Chapter 19
Nineteen
RIOS
I didn’t decide to go to her boat.
I woke with the haze of yesterday clinging to my brain—unprocessed adrenaline, a montage of Willie Sanders flipping like a slide show through my brain, the feel of Madden cautiously sagging into me, as if she’d never thought to have someone taking the weight, let alone trusted someone to actually do it.
By the time my brain kicked in, I was already showered, dressed, and had vaulted onto the deck of the Second Wind.
The cabin was still dark, though sun peeked through the collection of masts around us.
I considered turning around. A run would be more productive in burning off this edge.
She wasn’t my business. I wasn’t her boyfriend, her brother, or her anything.
Except in this weird, convoluted way, we were temporary partners. And I couldn’t shake how she’d said, “I don’t remember,” when I’d asked when she’d last been hugged.
I knocked.
There was a long enough delay in response that by the time the door cracked open, my brain had already conjured a few dozen horrific scenarios where someone had sneaked aboard in the night and taken her as Priya had been taken.
Instead, Madden squinted out at me, hair flattened on one side, an oversized T-shirt with Minnie Mouse offering a flirty wave hanging off one shoulder, and the barest edge of sleep shorts peeking from beneath the hem.
Her feet were bare, revealing toes painted a shockingly vibrant hot pink, and her eyes were puffy in a way that suggested she’d actually slept.
“Rios? What are you doing here?”
I refused to acknowledge the way that sleep-roughened voice felt like fingers stroking over my skin or all the ways that absurd and surprising Minnie Mouse t-shirt was improbably sexy.
“Making sure you eat. Get dressed. We’re going for breakfast.”
Her brows drew together. “Good morning to you too.”
“Morning.” I leaned a shoulder against the frame and tried not to look like I was gaging how many steps it was from this door to the berth she’d stumbled out of in the back. “Come on. Before the bakery line wraps around the block.” And before I do something that confirms my current insanity.
She just stared at me for a beat, like she was trying to decide if this was a hallucination or a kidnapping. “You don’t have to—”
“Eat first,” I cut in. “Argue with me later.”
Something in her expression flickered. Not quite a smile. Not quite surrender. “Is this a Carrera thing?”
“Yes.” Right now it was sure as hell a me thing.
“Bossing people into meals?”
“Also, yes.”
She huffed a half laugh that did annoying things to my chest. “Five minutes.”
The door shut in my face.
I took that as a win.
As I waited, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I fished it out and spotted a text from Overwatch. I hadn’t put anyone in my contacts under that name and assumed Dax had added it himself. If the name hadn’t given me a clue, the content certainly did.
Overwatch:
Dug through texts and emails. No evidence of harassment, threats, or pressure. If someone was leaning on her, they were careful—or it wasn’t happening digitally.
So we were no closer to an answer than we had been before.
My gut told me Priya wasn’t being harassed.
If she had been, there’d have been a sign somewhere.
Instead, we’d found nothing. So either the girl had nerves of steel, or we were barking up the wrong tree.
Which would imply her disappearance was about something else.
But what?
Madden came back faster than I would’ve guessed, hair pulled up into a twist that managed to appear both efficient and entirely casual, jeans hugging long legs, a soft gray tank under a light cardigan that wouldn’t last ten minutes in the July humidity.
Sunglasses perched on top of her head, purse over her shoulder.
“All right, Captain Bossy,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“Captain was Gabi’s rank fantasy for me, not mine,” I muttered as we stepped onto the dock.
A corner of her mouth kicked up. “You let her call you that?”
“You try telling my sister no when she’s got a head of steam.”
“I’ll pass.”
I kept my mouth shut about what Dax had sent as we walked in step down the dock, toward the path that led to the boardwalk.
Boats bobbed around us, halyards pinging against masts, and gulls wheeled overhead, already on the lookout for careless tourists with morsels to snatch.
The news could wait until I’d plied her with coffee.
I had every intention of heading toward Panadería de la Isla. Best conchas this side of anywhere, and their coffee could revive the dead. But as we hit the main boardwalk, something else snagged my attention.
A shadow that didn’t quite belong.
I clocked it in the reflection of a shop window first—a slim figure in a ball cap and sunglasses half a block back, moving when we moved. Could be nothing. Plenty of people walked the boardwalk in the morning. Nothing overtly off, but my hackles rose nonetheless.
We stepped past another storefront, and I caught the reflection again, this time in the side mirror of a scooter parked at the curb. Same guy. Same distance.
Again, could be nothing. He could be headed to the bakery same as us, and that still wouldn’t be weird. But something in his body language pinged my radar.
Without thinking about it, I slid my hand to the small of Madden’s back, steering her gently but firmly away from the bakery turn and down the side street instead.
She stiffened at the touch. “I thought we were—”
“Change of plans.” I lowered my head like I was aiming for her ear—which, technically, I was—and let my mouth brush close enough to feel the faint shiver of her breath. “We’ve got a tail. Eyes forward.”
She stilled under my hand.
“Are you serious?” she murmured.
“Yeah. Skinny guy, cap, sunglasses. Been behind us since just past the marina. Haven’t seen his face yet.”
“And you decided the appropriate response was to get all cozy?” Damn if that dry sarcasm didn’t make me want to grin.
“If he thinks we’re paying more attention to each other than our surroundings, he’s less likely to spook.
” I let my arm slide more fully around her waist, pulling her into my side like this was a morning stroll with my girlfriend instead of evasive maneuvers.
“Plus, it makes it easier for me to glance over your shoulder.”
She hooked her own finger in my belt loop. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Professionally,” I lied.
Because the truth was, for all the tension, for all the bad possibilities, I was dangerously aware of the way she fit against me.
The heat of her body through that thin tank, the clean scent of her skin—soap and something citrus, like she’d somehow bottled a shower in the five minutes she’d been inside.
Focus, Carrera.
We walked another half block. I kept my head bent, ostensibly listening to something she’d said, actually using the angle to scan the reflections in car windows, shop glass, any shiny surface that would give me another look at the guy behind us.
He was still there. Same distance. Same lazy-not-lazy stride. He adjusted his hat with a quick, nervous motion.
“Okay,” I murmured. “We’re gonna make a right, then a left into the alley behind the surf shop. Narrow space. When we hit the corner, you keep going like normal. I’m going to peel off. When he passes, I’ll handle the rest.”
“Define ‘handle.’”
“Not with bullets,” I promised. “Probably.”
“That’s so reassuring.”
We turned right. The bakery fell away behind us, the smells of sugar and yeast replaced by hot asphalt and cut grass.
Another right would’ve taken us toward the residential streets.
Instead, I cut left, tugging her gently into the narrower space between two buildings where the shade dropped the temperature by ten degrees, which unfortunately did nothing to minimize the rank damp of dumpsters.
“Ugh,” she muttered. “You really know how to show a girl a good time.”
“Stick with me, Counselor. Full service.”
The alley jogged once, creating a blind corner. Perfect.
At the turn, I gave her a little push forward. “Keep going. Don’t look back.”
She shot me a glare but did as I said, continuing down the alley, shoulders squared like she belonged there.
I flattened myself against the wall, just out of immediate sightline, counting in my head.
One. Two. Three—
Footsteps scuffed on the concrete. Light. Hesitant.
As soon as the guy cleared the corner, I stepped out, grabbed a fistful of the front of his T-shirt, and slammed him—not hard, but not gently, either—against the brick.
He let out a yelp that cracked upward in pitch. Up close, he was even skinnier than he’d looked in the reflections, possibly mid-twenties, dark hair curling out from under the cap, stubble patchy along his jaw. His sunglasses hung half off his face.
“Hey, hey!” he protested, hands flying up.
“Morning,” I said calmly. “Enjoying your stroll?”
“Man, what the—”
“Who are you, and why have you been on our ass since the marina?”
His gaze flicked past my shoulder, where Madden had stopped and turned despite my instructions, because of course she had. When she saw that I wasn’t about to put the guy through the wall, she stepped closer, but not close enough to crowd.
“I—I’m Miguel,” he stammered. “Please, I’m not—I’m not trying to— It’s not like that.”
“Like what?” I tightened my grip just enough to make the brick scrape the back of his head in a way most people found motivational.
He swallowed hard. “Kelsey said you were asking questions. About the girl. About… what happened behind Home Port.”
I felt Madden’s attention sharpen beside me.
“What about it?” she asked.
Miguel looked back and forth between us, sweating now. Up close, I recognized him from behind the bar’s swinging kitchen door—dishwasher, runner, whatever the hell needed doing. Always moving, never saying much.
“I know who it was,” he blurted. “The woman. The one the drunk guy attacked. She… she wants to talk to you. But only you. No police.”