Chapter 11 #2
The plan had seemed reasonable an hour ago, when Dakota left.
She’d called London, who had patched her through to Nimue, who’d pulled intel on the remaining suspects and flagged the Harts—the quiet couple who’d joined the tour.
Their room was a story and three doors down from hers, accessible via the balconies that wrapped around this wing of the grand old hotel.
Fourth floor. Historic architecture. Plenty of handholds.
What could possibly go wrong?
Nothing at first. She’d changed clothes, then made it to the Harts’ balcony, slipped inside, and searched their room.
Luggage: normal vacation clothes. Toiletries: unremarkable.
Electronics: a laptop with a dormant screensaver, and a tablet loaded with romance novels and family photos of their children.
Nothing. Another dead end.
And then she’d heard the door.
The Harts had come back. Jayden had fled to the balcony, swung herself over the railing, and pressed into the shadows while someone came into the room.
That someone had stepped onto the balcony for air.
Now Jayden was on the ledge, trying not to breathe too loudly.
So, yes, a terrible idea. The worst.
Finally—finally—whoever was on the balcony went back inside. The balcony door clicked shut. Jayden counted to sixty, then started moving.
Three rooms. That’s all she had to cover. Three rooms’ worth of ledge, with the ornate stonework of this beautiful old hotel providing just enough grip for her fingers, just enough width for her feet.
She edged past the first balcony. Dark inside—empty room, probably. Past the second. A television flickered behind drawn curtains, but no one looked out.
Her balcony. Her room, one story up.
Don’t look down.
She climbed up the exterior, brilliant handholds etched into the ornate structure, and swung herself over the railing, feet hitting the tile with a soft thump. She pressed her back against the wall, breathing hard, waiting for her heart to slow down.
She was alive. She hadn’t fallen. She hadn’t been caught.
Small victories.
She reached for the balcony door—
And heard the room door open and close inside.
Dakota.
And terrific—she had approximately three seconds to decide: stay on the balcony and hope he didn’t come outside, or walk in like she’d just been enjoying the night air.
She chose option two.
When she stepped through the balcony door, Dakota was standing by the bed, his jacket half off, his expression somewhere between curious and suspicious.
He stared at her for a long moment before: “What were you doing out there?”
“The view is amazing.” She gestured vaguely toward the city lights. “You should see it.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then at the balcony. Then back at her. “You changed clothes.”
Leggings and a black shirt. “I was cold.”
He raised an eyebrow. Walked past her and stepped out onto the balcony. “Part of your inspection?”
“Yes.” She kept her voice steady. “Balcony safety. Very important.”
He turned, and something flickered in his eyes—doubt, maybe, or the beginning of a question he wasn’t ready to ask. But he let it go.
“I checked on your bag. Still missing.”
“Oh.” She managed to keep her voice neutral. “Thanks.”
She turned away, moving toward the bed. She’d already built the wall of pillows down the center.
He sat down on his side of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Last stop tomorrow. Sydney.”
“It only took five days.”
“Felt longer.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry if we don’t find your Bible.”
Jayden sat down on her side, her back to him, looking at the wall. Why had she told him about that? She’d gotten in too far, telling him about Skylar, the Bible. What had she been thinking?
“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “It’s not really about the Bible.”
“No?”
She turned to face him. He was sitting against the headboard, watching her with those eyes gone dark that saw too much.
“It’s about . . . just knowing that . . .”
Dakota was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “That someone is there. That you’re not alone.”
She swallowed. Nodded. And hated how her eyes suddenly burned. “I don’t know why we were put together on this journey,” Jayden said. “And even if we never find my bag . . .” She reached across the pillow wall, her hand finding his. “Thank you. For being here.”
He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through hers.
And then she was moving—turning and climbing over the Great Wall, closing the distance between them until she was face-to-face with him.
He went still for half a heartbeat. Then his hand came up to cup her face. “Jay—”
And then he kissed her. Or maybe she kissed him.
Yeah, that was it—her, diving in, arms around his neck, kissing him, hard and not careful, not sweet or easy, but the kind of kiss that came from the real place inside her.
Not Jayden the sweet tourist, but Lynx, and maybe all the other aliases that lived in her.
And in truth, the girl at the heart of it all, the one who had yet to be named. But that girl . . . that girl wanted to be seen.
So yeah, it wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t careful. And she didn’t care.
His mouth was warm and perfect, his arms around her protective and, yes, safe, and Jayden felt something tear loose beneath her ribs, something she’d kept locked away for so long she’d forgotten it existed.
He made a low sound and pulled her in, one hand splayed wide against her back like he could hold all of her at once, and she rose into it, kissing him like she could pour every unspoken thing into it.
Every truth she hadn’t told him. Every name she’d worn.
Every night she’d lain awake on the other side of a pillow wall, pretending she didn’t want exactly this.
For one breathless moment there was no mission, no assassin, no morning waiting to take it all apart. Just his heartbeat against her palm and the dizzying, terrifying freedom of being kissed like she was someone worth staying for.
She wanted this. Wanted him. Not as a cover. Not as a mission. Not as the mark she’d been assigned or the partner she’d been handed or the man she was supposed to be using.
Just Dakota. The way he laughed at his own bad jokes. The way he’d let her build a wall of pillows rather than break his word. The way he looked at her like she was already enough—not whoever the next op needed her to be. Just her.
She wanted the version of her life where she got to keep this. Where there was no morning, no mission, no truth waiting to detonate everything. Where she could wake up beside this man and not have to decide which woman to be.
“Jay—wait.” He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, both of them breathing hard. His thumb traced her cheekbone, slow, like he was memorizing it. And when she opened her eyes, what she found in his face simply undid her.
He wasn’t guarded. Wasn’t careful. He was looking at her like she was the only thing in the room, in the country, in his whole world. Like he wanted her.
So, why the wait—? She swallowed.
He took a breath. “I don’t—whatever this is, whatever happens tomorrow, I have to—”
His phone buzzed against the table.
He didn’t move. Held her gaze, his jaw tight, and for one suspended second she thought he might let it ring into oblivion. Choose this. Choose her.
The phone kept ringing.
He swallowed, reluctant, then looked at the screen, and something shifted in his expression. “I have to take this.”
“Of course.”
He stood, already moving toward the balcony, phone pressed to his ear. The door clicked shut behind him.
And Jayden was alone, trying to remember how to breathe.
She’d kissed him.
She’d kissed him, and it had been real, and she’d meant every second of it.
And she was lying to him. About everything.
She wanted to deserve that kiss.
But that was impossible, right? Tomorrow was Sydney.
Jayden climbed under the covers. She rebuilt the Great Wall, pillow by pillow, and turned her back to Dakota’s side of the bed.
She couldn’t face him.
Because tomorrow the game would end.
And with everything inside her, she longed for time to stop.