Chapter 5 #3
She pushed through the crowd toward the Sydney gates, her heart pounding. Found Gate 14—the one for Dakota’s flight.
The jetway door was closed. A gate agent stood behind the counter, fielding questions from frustrated passengers.
“I’m sorry, sir. All Sydney flights are suspended until further notice. Weather system moving in.”
“But my flight was supposed to board—”
“Suspended. I’m sorry.”
Jayden scanned the crowd. No sign of Dakota. He must have already boarded before the suspension, or—
“There you are.”
She spun around.
Dakota stood behind her, gray rolling bag at his feet. His mouth was a grim slash.
“I was looking for you,” he said. “We have a problem.”
“The flights.” She gestured toward the gate. “I saw.”
“Not just that.” He lifted the bag at his feet. “This isn’t mine.”
She looked at it. Yep. Gray canvas. Rolling. Identical to hers.
“This is yours.” She held up the bag she was carrying. “I think the tourist company got our tags wrong. Mine must have fallen off in transit.”
“Mine too, I think.” He pushed the bag toward her. She took it and handed him his.
But still, this one didn’t feel right either. She set the bag on a nearby seat and unzipped it. If Dakota was watching—and he was, she could feel his gaze on her back—she couldn’t exactly refuse to check the contents now. Not without raising questions she didn’t want to answer.
Inside were women’s clothing—a blue blouse, boring underwear—toiletries, not a lot of makeup. And a tawdry romance novel. But . . . not hers.
She closed the bag. Sighed.
“What’s wrong?”
“This isn’t my bag.” She zipped it up and set it on the floor, looked at Dakota. “I’d never wear underwear that boring.”
He raised an eyebrow, and hello, why had she said that?
He considered her for a moment, then frowned. “Which means your bag is . . .”
“With whoever owns this. Somewhere.” She zipped the bag closed. “With the rest of the tour group, probably.”
Dakota ran a hand through his hair. “This is a mess.”
“It’s a bag swap. They happen.”
“A three-way bag swap. With identical luggage. During an emergency landing and a tropical storm.” He shook his head. “What are the odds?”
Higher than you’d think, she didn’t say. Chaos created opportunities. She’d used that principle herself, more than once.
But this felt different. This felt accidental. Random.
Didn’t it?
“The tour group is in Cairns for the night, going diving tomorrow. If someone from the group has your bag, it’s probably at their hotel.”
Right. “I guess I’m catching a taxi.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She stilled, looked at him. “What? Don’t you need to get to Sydney?”
It seemed his own words had caught him up, shocked him, because he opened his mouth, and for a second, nothing emerged.
Then, “Um, I think I’m stuck here anyway.
” He nodded toward the windows, where rain had started to streak the glass.
The sky beyond had turned bruised—dark gray and purple, heavy with the promise of worse to come.
“All flights grounded until it passes. Could be hours. Could be overnight.”
Trapped. Again.
Convenient.
And what was wrong with her that she didn’t argue, didn’t hate the idea of him tagging along, for now?
He was who he’d said he was.
If she was honest, some traitorous part of her felt . . . relieved.
More time with him. More chances to hear him laugh, to watch his face soften when he looked at her, to pretend—just for a little while longer—that she was someone who could have this.
Stop it. She was an operative. He was a complication. And somewhere out there, her bag—with all her mission materials—was getting farther away.
“I’ll bet they booked us rooms at the hotel. We paid for the entire package. We could go there, see if the bag has been claimed.”
“You’re sure?”
He met her eyes. Something passed between them—a question, maybe. An offer. “Unless you’d rather figure it out alone.”
She should say yes, right?
“No,” she heard herself say. “Together is fine.”
Something shifted in his expression. Softened.
And right then, the storm hit. Rain sheeted against the terminal windows.
Outside, baggage handlers scrambled to cover equipment. Planes sat motionless on the tarmac, grounded by the same weather that kept throwing her and Dakota together.
Coincidence. That’s all it was. Random chance. The universe didn’t care about her mission or her feelings or the way her heart beat faster every time he smiled.
He picked up his bag. “Let’s find the Aussie Adventures desk.”
And he was off, heading toward the exit.
And as she caught up to him, walked beside him through the crowded terminal, his shoulder occasionally brushing hers, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bigger was happening. Something she didn’t understand and couldn’t control.
She was Lynx. She was supposed to be in control. That was the whole point.
But every time she looked at Dakota—at his easy stride, his calm presence, the way he’d said together is fine as if it was the most natural thing in the world—she felt that control slipping.
And the terrifying part was, she wasn’t sure she wanted it back.