Chapter 11
Allie didn't need her superior skills in interpreting body language to read the frustration in the room. The tension hummed at full throttle when she and Knox returned from Kendall's meeting moments ago.
Knox peeled off his wig and tossed it into a box next to hers.
"No kidding." He shoved both hands into his slicked hair and tried to tousle it back into his normal style—or maybe he was just scratching his scalp because the wig had been so itchy.
"I get that the bombs and the bomber are priority numero uno, but then what?
Even if the Morghana police arrested the bomber, Byron could have him out in twenty-four hours.
We've seen that scenario play out here before.
And would it stop Byron's plans for this island—whatever that is? "
"I've been talking to my contacts," Jason said.
"The working theory is that Byron is expanding its smuggling activities.
Isadora Island is positioned well to be used as a midpoint for shipping.
Drugs, black market items, and people. That was my suspicion all along, but now I'm convinced that's what they're trying to build here.
From a logistical standpoint, it makes sense. "
"Unfortunately, it does," Knox said. "But how do we stop Byron? Not just delay their plans. How do we keep them off this island?"
"We can't bring down all of Byron. Other agencies will have to dismantle the organization, but we can give them a huge head start if we can hand over Kendall and this bomb maker.
Kendall's boss hasn't set foot on Isadora that we know of; he's out of our reach.
But if we can get Kendall and this bomb maker arrested, that should go a long way in shutting down Byron. "
Knox leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. "Okay. What's our plan?"
Allie was surprised to see the corner of Jason's mouth quirk up. "I've been working on that. I have a friend who can help us out. Kendall travels here in a private helicopter, likely owned by Byron." He looked at Knox. "I called Nash Stone."
Knox gave an approving nod. "He's a good guy."
Jason continued. "Nash is an excellent pilot. And he has the skills and the resources to finagle his way into the cockpit of Kendall's chopper without Kendall getting wise."
Allie cocked her head. She knew she couldn't ask her question directly, but . . . "So, you've known Nash for a long time? And he has resources?"
"Yes." Jason's eyes filled in the blanks. Nash must be current or former CIA. Jason left the CIA years ago, but Knox said some old friends help them out from time to time.
Jason grabbed a water bottle out of the mini-fridge. "Kendall will probably order him to fly to a non-extradition country. He'll chart a course in the correct direction, but he'll tell Kendall he has to refuel along the way."
"And he'll refuel in an extradition country," Knox said.
Jason took a sip of his water and set the bottle on the conference table.
"Where the FBI will be awaiting their arrival.
The FBI can take it from there. At least, that's my idea.
I'm still ironing out the details. But none of that matters if we don't have the bomber.
And it will all be for nothing if bombs go off somewhere and people get hurt.
So again, the bombs and the bomber are our first priority. "
Allie glanced at Knox and choked back a smile. His efforts to relieve the wig's ill effects left his thick blond hair sticking out in every direction. It looked comical. And kinda cute. And why in the world did she find it attractive? She willed her thoughts to focus on opening her water bottle.
"I have an idea about how to do that," Knox said.
"To find the bomber?"
"Yeah. We know they've been buying up property, but the only building on the whole island that Byron owns is that warehouse. And we know something's in there because it's guarded around the clock."
She knew where this was going. "You want to go in?"
His eyes smiled at her. "Yep."
She didn't think marching into the lion's den was anything to smile about.
His face softened. "Allie, think about it. They're guarding the place 24/7. With delivery trucks coming and going. Knowing what's in there—whether it's the bombs, or information about the bomber, or something else altogether—will give us a lot more intel than we have, which isn't much."
He wasn't wrong. But what made her stomach tighten was that she knew he wanted to go in alone. And that warehouse was a beehive of unknowns. "I don't disagree. But do you have a plan? Getting in there long enough to look around unnoticed might be impossible."
The mischief in his smile tied her already-clenched stomach into a knot.
Jason leaned on the conference table with both hands. "Care to fill me in?"
"Gladly," Knox answered. "You're gonna love this."
Jason raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Well, maybe not today. But someday, we'll look back on this and say, 'Wasn't that awesome?'"
Allie dropped her head with a groan.
The next few minutes poured acid on the knot in her stomach. Yes, Knox had a plan. It was risky, but not impossible. She didn't like it, but she couldn't think of a better idea. And he was right—they had to do something. Soon.
The amount of detail in his scheme made her realize he must've been thinking this through for a while. "How long have you been planning this?"
He mussed his hair again. "Since the first time we saw the warehouse from Henrik's place." A new energy sparked in his eyes when he looked at her—which did nothing helpful for her concentration.
He was happy. And confident. She was glad, but .
. . she needed to get some air while Jason and Knox argued about which one of them would take the most risk in this daredevil plan.
"I'll go get the supplies we need." She stood.
"It shouldn't take me long. You two," she waggled her finger between Jason and Knox, "find a way to do this without getting us killed. "
Knox winked at her. "Yes, ma'am."
The confidence on his face loosened the knot in her gut. A fraction.
To his credit, the concierge didn't bat an eye at Allie's requests. Compared to the wishes and whims of the resort's rich and famous, her requested supplies must seem uninteresting.
He carried himself with a refined, almost-regal air, from his polished black shoes to his manicured mustache."Make note of what you need on this. Be as specific as possible." He handed her some stationery with 'The Mandeville' stamped at the top.
"Yes, of course. Thank you." She recorded the items and handed him her list. "I appreciate your help. I hope it isn't too much trouble."
He glanced at the list and shook his head. "Last week a guest requested we procure a live Siberian tiger. The week before that, someone asked for a didgeridoo."
"A what?"
He gave a kind nod. "I had to look it up. A didgeridoo is a musical instrument used in traditional Australian Aboriginal ceremonies."
"Oh. Well, that's interesting. Were you able to find those . . . items?"
"The didgeridoo, yes. The tiger, no." He raised her list. "Your list will not be a challenge. I can have everything ready for you this afternoon. Is four o'clock acceptable?"
"Oh, yes. That would be perfect. Thank you."
He nodded so gracefully she almost felt like she was supposed to bow, or curtsy or something. Not that she'd ever curtsied in her life.
Confident the genteel concierge had the supplies covered, she decided to step outside The Mandeville for a few minutes—she still needed that fresh air.
Their mission was moving along quickly now. Tonight would prove eventful, one way or another. And her relationship with Knox had definitely morphed into something unexpected in the last twenty-four hours.
Getting shot three months ago forced her whole world to park on the side of life's highway. For months.
But in the past two days, every part of her life had shifted into drive, and the gas pedal hit the floor.
She was relieved to be working again. And her heart might burst if she let herself contemplate how glad she was to be rebuilding something with Knox.
But going from zero to sixty was making her head spin. She needed to take a breath.
She didn't have a destination in mind; she just wanted to walk in the sea breeze for a few minutes.
But her feet brought her straight to the sand.
Apparently, her feet knew to take her to a spot a hundred and fifty yards down the beach from the bombing site.
She didn't need those memories hijacking her short respite.
No, this spot was peaceful. Her back to The Mandeville, this view held nothing but ocean and shoreline.
She would have felt content with the postcard-perfect scenery, but as a bonus, two dolphins breached the surface, flew through the air, and disappeared in the waves. They repeated the stunt in perfect unison. Over and over. Their synchronized performance, flawless.
And she was sure they were enjoying themselves. She didn't know a thing about dolphin nonverbal cues, or if that was even a thing, but she was still positive those two dolphins looked happy.
She wasn't sure why they reminded her of Knox and her.
She doubted they had anything in common with dolphins.
Except that she loved working with him. Loved being in-sync with him.
So far, most of their 'in-sync performance' took place at work.
Now she wondered what a life in unison with Knox, outside of work, might look like.
The thought was glorious and terrifying all at once. She knew she cared about him, but if she let herself fall . . . really fall . . .
What if he changed his mind? What if he didn't reciprocate? It would crush her. She'd lost him once—or thought she had—after the shooting. She never wanted to experience that kind of pain again. Was Knox worth risking her heart?
She knew what she wanted, but her fears made her head hurt.
Slipping off her shoes, she stepped onto the gritty sand. She needed to clear her mind.
She concentrated on the waves, the faithful rhythm, and the mind-boggling size of the ocean. Only God could create something so massive. Powerful, yet peaceful. Mysterious, yet steadfast. Deadly, yet life-giving. And at this particular moment—overflowing with breathtaking beauty.
A verse she'd memorized years ago floated in her mind. For the Lord is a great God, and a great King above all gods. In his hand are the depths of the earth; the heights of the mountains are his also. The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands formed the dry land. Psalm 95:3-5.
It's not like she didn't know God made the ocean.
But for some reason, that verse settled over her with a fresh comfort she hadn't felt before—the entire, incomprehensible ocean was created and controlled by God.
That was encouraging somehow. That the God she trusted was effortlessly regulating the tides and waves across the earth.
Trusted. Why did that word tug at her conscience?
She let the waves and seabirds serenade her for a few minutes.
She knew she trusted Jesus. So, why the whispering voice about trust? She felt the tug on her heart, but she couldn't for the life of her understand what the whisper was saying. It was like feeling guilty for something she couldn't remember doing.
Of course, there were plenty of things she should feel guilty about. But apparently, God was adding something to the list, and she didn't even know what it was.
She focused on the gorgeous view for another minute.
She was grateful for the reminder of how beautiful and powerful God is, but she wished she felt more peace.
God, would you please just tell me what I'm not getting?
I'm not trying to be stubborn. But I still have anxiety that I can't even describe, and I desperately want to understand what you're trying to tell me.
Or maybe . . . maybe God was being silent. Maybe the whispering was a phantom sensation created by her over-thinking.
And now her head really hurt.
She glanced at the blue-green waves once more. No matter how confused or frustrated she felt, that view calmed her aching heart—at least a smidgen.
Stepping back into her shoes, she headed for the bistro. In search of coffee.
Knox couldn't mask his grin when Allie returned to Room 336. "I have good news. I won."
Her face scrunched up. "Won what?"
He waved a hand between Jason and himself. "We both wanted to be the one to go into the warehouse. So, we arm wrestled for it, and I won."
Jason rolled his eyes. "We flipped a coin."
Rowan looked amused. "They talked about using rock, paper, scissors. But settled on flipping a coin."
"I don't care if you thumb wrestled for it," Allie said. "Are you sure only one of us should go in? Maybe you should both go in? I can handle the distraction outside—"
"No," Knox interrupted. "I got it. Besides, the work inside is easy-peasy as long as the distraction is working. I'd feel better with both of you out there keeping the guards occupied." The worry in her eyes tugged at his heart a little bit. "Everything is going to be fine. This is a good plan."
Her lips crooked in an unconvincing smile. But she nodded her agreement. He could feel his adrenaline ticking up in anticipation of their mission tonight. He wished she acted as excited as he felt. This was a good plan. It would work.
He flicked his eyes to the drink carrier in her hands. "Coffee? For us?"
She smiled. A genuine smile. "Yes." She started handing out the drinks. "And the concierge will have everything ready by four o'clock. That gives us plenty of time."
When she handed him his coffee, he held his hand over hers a few extra seconds. He wanted to chase the wariness out of her eyes. "Everything will be fine tonight. I promise."
Something shifted in her gaze. She didn't offer him more than a nod, but he watched confidence fill her eyes.
Relief flowed through his chest. He would carry out the plan tonight whether or not she was thrilled with it, but her support mattered. A lot.
He winked at her.
She blushed and let go of his coffee. "Just be careful tonight."
"Yes, ma'am." Of course he'd be careful. But he was itching to get into that warehouse. He didn't have a doubt in his mind he'd find something interesting. He just prayed that tonight wasn't too late.