Chapter 8
EIGHT
JAVI
I tuck the four tiny GPS trackers into the pocket of my uncomfortable hotel security uniform, acutely aware of how many tactical protocols I’m violating.
This operation has none of the careful planning, thorough reconnaissance, or redundant safeguards I’d normally insist on. Just four trackers, some costume jewelry, and a hastily constructed plan.
Eight years of elite military training has drilled into me the importance of proper mission preparation. Special operations required meticulous planning, extensive intelligence gathering, equipment checks, and contingency protocols. Yet here I am, essentially running a surveillance operation with less preparation than I’d allow for a routine security assessment.
All because Teddy Hollister asked me to help her, and apparently, I’ve lost the ability to say no to those beautiful blue eyes.
The employee entrance is already bustling when I arrive. Spring break is in full swing, and the aftermath is visible in the weary faces of the morning staff. I spot Teddy—Theresa—her disguise as perfect as ever. If I hadn’t spent hours with the real Teddy, watching the sunset over champagne-colored beaches, feeling her lips against mine, I might be fooled myself.
She gives me the briefest of nods as she collects her cleaning supplies, her expression professionally neutral. No one would suspect we’d spent an afternoon plotting like characters in a heist movie, or that I know exactly how soft her skin feels beneath my fingertips.
Carmen begins the morning briefing, assigning floors and special tasks for the day. “Theresa, you’re on the second floor today. Rooms 201 through 218.”
I note the assignment with interest. Second floor—not where most of the thefts have occurred. Is Roberts keeping her away from the valuable items, or setting her up for a new pattern of thefts to further implicate her?
The staff disperses, and I begin my security rounds, making sure to pass Teddy as she prepares her cart. “Morning, Ms. Holden,” I say formally, for the benefit of anyone listening. “Security will be conducting additional patrols today. Spring break, you know.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” she replies, matching my professional tone.
As I lean over to adjust the radio on my belt, I whisper, “Room 204, nightstand drawer. Room 311, bathroom vanity. Room 405, desk drawer. Room 502, closet shelf.”
Her eyes flicker with recognition—our target locations for the traceable jewelry. She gives an almost imperceptible nod before pushing her cart toward the service elevator.
Phase one of Operation Jewelry Heist (Teddy’s name, not mine) is underway.
I spend the morning moving between floors, establishing my presence throughout the hotel while surreptitiously planting our bait. The fake jewelry—convincing costume pieces from Teddy’s collection—has been fitted with tiny GPS trackers linked to an app on my phone. Last night, I hollowed out small sections in each piece and embedded the miniature trackers, then sealed them with a clear epoxy that dried seamlessly. Skills I’d picked up during specialized SEAL training that I never expected to use for a hotel sting operation. Each piece looks valuable enough to tempt our thief but isn’t worth enough to cause serious legal issues when it inevitably disappears.
My security position gives me access to the hotel’s occupancy system—a tactical advantage I’m not above using. I’ve studied the guest schedules, noting check-out times, pre-booked excursions, and restaurant reservations to identify the optimal windows when rooms will be empty.
Room 204: A pearl bracelet that looks like it cost thousands but is really plastic beads on a string. According to the system, the occupants—a family of four from Chicago—have booked a full-day dolphin-watching tour. I verify their departure through the lobby security feed on my phone before heading up. I place the bracelet in the nightstand drawer while pretending to check the smoke detector.
Room 311: Earrings that sparkle like diamonds but are cubic zirconia. The business executive staying here has a conference schedule that keeps him out of the room until late afternoon. I time my “routine security inspection” to coincide with the housekeeping rotation, giving me legitimate access when the guest is guaranteed to be absent. The earrings go in the bathroom vanity while I inspect the shower for leaks.
Room 405: A gaudy ring that resembles an heirloom ruby but is colored glass. This room houses spring breakers who, according to their beach club wristbands, prepaid for an all-day party boat excursion. Easy to predict their absence—they won’t be back until sunset at the earliest. The ring slides into the desk drawer during a routine security check of the balcony locks.
Room 502: A necklace with a pendant that looks like platinum and sapphire but is painted pot metal. A noise complaint from the neighboring room gives me the perfect cover to confirm the guests are at the pool—visible from the hallway window—before entering. This one gets tucked onto the closet shelf while I “investigate” the reported disturbance.
By noon, all four items are in place, and I’ve established a clear presence on all floors—natural enough that no one would question seeing me anywhere in the hotel. Under normal circumstances, I’d have conducted days of surveillance before placing the bait, established multiple fallback positions, and had a team ready to respond. Today, we’re improvising with minimal resources and zero backup.
Now we wait.
I check the tracking app during my lunch break. All four signals are still stationary, exactly where we placed them. But the day is young, and housekeeping rounds are just beginning in earnest.
As I patrol the second floor, I spot Teddy exiting room 204, her cleaning cart fully stocked. Her eyes meet mine briefly as I pass, her expression giving nothing away. But I notice her hand make a subtle thumbs-up gesture at her side, confirming she’s seen the bracelet and left it in place for our thief to find.
“Conrad,” my radio crackles, Roberts’ voice cutting through the static. “Report to the fourth floor. Guest complaint.”
I acknowledge the call and head to the elevator, ignoring the flutter of concern. Fourth floor—where we’ve planted the fake ruby ring in room 405. Could be coincidence, could be our trap already springing, could be Roberts positioning me away from Teddy. Hard to tell without more information.
The “guest complaint” turns out to be legitimate—a family upset about the noise from the room above them, demanding to be moved. Standard spring break issue that any security officer could handle. It takes twenty minutes to resolve, relocating the family to a quieter section of the hotel and issuing a warning to the rowdy college students above.
As I finish up the paperwork at the front desk, I notice Roberts watching me from his office, his expression calculating. Has he assigned me busy work to keep me occupied? Or am I getting paranoid, seeing conspiracy where there’s just normal hotel management?
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Checking it discreetly, I see a notification from the tracking app. The bracelet in room 204 is on the move.
Game on.
I casually make my way back to the second floor, watching the tracker’s progress on my phone. The signal moves down the hallway, then stops near the service elevator. Interesting. I round the corner just in time to see Lisa from housekeeping pushing her cart into the elevator, her expression neutral as the doors close.
Lisa works the fourth floor primarily—what is she doing on the second floor? And why is the tracker signal now heading downward with her?
I take the main elevator down, arriving at the ground floor just as the tracker signal moves through the staff areas toward the employee locker room. Perfect timing—my break is officially starting, giving me a legitimate reason to be in the employee section.
The locker room is empty except for Lisa, who stands with her back to the door, doing something at her locker. She startles when I enter, closing the locker quickly.
“Conrad,” she acknowledges with forced casualness. “Busy morning?”
“Spring break,” I reply with a shrug, moving to my own locker as if I’m just here to grab something for my break. “How’s fourth floor treating you?”
“The usual chaos.” She fidgets with her keycard, not quite meeting my eyes. “Carmen had me cover a few rooms on second since Eduardo called in sick.”
That explains her presence on the second floor, but not why our tracker is now stationary inside her locker. I make a show of checking my phone while discreetly confirming the signal location.
“Well, back to it,” Lisa says, a bit too brightly. “Those rooms won’t clean themselves.”
As she leaves, I text Teddy: Bracelet on the move. L took it. Signal in employee locker room now.
Her response comes quickly: Check other trackers?
Good thinking. I check the app again. The earrings and necklace still show as stationary in their original locations, but the ring from room 405 is also moving—heading down from the fourth floor. Roberts had me handling that guest complaint while someone else accessed the room.
Coincidence? I doubt it.
I follow the second signal as it moves to the first floor, then through the back corridors toward... the manager’s office. My steps falter as the implications hit me. Not one thief, but two? Lisa and Roberts working together?
I text Teddy again: Ring moving to R’s office. Two thieves?
Her response: Or one collecting for the other? Need to see if items meet up.
She’s right. If the bracelet and ring end up in the same location, we’ll have our answer. I decide to stake out the manager’s office, finding a maintenance panel down the hall that gives me a clear view of his door while providing a plausible reason for my presence.
My patience is rewarded fifteen minutes later when Lisa approaches Roberts’ office, knocking twice before entering. She stays inside for less than two minutes, then exits empty-handed, walking briskly back toward the elevators.
I check the app again. Both trackers now show the same location—Roberts’ office. Gotcha.
As I’m plotting our next move, the app alerts me to a third signal on the move. The earrings from room 311 are now traveling down the hallway of the third floor. Three separate thefts in one day? This is getting more complicated by the minute.
I track the signal to the service elevator, then watch as it descends to the basement level—where laundry and maintenance are located, not management offices. Curious, I head down to investigate, texting Teddy with the update.
The basement of The Sandpiper is a maze of industrial laundry equipment, maintenance supplies, and storage areas. The tracker leads me to a small office tucked in the back corner—the maintenance supervisor’s space, currently unoccupied. Through the window in the door, I can see a desk cluttered with paperwork, tools, and a small safe.
The tracker signal is coming from inside that office.
I’m considering my options when my radio crackles. “Conrad, report to the front desk,” Roberts’ voice commands. “Security situation.”
As I head upstairs, I text Teddy: Earrings in maintenance office basement. Being called to front desk. Stay away from R for now.
The “security situation” turns out to be a group of intoxicated spring breakers trying to sneak into the hotel pool. By the time I’ve escorted them off the property and documented the incident, thirty minutes have passed. I check the tracking app again.
All three trackers—bracelet, ring, and earrings—now show the same location: Roberts’ office.
That confirms it. Multiple thefts by different staff members, all items ultimately delivered to the manager. Roberts is running some kind of operation, using his staff to collect valuables from guest rooms.
As I’m processing this information, I spot Teddy pushing her cleaning cart toward room 215. Her eyes meet mine, questioning. I give a slight nod, confirming we’ve got what we need.
Now comes the tricky part—confronting Roberts without exposing Teddy’s true identity or getting ourselves fired for unauthorized investigation.
I’m still working on that plan when my radio crackles again. “All security personnel, report to the manager’s office.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something’s wrong. I glance at Teddy, who’s clearly heard the announcement over her own radio, her eyes widening with concern.
When I arrive at Roberts’ office, two other security officers are already there, along with Carmen. Roberts stands behind his desk, his expression thunderous.
“We have a serious situation,” he announces as I enter. “Someone has been planting fake jewelry in guest rooms.”
My blood runs cold. How did he discover our trap so quickly? In a properly planned operation, we would have used several days of surveillance to establish patterns before placing trackers. We would have studied staff rotations, camera layouts, and had backup plans for discovery. Instead, our hastily implemented plan has been exposed within hours.
“Furthermore,” Roberts continues, holding up one of our trackers between his thumb and forefinger, “these items contain unauthorized tracking devices—a serious privacy violation for our guests.”
He holds up the fake ruby ring, dangling it from his fingers. “This was found in room 405. Housekeeping reported it immediately, as they’ve been instructed to do with any guest belongings left behind.”
My mind races. The items weren’t “found”—they were stolen. Roberts is spinning this to make himself look like the vigilant manager discovering a plot. It’s a brilliant countermove, one I would have anticipated with proper planning time.
“The other items,” Roberts continues, opening his desk drawer to reveal the bracelet and earrings, “were similarly reported by our diligent staff. Lisa found this bracelet in room 204, and Eduardo discovered these earrings in room 311.”
So Eduardo took the earrings to the maintenance office first—probably to examine them privately before turning them in. That explains the detour to the basement.
“This is a deliberate attempt to frame our housekeeping staff for theft,” Roberts declares, his righteous indignation almost convincing. “Someone planted these items, expecting them to be discovered and kept by our employees. When that didn’t happen, they would have claimed valuable jewelry was stolen.”
It’s a masterful reversal—painting our trap as the actual crime. I have to admit, Roberts is smarter than I gave him credit for. He’s turned our hastily implemented trap into a weapon against us.
“Conrad,” Roberts says, turning his attention to me. “You’ve been conducting additional security rounds on all floors today. Did you notice anything suspicious?”
Every eye in the room turns to me. This is a test—Roberts suspects I’m involved but doesn’t have proof. If I deny seeing anything, he’ll know I’m lying, since the trackers show I was in all those rooms. If I admit planting the items, I’m confessing to the very scheme he’s describing.
Instead, I choose a third option.
“Actually, sir, I’ve been conducting an authorized security test,” I say, keeping my voice even and professional. “Those items were planted at the request of Hollister Security to test staff response to valuable items left in rooms.”
Roberts’ expression freezes. “I received no notification of such a test.”
“It was meant to be blind, sir,” I continue smoothly. “Testing real-world responses rather than performance under observation. I can call Mr. Hollister if you’d like confirmation.”
The bluff is risky—bringing Brogan into this would expose Teddy’s presence and our unauthorized investigation. But I’m betting Roberts won’t want to call me on it, not when doing so might connect him to the real thefts.
A tense silence fills the room. Carmen and the other security officers look uncomfortable, caught in a standoff they don’t fully understand.
Finally, Roberts forces a tight smile. “That won’t be necessary. However, in the future, I expect to be informed of all security exercises in my hotel, regardless of who authorizes them. Is that clear?”
“Crystal clear, sir,” I respond, meeting his gaze steadily.
“Good. Everyone back to your posts. Conrad, stay a moment.”
As the others file out, I notice Teddy passing by in the hallway, her expression neutral though I recognize concern in her eyes. I give her the smallest shake of my head—a warning to stay away.
When we’re alone, Roberts drops the manager persona, his voice hardening. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Conrad, but it stops now.”
“No game, sir. Just doing my job.”
“Your job?” He laughs without humor. “Your job is hotel security during spring break, not running unauthorized ‘tests’ on my staff.”
“My assignment came directly from Brogan Hollister,” I say, doubling down on the bluff. “If you have concerns about the scope of my duties, I suggest you take them up with him.”
Roberts studies me for a few seconds, clearly weighing his options. “You know,” he says. “I’ve been doing some research on you. Navy SEAL, executive protection, personal security detail for Preston Hollister himself. Quite the résumé for someone pulling routine hotel security during spring break.”
I keep my expression neutral, though internally I’m on high alert. “I go where I’m assigned.”
“Yes, but why were you assigned here? What’s so special about The Sandpiper during spring break that requires Preston Hollister’s personal bodyguard?” His eyes narrow. “Or should I ask, who’s so special?”
He knows. Maybe not the full story, but he’s figured out I’m here protecting someone. The question is, has he connected that someone to Teddy?
“Again, sir, if you have questions about Hollister Security staffing decisions, I suggest you speak with Mr. Hollister.” I maintain eye contact, refusing to show any reaction.
Roberts’ mouth twists into something between a smile and a sneer. “I think I will. In the meantime, I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you, Conrad. And on certain members of my housekeeping staff.”
The threat is clear. He’s targeting Teddy, either suspecting her true identity or simply because of her connection to me. Either way, she’s in danger of being exposed.
“Will that be all, sir?” I ask, keeping my tone professionally detached.
“For now.” He dismisses me with a wave, turning his attention to his computer as if I’m suddenly beneath his notice.
Once outside his office, I text Teddy: Meet me in supply closet 2B in 10 min. Emergency.
The next ten minutes are the longest of my life as I patrol the hallway with deliberate casualness, nodding to guests, checking door locks, all while my mind races with contingency plans. I’ve waited out insurgents in the mountains of Afghanistan and held position during hostile extractions under heavy fire, yet somehow this feels more stressful.
Because it’s not just a mission at stake—it’s Teddy.
The thought of her being exposed or in danger creates a tightness in my chest that no amount of tactical training prepared me for. Roberts is onto us—maybe not fully, but enough to be dangerous, and my feelings for her are making it impossible to maintain my usual detached professionalism.
When I slip into the supply closet, Teddy is already there, looking nervous.
“What happened?” she whispers as soon as I close the door. “I saw everyone going into Roberts’ office.”
I explain the situation—how Roberts spun our trap as a frame-up attempt, my improvised cover story about a security test, and his thinly veiled threats.
“He suspects something,” I conclude. “Either about the investigation, about your identity, or both. We need to be extremely careful from here on out.”
Teddy processes this, her analytical mind clearly working through the implications. “But we confirmed what we suspected, right? Roberts is behind the thefts, using different staff members to collect items.”
“It appears that way,” I agree. “The question is, what’s his endgame? These thefts are relatively small-scale for someone in his position to risk his career over.”
“Unless they’re just the beginning,” Teddy muses. “Starting small to test the system before moving on to bigger targets.”
She has a point. Hotel managers have access to guest information, including credit cards, travel itineraries, and personal details. The jewelry thefts could be a test run for something much larger.
“We need to bring this to Preston,” I say reluctantly. “Roberts is escalating. It’s too risky to continue without backup.”
“But—”
“I know you wanted to handle this yourself,” I say as gently as I can, “but this has gone beyond a simple investigation. It’s too dangerous.”
Teddy’s expression falls, disappointment clear in her eyes. “You mean end my work here early? After everything I’ve worked for?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“One more day... please?” she says, determination hardening her features. “Give me one more day to gather concrete evidence against Roberts. Something Preston can take to the police without revealing how we discovered it.”
Every instinct tells me to refuse, to call Preston and extract Teddy from this escalating situation. My training screams that this is exactly how operations go sideways—extending beyond their parameters, ignoring clear warning signs.
“Teddy, it’s not worth the risk,” I argue. “Roberts is already suspicious. If he connects you to the planted jewelry?—”
“He won’t,” she insists, taking a step closer. “We’ll be smarter. More careful. Just one day, Javi. I can’t come this far and give up now.”
The look in her eyes—that perfect blend of determination, intelligence, and just a hint of stubbornness—makes it impossible to maintain my resolve.
“One day,” I concede, knowing I’m probably making a massive tactical error. “But we do it my way, with proper safeguards. And at the first sign of real danger, we abort. No arguments, no extensions. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” she says, relief evident in her voice. Then, catching me off guard, she rises on tiptoes and presses a quick kiss to my lips. “Thank you for believing in me.”
The simple gesture ignites something in me that overrides all my professional restraint. Before she can pull away, my hand slides to the back of her neck, drawing her closer as I return her kiss with one of my own—deeper, more demanding, breaking every rule of professional conduct I’ve ever followed.
I back her against the shelves of cleaning supplies, feeling her surprise melt into something else as her hands grip the front of my uniform.
“Don’t make me regret this, Teddy,” I murmur as I pull away and rest my forehead against hers.
“I won’t,” she whispers, her gaze holding mine.
It takes every ounce of discipline to step back, to create the necessary distance between us in this cramped closet that suddenly feels far too small.
“You’re welcome,” I manage, trying to regain my professional composure despite the racing of my pulse. “But you’re still following my security protocols.”
“Yes, sir, Commander Conrad,” she teases, giving me a mock salute, though her flushed cheeks and bright eyes betray the effect of our kiss.
Despite the seriousness of our situation, I find myself fighting a grin. Only Teddy could make a high-risk undercover operation in a spring break hotel feel like an adventure rather than a potential disaster.
“One day,” I repeat, more to remind myself than her. “Let’s make it count.”