Chapter Twenty-Six
Isla
His phone rang, and he abruptly stood. “Excuse me.”
“Okay?” I frowned, but he was already striding out of the restaurant, cell in hand.
Same as on his yacht, I watched him.
Also same as on his yacht, his muscular thighs pushed at the confines of his pants, his strong shoulders were more lethal than proud, and he moved with the grace of a predator and the efficiency of a warfighter.
But this time, he was in a custom-cut suit that draped beautifully, and everything about him was more… intense.
But he’d never asked to be excused. I wouldn’t have thought the word was in his vocabulary.
Not that I truly knew anything about him beyond surface details and the exceptional way his dominance could seamlessly flip between breathless seduction and infuriating authoritarianism. His scent lingering, I also knew one other disastrous detail.
He smelled like every masculine fantasy I’d never wanted, yet craved soul deep.
But I needed to remember how this dinner had started.
The man was either married, involved with another woman, or kept multiple women.
It shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did.
Physically, he was beautiful—as beautiful as the woman who’d walked out in the middle of their dinner—but he’d never given the impression that he was demonstrative with his attentions.
One thing was certain, though. The other woman, Maila, was far more intelligent than me.
She’d forgone her lobster dinner, and I was eating salmon. Or rather, pushing food around my plate with a perfectly weighted fork because a SEAL’s exodus had made the reality of the situation sink in, and I’d lost my appetite.
Except he wasn’t just a SEAL.
“Petty Officer Second Class William ‘Bravo’ Nilsen. SEAL. KIA. Now I’m Nix ‘Phoenix’ Erikson. Civilian. Contractor.”
And he’d been here, having dinner in this hotel, where my brother had booked a suite for a week and told me to stay after telling me that if he ever saw the man I was dining with again, he’d kill him.
If I’d grown up as anyone else, I maybe would’ve had the luxury of telling myself this was all coincidence.
But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.
As if my life were a house of cards, I metaphorically watched them start to fall.
My brother had chosen this hotel for a reason. He’d brought up Nix for a reason. And he’d left a cell phone and note with the front desk, then demanded I cut and run, but he hadn’t come back for me himself.
Which meant Nix might recognize my brother, and not necessarily in a way connected to the Teams.
Suddenly sick to my stomach, I set my fork down and reached for my clutch. With clumsy hands weighed down by too many nerves zapping my dexterity, I dropped my purse to my lap, then grabbed the cell inside and powered it on.
What seemed like an eternity later, the phone came to life and showed two bars of signal.
I quickly glanced toward the front of the restaurant, then around at the patrons.
No Nix. No one paying attention to me.
I should’ve stepped outside to do this, but I didn’t know when or if Nix would be back, and I couldn’t wait another second.
I dialed.
Holding the cell to my ear, I tipped my head down and let my hair fall over the side of my face.
The call connected and rang.
Once, twice.
I bit my lip.
Three times.
I glanced toward the front of the restaurant.
After the fourth ring, the call disconnected. No voicemail.
Pulling the cell away from ear just long enough to redial, I tried again.
My heart pounding, I listened to all four rings as I watched for Nix. Same as before, the call simply cut off. Swiping to the text screen, I quickly typed out five letters.
Whale
But then I paused. My finger hovering, my indecision growing, I thought of the small yet enormous detail of a single text. Billions of texts were sent daily. Yet this text, this one word, the prearranged distress code between me and my brother…. I had never sent it before.
I’d never needed to.
Now, uncertainty had me doubting if I did need to send it.
I wasn’t bleeding uncontrollably.
I hadn’t been kidnapped by human traffickers.
My death wasn’t imminent in the next five seconds.
I could walk out of this restaurant.
I could walk out of this hotel.
This wasn’t an emergency.
This is not an emergency, Isla.
I looked at the typed word.
“Shit.” Shit.
I glanced toward the vestibule of the restaurant and had a fleeting thought.
What if Nix was truly angry that I was here and he was waiting for me?
In a low-lit restaurant vestibule where the hostess may or may not be.
Where the hotel staff may or may not be paid to look the other way.
Where a SEAL who carried a Sig, knew how to use it, and had tracked me to a containership, could have orchestrated this entire evening.
I looked back at the cell, and I didn’t hesitate.
I hit Send.
Then the last person I was expecting slid into the seat across from me.