Chapter 2 #3
And she didn’t fall apart now, standing in the chaos of the terminal with her hair plastered to her face and her heart still pounding too fast.
“I need to find out about connecting flights,” Jayden said, scanning the terminal. Gate agents huddled behind counters, already overwhelmed by two hundred passengers who’d just cheated death.
“Give yourself a minute first.”
“I’m fine.”
“Jayden.”
She stopped. Looked at him. He was still holding her hand.
“One minute,” he said quietly. “Just breathe.”
She wanted to argue. Wanted to pull away and prove she was fine and didn’t need anyone to tell her to breathe.
Instead, she breathed.
One breath. Two. Three.
The shaking slowed.
“Okay,” she said.
He let go of her hand.
She smiled at the frazzled gate agent behind the counter. Made a joke about island weather. Asked about hotels and rebooking and all the practical things that needed handling. She was calm and composed and absolutely fine.
She was also lying.
Because she’d held his hand. During the brace position, during the longest forty-five seconds of her life, she’d held Dakota’s hand and told him she was glad she sat next to him.
And meant it.
That was a problem.
Pandemonium swallowed the airport. Stranded passengers crowded every available surface—slumped in chairs, sprawled on the floor, pacing in front of departure boards that all read the same thing: CANCELED.
The smell of wet clothing and stress sweat saturated the cool air. A baby wailed somewhere to her left. A man in a business suit yelled at an airline employee in rapid French.
“Absolute nightmare.”
Jayden turned to find Vic beside her, color slightly better now that he was on solid ground, though his hands still trembled around a paper cup of water.
“I knew this trip was a bad idea.” He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Any idea how to get out of here?”
“Everything’s grounded until the storm passes.
” Dakota appeared at her shoulder, his voice solid, steady.
Like he hadn’t just survived a near-death experience.
Like his pulse was perfectly normal and his thoughts were perfectly ordered and he hadn’t been holding her hand a little while ago.
“Could be days if the storm closed the roads.”
“Days?” Vic’s voice pitched upward. “I can’t—I have to be in Sydney by the end of the week. The Singapore office is already breathing down my neck, and if I don’t—”
“Vic,” Dakota said in a calm-down voice. “There’s nothing any of us can do about the weather. Let’s focus on what we can control.”
The man’s shoulders dropped an inch. “Right. Yes. You’re right.” He took a shaky breath. “Shelter first. Panic later.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Dakota clearly possessed the right skill set for his security role, because she sort of wanted to grab Vic and tell him to put on his big-boy pants, but Dakota just pointed to a nearby chair and sent the man over to it.
And then, of course, all she could think of was Dakota’s hand in hers as her life flashed before her eyes. So maybe she needed to put on her big-girl pants and stop her own spiral.
“I need to get my bag,” she said. “From the cargo hold.”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”
Of course he was. Security consultant. He probably had classified materials in his bag too.
They pushed through the crowd together, following signs to baggage claim. The airport was small, overwhelmed, staff running in every direction. Rain hammered the windows in sheets. Through the glass, palm trees bent sideways in the wind.
Chaos consumed the luggage area. Bags were piled everywhere.
Passengers dug through the mess. Airline employees shouted instructions that no one heard over the storm.
Water covered everything—dripping from the ceiling where the roof leaked, pooling on the floor, soaking the bags that workers had dumped in haphazard piles.
A harried airline employee climbed onto a chair and clapped her hands.
“I’m sorry, but for all the passengers on the flights that have had emergency landings, your checked bags are not available.
They will be offloaded when the storm passes.
Your carry-ons are being unloaded and transported separately.
We’ve arranged transportation and emergency lodging for all stranded passengers.
Buses are waiting outside. Please proceed to the front entrance in an orderly fashion. ”
Orderly fashion. Right.
The crowd surged toward the doors with all the order of a stampede.
So, no bag.
Dakota’s grim look betrayed her feelings, but she followed him outside.
At least the pendant was still around her neck.
The automatic doors slid open, and the storm hit them full force—warm rain, violent wind, the smell of salt and ozone and tropical flowers.
She tilted her head back and let it wash over her for just a moment. Let herself feel the reality of solid ground beneath her feet, oxygen in her lungs, a heartbeat that was still pounding too fast but pounding nonetheless.
Alive.
“You okay?” Dakota was watching her, rain streaming down his face, and the look in his eyes was too soft. Too knowing.
She smiled. Bright. Unbothered. “Never better. Nothing like a near-death experience to make you appreciate a good tropical storm.”
“That’s the spirit.”
The bus was waiting—an old tourist coach, already half full. They climbed aboard, soaking wet, and found seats near the back. Vic squeezed in beside them.
“The airline is arranging accommodations for everyone at a local resort,” the driver announced over the crackling speaker. “Don’t worry about your carry-ons. They’ll meet us at the resort. Just relax. We’ll have you there in twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes through a tropical storm on a winding coastal road. Jayden leaned her head against the rain-streaked window and closed her eyes.
Just get through tonight. Tomorrow you can figure out the rest.
The emergency lodging turned out to be a small and rustic resort, more of a cluster of wooden cabins nestled into the hillside, surrounded by palm trees and tropical gardens.
In better weather, it would have been charming.
In the storm, it looked battered but sturdy, warm light glowing from the windows of the main building.
They filed off the bus and into the lobby, a cramped space with rattan furniture and ceiling fans that fought a losing battle against the humidity. A tired-looking woman stood behind the front desk, handing out keys as fast as she could.
“Single rooms only,” she was saying. “Breakfast is included. Dinner service starts in an hour in the main pavilion. Please be patient—we’re doing our best.”
Jayden waited in line, hyperaware of Dakota behind her. The lobby pressed in—too small, too crowded, too warm. Every time she shifted, her shoulder brushed his arm. Every time she breathed, she caught his scent—rain and something warmer underneath.
Sort of made her want to curl in against him. Feel his hand in hers again.
Aw, stop it. She was just tired. Or frayed.
“Next?” The woman behind the desk looked exhausted. The woman at the other counter called for Dakota. He stepped up to the other kiosk.
“Name?”
“Jayden Pierce.”
A key slid across the counter. “Cabin seven. Up the path, third on the right.”
“Thank you.” Jayden pocketed the key, and Dakota met her.
“We’re lucky—according to that front-desk clerk, they’re having to double-bunk people.” He pocketed his key. “Dinner?”
“I should probably—” What? Go sit alone in her cabin and obsess over everything that happened on that plane? Pretend she wasn’t still shaking? “Yeah. Dinner sounds good.”
The main pavilion was an open-air structure with a thatched roof and wooden beams, protected from the rain by roll-down canvas walls that flapped in the wind. String lights cast a warm glow over mismatched tables and chairs. The smell of grilled fish and coconut rice drifted from the kitchen.
They found a table in the corner, away from the worst of the crowd. Vic had attached himself to Gerald, the bird-watcher in the Hawaiian shirt, and the two of them were deep in conversation about something—Vic gesturing wildly, Gerald nodding along with patient interest.
“He’s going to be okay,” Dakota said, following her gaze. “Vic. Gerald’s got him.”
“Gerald has the patience of a saint.”
“Bird-watching will do that. You learn to wait.”
A server appeared with menus—handwritten, limited options. Jayden ordered the fish. Dakota ordered the same. They asked for wine and received a bottle of something local.
The power flickered. Once. Twice. The string lights swayed.
“Think we’ll lose electricity?” Jayden asked.
“Probably. Tropical storm plus aging infrastructure.” Dakota poured the wine. “Generator will kick in if it gets bad.”
“You’ve done this before.”
“A few times.” He handed her a glass. “The worst was a hurricane in the Bahamas. We lost power for three days. No air-conditioning, no refrigeration. I survived on room-temperature beer and crackers.”
“That sounds miserable.”
“It wasn’t great.” He smiled. “But the sunsets were incredible. Something about the light shining through the storm. Made everything glow.”
She could picture it. Him standing on a beach, watching the sky turn colors, calm in the middle of chaos.
“What about you?” he asked. “Worst weather you’ve been stuck in?”
She thought about it. The real answer involved a monsoon in Myanmar and a failed extraction that still gave her nightmares, but that wasn’t dinner conversation.
“Iceland,” she said instead. “Two years ago. Volcanic ash grounded every flight for a week.” That part was true, at least. “I was supposed to be inspecting hotels in Reykjavik. Ended up snowed in at a tiny guesthouse in the middle of nowhere.”
“That sounds . . .”
“Amazing, actually.” She surprised herself with the honesty. “No cell service. No internet. Just me and a fireplace and a stack of books.” She took a sip of wine. “I read the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy in four days.”
“That’s impressive.”
“That’s what happens when you run out of things to inspect.”