Chapter 2
The King Family Estate announced itself long before Everett Gilliam reached the front gate.
Twin rows of royal palms lined the private road that wound up from the coast, their trunks silver in the fading light.
Beyond them, the coral pink walls of the mansion rose from the hilltop like something that had grown out of the island itself, seventy rooms of Caribbean colonial grandeur stacked three stories high against a sky bruised orange and violet with the last minutes of a Friday sunset.
Everett parked his truck at the edge of the circular drive and killed the engine.
He sat, listening to the tick of cooling metal and the lazy rhythm of tree frogs starting up in the gardens.
The ocean was a distant hush below the hills, carrying the faint salt-and-earth smell that had made him fall in love with St. Felipe when he was too young to know it would ruin him.
He checked his phone. Two more missed calls from Serena. Another text from Sebastian.
Sebastian
Where are you?
He pocketed the phone and headed for the entrance.
He knew this house better than most. The familiar maze of hallways, the expensive brocade fabrics, the lingering ghost of Bernadette King's fragrance in the private rooms. The estate had been a second home during the summers he spent on St. Felipe with Ike, back when life was simple.
He followed the sound of raised voices toward the music room.
Serena King stood with her arms crossed.
The pale green brocade sofas were arranged in their strategic half-circle.
Gabrielle occupied the nearest one, legs tucked beneath her.
Her gaze tracked Serena with the wary stillness of someone caught between two storms and trying not to draw lightning from either one.
Sebastian stood at the grand piano with his back to the room, arms braced against the lid, which told Everett everything he needed to know. Sebastian only turned his back on a conversation when he was done having it.
Gabrielle and Sebastian had been living in the family quarters for months, despite her early resistance to moving back into the estate.
The move had put Sebastian back in full command of King family security while he still balanced his Stingray duties.
Every rotation, camera angle, and perimeter weakness was his responsibility now, which made Serena’s push to elevate the duties of her cousin, Faroe da Costa, more than a staffing disagreement.
“What would Bernadette do?” Serena asked, her butterscotch skin flushed along her cheekbones. “You know my mother would have given Faroe the opportunity, and I intend to do the same. Family is family.”
“Your mother would have vetted him first,” Sebastian fired back without turning around. “Faroe spent fifteen years babysitting inmates in a state facility in Texas. That's not security. That's attendance-taking with a badge.”
“He managed an entire correctional wing.”
“Managed.” Sebastian pushed off the piano and faced her.
“That's the problem. He didn't run threat assessments.
He didn't neutralize hostile actors. He didn't build security protocols for high-profile principals in active danger zones.
You're talking about handing him the keys to this estate and everything that protects Gabrielle, and he doesn't have the skill set for it. Not even close.”
Gabrielle's gaze shifted to Everett as he entered, and her expression softened with relief. “Please tell me you have an opinion on this.”
“Depends.” Everett stepped into the room and took stock of the wreckage. Serena's jaw was tight. Sebastian's hands were in fists at his sides. A half-empty pitcher of rum punch sat on the coffee table. “Is this why I got three calls in the last hour?”
“You were part of the evaluation panel. I want your honest assessment.” Serena’s eyes narrowed as she ignored his question.
“You want honest?” Everett looked at Sebastian, who gave him a slight nod.
“Sebastian's right. Faroe's not qualified for a role this size.
The head of King family and Hullabaloo security requires someone who can operate at Sebastian's level.
There are maybe four people on these islands who can do that, and all of them are too busy working for Stingray Security. Faroe definitely isn't one of them.”
Serena opened her mouth, but Everett kept going.
“That doesn't mean he's useless. The Breaklands need somebody.
We've been running thin on patrols out east. We keep getting hikers wandering into restricted zones and needing medical evac.
That's logistics and perimeter management.
That's within his wheelhouse, and it frees up resources Sebastian needs for the work that actually matters.”
The room went quiet. Serena looked at Sebastian.
Sebastian looked at Everett. Everett looked at neither of them.
He looked at the rum punch, likely made with the finest Bishop’s Reserve, and wished someone would offer him a glass.
The mention of the Breaklands had already pulled his mind toward the gatehouse tucked in the jungle there, which meant it was only a matter of time before he thought of the one woman he shouldn’t.
Sebastian crossed his arms. “Take it or leave it, Serena. That's the best you're getting from me.”
Serena exhaled through her nose. The eldest King sibling looked like her mother. She had her mother’s stubborn grace, along with the same calculated surrender when she knew the battle wasn’t worth the war. “Fine. I'll make the call in the morning.”
“Good,” Everett said. “Now tell me why I'm here.”
Gabrielle leaned forward and set her glass on the table. The momentary relief from the resolution of the Faroe argument drained from her expression, replaced by something fragile that she worked hard to keep steady. “We want an update on our brother. Any progress on finding Ike?”
There it was.
Everett didn't need to look at Sebastian to know they were operating from the same playbook.
The truth was a locked room, and they were the only two people here with the key.
Ike da Costa was alive. Safe. Healing in a house tucked into the mountains of St. Felipe, a few miles from where they stood, piecing himself back together from the physical injuries that had nearly killed him.
But Ike wasn't ready. And until he was, the lie would hold.
He marveled at how easily Sebastian carried it.
The man sat in the same room with Gabrielle, the woman he loved, and gave nothing away.
His face was a wall of practiced concern, indistinguishable from the real thing because it was partially real.
Sebastian wanted Ike found as much as anyone. He just already knew where to look.
If it were Everett, if he were the one keeping a secret this large from Remington ...
He shut that thought down with the force of a slamming door.
Remington Spade was no longer his to protect.
She was married to another man. Happily married, as far as Everett could tell, to a man who hated his guts and whose guts Everett hated right back.
But that didn't matter. What mattered was that Bobby kept her happy and gave her the life she deserved.
The life Everett forfeited the right to give her when he walked away from that gravesite, leaving her with nothing but a newspaper clipping in her hands.
He walked away knowing he was no longer the man she'd fallen in love with.
He kept his distance. Stayed on St. Felipe. Rarely set foot on St. Basil. Being anywhere near Remington was not good for him. Being near her made him remember things he had no business remembering and want things he had no right to want.
Especially since he'd never stopped loving her.
He'd tried. God, he'd tried to force the soul-deep need to pass. But it never did.
Everett said, “We’re still committed to finding Ike, it’s just not as easy as?—”
"This is what we get?" Serena stepped forward, her composure fraying at the edges. "Every time you come here, it's the same thing. Reassurance with no substance. I'm tired of it, Everett."
Gabrielle flinched at her sister's tone but didn't retreat. She turned back to Everett, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter. Smaller. "Is my brother dead?"
The question damn near gutted him. He knew he had to do something to make that fear go away.
“No, Ike's not dead,” Everett said, keeping his voice level. “If he were, we'd have found him by now. A body. A trail. Evidence of foul play. There's nothing because there's nothing to find.”
Serena made a sound in the back of her throat that was half frustration, half suspicion. “You genuinely believe that?”
“I do.” Everett held her gaze. “As good as every member of Stingray Security is, none of us comes close to Ike's depth of training. He was arguably the best PISCO ever. I think he knows we're looking for him, and he's not ready to be found. When he is, he'll come home. That's what I believe.”
Every word was true. That was the trick he'd perfected over these months of deception.
He never lied to them. He arranged the truth like furniture in a room, positioning each piece so the empty spaces between them told the story he needed to tell.
Ike was alive. Ike was not ready. Ike would return when the time was right.
All facts. None of them the full picture.
The relief of getting through it lasted as long as it always did, half a breath, before it curdled into something that tasted like shame.
Serena pressed her lips into a thin line. “Well, I guess we'll have to wait for him to come home, then.” She excused herself with a nod that was barely civil and disappeared down the hallway toward the private quarters.
Gabrielle watched her go, then turned back to Everett and Sebastian. The fear that had been sitting behind her composed expression broke through. “You agree with him?” she asked Sebastian. “That Ike is out there somewhere, alive and choosing to stay hidden?”
Sebastian didn't hesitate. “I do.” He eased down onto the sofa next to her, pulling her into his arms.
Relief flooded Gabrielle's face, and Everett felt the familiar twist of guilt in his gut. But Ike had asked for time, and Everett would give it to him. He owed the man that much, and more.
Gabrielle smiled. Her expression shifted as if she'd moved past one difficult conversation and was bracing to start another. She cleared her throat and injected a lightness in her tone as she asked, “You'll be at Jemma and Rocco's housewarming party tomorrow afternoon, right?”
The question struck him as odd. Rocco was one of his closest friends. Had been since their days at the DEA. Of all the people who would attend, Everett's presence required no confirmation. Rocco would've been insulted if he'd skipped it.
“Yes,” Everett said. “Why would you think otherwise?”
That look between Gabrielle and Sebastian. A silent exchange weighted with something Everett couldn't access, as if they'd discussed this before he arrived and rehearsed how to deliver it.
Gabrielle smoothed her hands across her lap. “I wasn't sure, since … Remi will be there.”
He had no doubt she’d chosen her words carefully.
Remington would be there alone, without Bobby at her side.
The realization hit in the place he'd spent years armoring against this.
The music room with its pale green walls and colonial furniture shrank to the size of a coffin.
For one unguarded second, Everett was not here.
He was standing in a cemetery on St. Basil, watching Remington read the newspaper headline on his phone as the truth settled over her.
She understood what he had done, what it had cost them, and why he was too far gone to come back.
Gabrielle was still watching him. Sebastian was very deliberately not watching him, which was worse.
One thought embedded itself too deeply to shake loose.
Tomorrow, he would see her.
Everett said, “I’ll be there.”