Chapter 5
FIVE
He just needed to grab his bag and go.
Really.
So maybe he should stop tracking the dark-haired woman on the far side of the crowd. Never mind that he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since Fiji.
Nor had she stopped to wait for him when they’d disembarked from the plane.
He tried not to let that hurt a little.
The Cairns airport hummed with passengers. Bright light through floor-to-ceiling windows. Announcements in cheerful Australian accents. The smell of coffee, and outside, the scent of the ocean.
His phone had signal again. Three missed calls from Ham, followed by a text.
Ham
Call when you land.
Yeah, so he should call. Should report the delay, the emergency landing, the fact that he was hours behind schedule with the Sydney summit looming. And if Ham was right, the Bratva already had a head start. He should get his head back in the game.
Instead, he was watching Jayden navigate the crowd toward baggage claim.
Interesting. She moved like a spy, slipping through gaps in the crowd like water finding its path.
It ticked something inside him, but he put it away.
He lost sight of her once, then found her at baggage claim. She stood, watching the gray bags circling the carousel like a slow-motion parade of identical choices. He counted at least three that could be his. The universe apparently had a sense of humor about luggage.
Jayden grabbed one with a red tag, checked the label, nodded to herself. Started toward the exit.
Dakota’s feet moved before his brain caught up. “Hey.”
Jayden turned, and something flickered across her face. Surprise, maybe. Or wariness. He couldn’t tell if she was happy to see him or not.
“Hey yourself.” She adjusted her grip on her bag. Waiting. Gave a grim smile.
Um, so what now? “Thanks for last night”? Ew, no. “Sorry for the nightmare. You handled that like a professional, and I’d like to know why”? Okay, maybe not.
What came out was a charming “Um. It was really nice to meet you.”
Her eyebrows rose. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “We’ve been traveling together for two days.”
“I meant—” He regrouped. “I meant it was . . . good to meet you. Despite the circumstances.”
“The emergency-landing-and-tropical-storm, last-bed-in-town circumstances?”
“Those would be the ones.”
The smile surfaced fully now—quick, almost too polished. “It was good to . . . meet you too. Thanks for getting me here. You were . . . um—” She swallowed then and caught her lower lip. Finally, “You were great.”
“Yeah.” His voice came out rougher than intended. “Same.”
And now silence stretched between them, and he just wanted to run. People flowed past on either side.
He should let her go. Get his bag, book his Sydney flight, call Ham, focus on the mission.
He didn’t move.
“So.” Jayden shifted her weight, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “Sydney for you?”
“Hopefully. You?”
“Same. I need to find a quiet place and check in with my boss.” She glanced toward the departure boards. “Thought I might grab coffee.”
“Smart.”
Another pause. Neither of them filled it.
Then Jayden’s gaze dropped to his hand—to the gray rolling bag he’d grabbed from the carousel.
“We have the same bag,” she said.
Dakota looked down. Gray canvas. Rolling wheels. Red tag.
Identical to hers.
“Apparently.”
She smiled again, but this one didn’t reach her eyes. “Safe travels, Dakota.”
“You too.”
And then she was gone. Disappearing into the crowd toward the coffee shop.
Dakota stood there for a long moment, watching the space where she’d been.
Get your head in the game, Rivers.
Time to change clothes. Review the briefing materials. Call Ham and explain the delay.
Time to be the operative instead of whatever he’d been for the past two days.
He turned toward the departure boards. Booked the next flight to Sydney on his phone. Found the VIP lounge and flashed his membership card at the attendant, then headed to the bathroom.
The bag was wrong.
Dakota knew it the moment he unzipped it. Wrong weight. Wrong smell. Wrong everything.
He was in the lounge’s changing room—private, quiet, an anonymous space where business travelers freshened up between flights. He’d set the bag on the bench and opened it, expecting his laptop, his clothes, his organized mission specs.
Instead, he found women’s clothes. A silk blouse in deep blue. Practical cotton underwear. A toiletry bag with feminine products. A paperback romance novel, spine cracked, pages dog-eared.
His first thought was: Jayden’s bag.
His second thought froze the first one solid.
Because underneath the clothes, nestled in the lining where a laptop would normally sit, were components he recognized from ten years of military training.
Carbon-fiber tubes. Modular. Designed to slot together.
A trigger assembly disguised as part of a hair dryer.
A scope hidden in what looked like a makeup case.
A stock integrated into the bag’s rigid frame itself—invisible unless you knew what you were looking for.
Disassembled. Expertly disguised. Professional grade.
A sniper rifle.
Dakota’s hands stopped moving. His heart thundered, but his body went very still.
Jayden?
But his brain couldn’t quite move on from the memory of her talking him down from a nightmare like someone who’d done it before. Moving through crowds like she was trained for it.
Naw.
C’mon.
Except . . . the woman had just walked away with his bag. Maybe. And it contained the Opera House blueprints Jones Inc. had stolen from a Bratva server. It contained security-camera positions. The sight lines to the stage. Everything an assassin would need to . . . well, plan a hit.
On President Isaac White.
No. He pushed back against the conclusion. The clothes could belong to anyone. The bags got switched in Fiji, in the chaos. How many similar bags had he seen?
Still . . . someone on the flight from Hawaii to Sydney was carrying a professional-grade sniper rifle.
Maybe a woman, maybe not. And maybe Jayden didn’t have his bag.
Or maybe she did.
His phone buzzed, Ham’s name on the screen.
Dakota answered. “Yeah.”
“You were supposed to land in Sydney yesterday.” Ham’s voice held an edge. “I’ve been chasing your shadow halfway across the Pacific.”
“I’ve run into a snag,” Dakota said, keeping his voice cool even as his mind raced through scenarios. “I’ll get there as soon as possible. With the plans.”
A pause. Ham was too experienced not to hear what wasn’t being said. “What kind of snag?”
“I accidentally got my bag switch with another passenger. A gal named Jayden Pierce. She’s a hotel inspector—but I need to track her down before I board. I’ll call you from Sydney.”
He ended the call before Ham could push further. Stared at the rifle components in the bag. Fifty-fifty chance she had his bag.
If not, then he’d have to track it down amidst the travelers of Aussie Adventures.
So, yeah, a snag.
The bathroom door opened behind him.
“Oh!” Vic stopped short, hands raised apologetically. “Sorry—I didn’t realize anyone was—”
Dakota closed the bag. Smooth. Casual. Nothing to see here.
“No problem.” He turned, keeping his body between Vic and the bag. “The changing room is open to everyone.”
The nervous IT consultant hovered in the doorway, that perpetually anxious expression firmly in place. Wire-rimmed glasses. Rumpled polo. “I just—I was looking for the restroom. My stomach, you know.” He gestured vaguely at his midsection. “Flying never agrees with me.”
“Down the hall. Left.”
“Right. Yes. Thank you.” But Vic didn’t leave. His gaze flicked to the bag, then back to Dakota’s face. “What’s going on? You look like something’s wrong.”
“Grabbed the wrong bag.” Dakota kept his voice light. “Happens.”
“Yeah. That’s why I also travel with a carry-on.” He lifted a black compact backpack.
“Yeah. Good plan.” Dakota grabbed the bag—the wrong bag, with its rifle components and packed women’s clothes. “Safe travels. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”
“Maybe.”
Dakota moved past him into the corridor, searching for the coffee shop.
He had to find Jayden. Had to get his bag back. Had to figure out if the woman who’d talked him through a nightmare was a civilian caught in a bad situation—or something else entirely.
And he had to do it before she disappeared into the crowd with everything he needed to protect the president of the United States.
Jayden had watched him walk away and told herself it didn’t matter.
Just a moment, a blink in time when she’d seen a different side of herself. Not a true side, maybe. A wannabe side.
He’d moved through the Cairns airport with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was going. Checked the departures board. Noted the Sydney gate. Moved through the terminal without looking back.
He hadn’t looked back.
Which was fine. Just fine.
So why did her chest ache?
Tropical brightness bathed the Cairns airport—high ceilings, massive windows, afternoon sunlight streaming across the polished floors. Palm trees in decorative planters. The smell of coffee from a nearby kiosk. Tourists in shorts and sandals, dragging oversized luggage toward check-in counters.
Focus. She needed to focus.
Jayden stood at the departures board, scanning the Sydney flights. The next one left in ninety minutes—the one Dakota had just booked, if she’d read his body language correctly. The one after that departed three hours later.
Plenty of time to grab coffee, find a quiet corner, check in with London. Refocus on what mattered.
The mission. Alan Martin. The neurotoxin. The president’s visit.
Not the man who’d smiled at her over breakfast. Not the warmth that spread through her every time he laughed. Not the memory of his breathing in the dark.
She bought her ticket for the later flight—just in case he was on the earlier one—and told herself it was strategy, not avoidance.
The lie tasted bitter.
She grabbed the gray rolling bag and headed for the restroom.