idea,” he said.
Silence as her jaw tightened.
“Okay, fine. Let me tell Stein what we’re doing.”
Aw. But the idea of him going with her sort of grabbed her, settled into her bones. Still, “If either of you try to tie me up and duct tape me to a wall or something, I’ll come after you.”
He seemed to hide a smile. “Fresh out of duct tape.”
“Hurry up.”
She headed back outside and sat on the scooter. The road out of town circled the small island, only twelve miles in circumference, and ran right into the S-7 camp, located on the eastern side of the island at a former resort destroyed by the hurricane.
Doyle came out of the gate, a dark look on his face, carrying a backpack. He stopped at the scooter. “I’m driving.”
“You think so. Get on.”
His eyes narrowed for a second; then he shook his head and got on. Didn’t put his hands on her waist but held the bar behind the seat.
“What’s in the backpack?”
“Something I hope we don’t need.”
Perfect. More secrets. Just like last night’s cryptic conversation about being a missionary, about the death of his fiancée.
It hit her then that maybe he had a reason for his fears. Beyond Sebold.
But they weren’t engaged, and she wasn’t going to break his heart. She turned on the bike. “Just don’t do something nuts and get us killed.”
“Oh, I think you’re already there, Lara Croft. Let’s go.”
Lara Croft. She bit back a smile despite the fury radiating off him.
And for a second, as she took off, she had to ignore the crazy sense that once again, Doyle Kingston was not at all the man she thought him to be.
But exactly the partner she needed.