Chapter 2
TWO
Dakota had made a tactical error.
He realized it as he stared at page forty-seven of A River Runs Through It for the third time without absorbing a single word. The problem wasn’t the book. The problem was the woman sitting beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her arm near his.
They’d been quiet for twenty minutes since their conversation about his grandfather. A comfortable quiet, the kind that didn’t need filling. She’d picked up her tablet. He’d opened his book.
He hadn’t read a page. Mostly because the air seemed charged, a tingle between them.
Even when they betray us.
Good grief. She was a stranger on a plane, and somehow he’d let her see the part of him that still ached for his grandfather’s fishing cabin, for sunrise on cold water, and a time when regret didn’t burn a hole through him.
So, yeah, eleven hours of feeling a little naked sat ahead of him.
Beside him, Jayden shifted in her seat. He felt rather than saw the movement—sensed her glancing at him, then away.
Maybe their conversation had unsettled her just as much.
And he didn’t know what to do with that.
Then, hallelujah, the meal-service cart appeared, and maybe they could start over. Indeed, because Jayden met Dakota’s eyes. Something sparked there—relief?
He put down his tray, and the flight attendant leaned down, professional smile in place. “Dinner service. We have chicken or pasta this evening.”
“Pasta,” Jayden said.
“Chicken,” Dakota said.
The flight attendant handed over their trays. The man next to them kept snoring, so she moved on.
Jayden peeled back the foil on her pasta. Made a face.
“Professional assessment?” Dakota asked.
She took a bite. Chewed thoughtfully. “Aggressively mediocre. Three out of ten.” Another bite anyway. “But I’m starving, so mediocre wins.”
He tried his chicken.
“And?”
“A solid two.”
She made a face. “Could be worse. Could be C-rations.”
He glanced at her. “Point and match.”
She laughed. “So, you got out of the military and into security. What’s the worst security assessment you’ve ever done?”
He considered the question. The real answer involved a compound in Syria and a miscounted threat that still woke him up at 3:00 a.m. But he dodged that and went for, “There was a tech conference in Vegas. CEO was convinced someone was trying to steal his revolutionary new product.”
“Was someone?”
“No. The product was an app that reminded you to drink water. Not exactly state secrets.”
“But you still had to take it seriously.”
“Three days of my life I’ll never get back.” He shook his head. “The man insisted on a security detail for his hotel room. Made us sweep for bugs twice a day. And the whole time, his password was taped to the bottom of his laptop.”
Jayden laughed, a sort of snort, and then a giggle. Cute.
“People are crazy,” she said.
“Keeps me employed.”
“Silver linings.” She took another bite of pasta, made another face, ate it anyway. “Okay, fine, you deserve the raccoon story.”
“I didn’t ask about a raccoon.”
“You’re going to want to hear this.” She leaned back, her eyes warming. “Tuscany. The height of summer—the place was just baking. The hotel seemed fine from the outside. Nice lobby, friendly staff. And then I found the ice machine.”
“The ice machine.”
“There was a raccoon living in it.”
He stared at her. “How does a raccoon—”
“I have no idea. Neither did the staff. They seemed genuinely surprised when I mentioned it, which was somehow more concerning than the raccoon itself.” She was fully animated now, hands gesturing.
“And it wasn’t like the raccoon was scared of me.
It just sat there, in the ice, eating what I’m pretty sure was a stolen continental-breakfast Danish. Made eye contact. Very judgmental.”
Dakota laughed, a real laugh, surprising himself. “What did you do?”
“Took a photo for the report. Then closed the ice machine very carefully and went to find the manager.” She shook her head. “They did not pass inspection.”
“I would hope not.”
“The manager tried to argue that it was a ‘one-time incident.’” She made air quotes. “I was like, sir, there is a raccoon. Living. In. Your. Ice. Machine. This is not a one-time situation.”
“Did they get rid of it?”
“I don’t know. I left.” She finished her pasta, put the foil back over the container. “Not my circus, not my raccoon.”
The meal service ended, the flight attendant collecting the debris. The cabin lights dimmed as passengers settled into the rhythm of a long flight. Movies flickered to life on seatback screens. Headphones went on. The world contracted to this small space, this conversation, this moment.
He couldn’t read, so maybe he should pull out his tablet. Should review the Sydney briefing, memorize Opera House sight lines, do the work he was being paid to do.
Instead, he turned to her and said, “Desert-island question. One book, one movie, one food. Go.”
She thought about it, bringing up one knee, wrapping her arms around it. “Anything by Agatha Christie. The Princess Bride. And tacos.”
“The Princess Bride?”
“Don’t judge. And if you haven’t seen it, we’re going to have problems.”
“As you wish.”
Her face broke into a grin. “Point for you. Your turn. And if you say something boring like a survival manual, I’m switching seats.”
He considered. “The book you saw me reading. Casablanca. And pizza.”
“Good choices. Classic.” She nodded approvingly. “Though I have to say, picking a book about fly-fishing for a desert island seems impractical.”
“It’s not about the fishing.”
“I know.” Her voice had gone softer.
Oh. His chest tightened. And silence settled between them, the weird intimacy of feeling seen.
Then Jayden cleared her throat, shifted gears. “Okay. Less heavy. Biggest pet peeve about your job. Go.”
“Easy. People who don’t take it seriously. Who treat security like an inconvenience instead of a necessity. Who prop open fire exits because it’s easier. Who share passwords. Who think nothing bad will happen because nothing bad has happened yet.”
“Until something bad happens.”
“Until something bad happens.” He paused. “What about you? Hotel-inspection pet peeves?”
“People who blame me for their violations.” She rolled her eyes. “Like I personally put mold in their bathroom or roaches in their kitchen. I’m just reporting what’s there. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“But you do have to deliver bad news a lot.”
“Constantly. Most hotels are not thrilled to see me.” She smiled wryly. “Which is why I show up unannounced.”
“So, you’re like a spy.”
She stiffened, drew in a breath.
“I didn’t mean—”
Then she laughed and nodded. “Yeah. Exactly like a spy. Call me Virginia.”
“Virginia?”
“Hall. She was a famous World War II spy who worked for the SOE and OSS and finally with the CIA.”
Now he was impressed.
“I read about her in a book I found at a hotel. I’m lousy with incidental information. You need a sidekick at a party, I’m your girl.”
He didn’t hate that thought. “Do you go to a lot of parties?”
“No. I don’t really . . .” She trailed off, seemed to catch herself. “I move around too much for parties. Or friends, really. Or anything that requires staying in one place.”
There was something underneath that. Something that sounded like loneliness, though she said it lightly enough.
“The military-family thing?” Dakota said.
“Yeah.” She looked at him as if surprised he’d remembered. “You never really learn how to stay. You know? You learn how to show up, make a good impression, figure out the social dynamics. But you never learn how to . . . belong.”
He understood that more than she knew. “Where did you stay the longest?”
“Germany. Three years, ages eleven to almost fourteen.” She picked at her napkin, folding and unfolding the corner. “I was hoping we might stay. I had friends. A favorite café. I was learning the language.” A pause. “Then my dad got reassigned and we left.”
“Did you keep in touch with anyone?”
“For a while. But it’s hard when you’re fourteen and everyone moves on.” She shrugged, but the gesture was too casual to be real. “I learned not to get too attached after that.”
The words sat between them.
“Is that why you inspect hotels?” he asked quietly. “So you never have to stay?”
Her eyes snapped to his. For a moment, the mask dropped completely—he saw surprise, recognition, something that might have been pain.
Then she smiled. Warm. Professional. Perfect.
“That’s very poetic. Mostly, I just like the travel perks and other people’s money.”
Deflection. He recognized it because he used it himself.
But he’d pushed too far. Asked too much. The door had closed.
“Fair enough,” he said.
The silence that followed wasn’t quite comfortable anymore. She pulled on her earphones. He picked up his book again, tried to read, couldn’t.
Ten minutes in, the captain’s voice came over the speakers, calm but no-nonsense—
“Folks, we’re threading through some heavy weather for the next stretch. Seatbelts fastened, please. We’ll be riding it out.” The turbulence started shortly after.
Just a gentle shudder at first, barely noticeable. Then something deeper. The kind that made the overhead bins rattle and the drink cart pause in the aisle.
Jayden’s hand found the armrest. Held it.
“Just weather,” Dakota said. “It’ll pass.”
“I know.” Her grip didn’t loosen. “I’m fine.”
She didn’t look fine, but he didn’t argue.
The plane shuddered again.
Jayden took off her headphones. “What’s your biggest fear?” she asked suddenly. “On a plane. Not—” She waved a hand. “Not the existential stuff. Just the flying-specific terror.”
“Most people would say crashing.”
“Most people aren’t you.” She turned to face him, seeming genuinely curious despite the turbulence. “What scares the security consultant who notices everything?”
Oh.
“Not knowing,” he said finally. “Not the going-down part. The not knowing it’s coming until it’s too late to do anything about it.” He met her eyes. “I can handle a crisis if I see it coming. What I can’t handle is being blindsided.”
Something shifted in her expression.