Chapter 14
Nash maneuvered himself on the uneven, wet cave floor until he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Lena, watching the rough waves crash onto the boulders at the mouth of the cave.
He felt the frustration roiling off her.
He wanted to say something encouraging, but talking wasn't a good idea at the moment.
The ocean crashing onto the rocks was probably loud enough to cover their voices. Still, best not to take chances.
Nothing but the roar of the surf echoed through the cave. So, there was no warning when a large object—a human-sized object—fell from the sky and landed on the boulders jutting above the waves.
Realizing what he was seeing, Nash grabbed Lena and pulled her to him, forcing her focus away from the grisly scene. He dipped his mouth near her ear. "Don't look."
She clamped her own hand over her mouth to hold in her scream, her eyes impossibly wide. He felt her body wrestle with freeze, fight, or flight. Her legs chose flight, but Nash held her firm against him. "No. We can't run. They'll see us. You're okay. I've got you."
Praying his strained whisper filtered through her terror, he held her tight around the waist with one hand and cradled her head with the other—ensuring she didn't look toward the mouth of the cave. He didn't want the image burned into her mind.
He, however, stared ahead, needing to identify the victim and detect any chance he'd survived the fall.
The man who'd set fire to the pier on Emil's beach, endangering young Kai, was lying half-submerged on the rocks, the angry waves threatening to grab him in seconds.
His vacant, lifeless eyes told Nash there was no reason to check for a pulse.
As the waves claimed his body and yanked him from the rocks, Nash noticed blood on the man's head. Gunshot wound.
They would've heard a gun over the noise of the surf. This was a body dump.
He squeezed Lena tighter against him and whispered again, "Don't look. Don't move."
"Is he? Is he?"
"Yes, he's dead. We're going to wait here until Emil's men leave. There's nothing else we can do."
"Who is it?" He felt the words against his chest more than he heard them.
"The guy who set fire to the pier." And moved the safecracker's body just an hour ago. Emil's men must have been watching him. Or the estate. Or both. They needed to be careful.
The ocean swallowed the body in less than a minute.
"There's nothing to see anymore," he whispered, his lips accidentally touching her ear. "But let's stay put for a couple of minutes to make sure Emil's guards are gone. The waves are so loud that I don't think we're going to hear them driving off."
She nodded against his chest but didn't move out of his embrace.
It wasn't what anyone would call a romantic moment. Standing in a chilly, wet cave, with a dead body retreating into the surf. Waiting for murderers to leave.
But in his arms, in that dismal, dripping cave, Lena's defenses crumbled. She sagged against him. Her hands gripped his shirt. She shifted her weight and let the tears fall. Leaning on him. Physically. Emotionally.
He rested his chin on her head and kept his arms wrapped around her, knowing their relationship had shifted earlier, on the beach in the shadow of The Mandeville. Now . . . now he didn't know what was happening. But something about it felt real.
His pessimistic side insisted that the only thing between them was a shallow attraction—born from a desire to hide from the dangers surrounding them. An act of survival.
But a different part of him—a part long-dormant in the cold recesses of his heart—contended that whatever was growing between him and Lena Ashworth was substantive. Real. And worth exploring.
Though, probably not in the immediate vicinity of a dead body.
Trembling, Lena trudged back to the SUV with Nash, his arm around her waist. Maybe it was an affectionate gesture. Maybe he was holding her up to keep her from falling. She wasn't sure she was shuffling along on her own power. She wasn't sure of much of anything.
Except that she appreciated Nash's quiet, powerful self-assurance. He was a rock. Which was especially impressive in the last few minutes.
She wanted to thank him. However, even though she almost couldn't keep from screaming in the cave, now she couldn't force her voice to work.
He opened the car door for her and steadied her as she climbed in. She appreciated the help, but again, her voice wouldn't cooperate.
Nash started the car and adjusted the air vents—apparently he was hot. She was too freaked out to feel hot or cold.
He slid his hand into hers, his eyes roving her face. "Lena, are you all right?"
"That was a stupid question." She squeezed his hand. "Sorry. I—"
"Don't apologize. You're right. Stupid question." He dragged his thumb across her knuckles. She didn't know why the small motion was so soothing. But it absolutely was.
His gaze grew more serious. "I need to say something."
"What?"
He stopped stroking her knuckles with his thumb. He held her hand a little tighter. "In a few seconds or a few minutes, your brain is going to process everything that just happened, and you're going to want to go after Cassidy." With his free hand, he reached over and clasped her other hand.
His gentle, warm grip coaxed her out of her terror-induced stupor.
And his words locked in.
Cold panic tingled down her spine. "Cassidy's going right back to Emil. To those men. To—"
He laced his fingers through hers. "I know. Listen to me, Lena. They're not on to her yet. If we go charging onto Emil's yacht, we put her in more danger."
"How do you know? Maybe they know she wants to get the jewels. Maybe—"
"My team is listening to the bugs I planted on the yacht. No one suspects Cassidy of anything."
"Maybe that changed. You don't—"
He gently squeezed her hands. "I'm about to call my team. I'll get an update. But I wanted to tell you first that we're driving back to The Mandeville right now, not to Emil's yacht. Let me check in with my team. We'll plan from there."
He dragged his thumbs across the backs of her hands.
Deep down, she knew he had a point. But part of her still wanted to pull Cassidy off that oversized yacht—by the hair, if necessary.
Probably wasn't a wise plan.
"Okay," she whispered. "Let's go."
He spent the car ride back to The Mandeville talking to Knox, or maybe Jason. Or both. Relating the events of the last hour. Lena was just grateful not to be part of the conversation. She didn't want to describe what she saw. Or discuss what it meant.
Nash ran through the details with impressive professionalism. Which reminded her that this sort of thing wasn't new to him. His job was certainly interesting. And without really understanding everything his job usually entailed, she got the feeling he was very good at it.
Every minute or so, during the exchange with his team, he'd glance her way. Worry for her tightened his jaw and lowered his brows.
She wanted to say, "I'm fine." But she didn't want to lie.
She was still trying to process everything.
The body. Emil's men. And Cassidy. Oh, Cass. Why? She wanted to hug her cousin and not let her go. Then scream and shake some sense into her.
She looked out the window at the gorgeous tropical paradise that looked like it had no comprehension of the evil taking place in its midst.
Rushing back to The Mandeville to pick up a Maltipoo from his aromatherapy heat wrap felt bizarre after hiding in a cave and witnessing a dead man thrown into the ocean.
Everything in her life felt surreal at the moment. Cassidy running back to Emil's yacht—back into the lion's den—determined to fix everything. Two murders in the last twenty-four hours. Two. Murders.
Also . . . the stoic protector sitting next to her—and her growing feelings for him.
Everything she'd experienced the last few days felt completely foreign. And yet, completely real.
Anxiety from trying to process all the confusing feelings and fears constricted her chest. She leaned her head against the window, watching the ocean, sand, and palms fly by.
This is all too much. I can’t. I just can’t anymore.
She wrapped her arms around herself and willed her tears not to fall.
Until finally, a still, small voice whispered into her bone-deep weariness. She wasn't alone. She never had been.
Dear God, I . . . I don’t know what to pray. Please, just help. I know you’re there. Just . . . help.
When they arrived at The Mandeville to retrieve the efficiently pampered Nutmeg, all the same problems still stood in front of her. Nothing was solved.
But a fresh peace cradled her frazzled heart. And the sharp edges of her panic softened.
She walked into the pet salon feeling a little lighter.
She still had a lot to process. And her circumstances were no less dangerous than minutes ago.
But maybe . . . maybe she was done fighting her fears alone.