Chapter 6
SIX
This was the mission—find the owner of the sniper rifle secreted inside the gray bag.
And, or, follow Jayden to see if she might be an assassin.
Either way, no way could Dakota let her out of his sight. Because if the bag did belong to someone else, then chances were that someone else, a.k.a. a killer, would eliminate Jayden for what she knew-slash-thought-she-knew.
And no way was he going to fly to Sydney and let that happen, thank you very much. He couldn’t help but think that he’d somehow gotten her into this mess by signing her up for the tour. He wasn’t going to abandon her now.
So, yes, he might have been a smidgen enthusiastic, but what was a guy going to do?
The Aussie Adventures Premium Tours desk was tucked in a corner of the baggage-claim area, its cheerful banner slightly askew and its brochure rack fully stocked.
No staff.
Dakota studied the empty desk while Jayden grabbed a brochure. A sign propped against the counter read: For tour inquiries, please contact our Cairns office, with a phone number underneath.
“They’ve already left.” Jayden flipped through the brochure. “The tour group. Look—Day One, arrival and welcome dinner at”—she squinted at the text—“Cairns Harbourside Hotel.”
Dakota pulled out his phone, dialed the number.
Three rings, then a woman’s voice: “Aussie Adventures, this is Maxine.”
“Hi. I’m trying to track down some luggage that got mixed up in Fiji. I understand your tour group might have it?”
A pause. The sound of papers shuffling. “The Fiji–Sydney group? They checked in about an hour ago. All the luggage was distributed to rooms.”
“Any way to figure out who has which bag?”
“We use a tag system. Numbers, not names—privacy reasons. The bags go to rooms based on the tags, but I couldn’t tell you which guest has which number without going through the whole manifest.” Another pause. “If there’s a mix-up, someone will report it. They always do.”
“And if we wanted to wait for that report?”
“The hotel can put you on a notification list. Cairns Harbourside—tell them Maxi sent you.”
Dakota thanked her and ended the call. Jayden was still reading the brochure, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“The bags are distributed by number directly to the rooms. We have to just wait until someone reports a wrong bag. I think we should go to the hotel.”
She held up the brochure, tapping the itinerary. “Great Barrier Reef diving. Hunter Valley wine country. Melbourne and the penguin parade. Sydney Opera House with backstage access.” She glanced at him. “Sounds like fun.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You want to join a tour group to find a bag?”
“Just long enough to get my bag back. At the very least, we see some sights.”
It wasn’t a bad plan. It also meant more close proximity with a woman he was still trying to clear of suspicion.
“Let’s start with the hotel,” he said. “See what they can tell us. If we need to join the tour, we can decide tonight.”
“Practical.” She tucked the brochure into her messenger bag. “I like it.”
They found a taxi outside. The driver was a sunburned man with a Queensland accent thick enough to cut, full of opinions about the reef, the weather, and the “tourists clogging up the whole coast.” Dakota tuned him out and watched Cairns slide past the windows—palm trees, harbor glimpses, the worst of the squall already pushing east.
Beside him, Jayden was quiet. Reading the tour brochure again, or pretending to.
He should be planning. Maybe figuring out how to investigate the rifle components without tipping his hand.
Instead, he was noticing the way the light caught her profile. The slight furrow between her brows when she concentrated.
Focus.
The Cairns Harbourside Hotel rose into view—a white multistory building with stacked balconies and arched windows on the ground floor.
Palm trees framed the entrance. Blue accent lights were just starting to glow in the fading afternoon, puddles still shimmering on the terra-cotta paths from the afternoon squall.
A yellow sail-shade canopy stretched over an outdoor seating area where a few guests lingered with drinks.
“Nice,” Jayden murmured, and Dakota caught her doing that thing she did—cataloging details, assessing, the hotel inspector evaluating a property.
Or the operative assessing a location?
He pushed the thought aside and paid the driver.
The lobby was all tropical elegance—high ceilings, natural light streaming through skylights, cream walls warming to honey at the curved reception desk with its navy-blue accent.
Green dominated the seating area—deep forest armchairs with blond wood frames, big-leafed plants in white ceramic pots, a painting of water lilies catching the last of the afternoon sun.
The front-desk attendant, a young blonde with a name tag reading AVERY, smiled with professional warmth. “Checking in?”
“Actually,” Dakota said, “we’re hoping to connect with someone from the Aussie Adventures tour. I was told to tell you that Maxi sent us.”
Avery’s smile brightened. “Oh, the luggage situation! Yes, she rang. Give me just a moment—” She picked up the phone, spoke quietly, then nodded. “Maxi’s actually here. She’ll be right out.”
Maxi turned out to be a weathered woman in her forties with a practical ponytail, a deep tan, and the kind of competent energy that suggested she’d been herding tourists through tropical adventures for decades.
“The bag people.” She shook their hands with firm enthusiasm. “Maxi. Coordinator for Aussie Adventures. So sorry about the mix-up—Fiji was a nightmare for everyone. Half the Pacific rerouting through that little airport.”
“We’re hoping to track down whoever ended up with my friend’s luggage,” Dakota said. “Any way to figure out which room?”
Maxi’s expression turned apologetic. “The tag system, I’m afraid.
Numbers correspond to rooms but not to names.
Privacy protocols—we can’t just go through everyone’s bags looking for yours.
” She spread her hands. “Best option is to wait. Someone will notice they’ve got the wrong things and report it. Always happens within a day or two.”
“A day or two?” Jayden repeated.
“Some people pack for multiple phases of the trip—from the tropical ocean to the chilly south of Melbourne—and they pack in different bags. Some of our experienced travelers have three or four bags.”
Dakota glanced at Jayden, mouthing three or four?
“If you’d like to stay overnight, we can add you to the notification list. The moment someone reports a discrepancy, you’ll know.” Maxi glanced between them. “I looked you both up. You’re still listed on the tour. Diving tomorrow, the Hunter Valley, Melbourne, Sydney. Quite the adventure.”
Dakota looked at Jayden. She looked back.
“Let’s start with tonight,” he said. “See what happens.”
Maxi nodded. “Avery can get you sorted with the rooms. And if you change your mind about the tour, just let me know before morning.”
She disappeared back into the hotel’s depths, and Avery began tapping at her computer.
“Two rooms available. I can put you on the same floor, if you’d like?” She glanced up. “Actually, I’ve got two adjoining rooms on seven. Harbor view. Quite lovely.”
Adjoining rooms?
“That works,” Jayden said before he could respond. She caught his expression and raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”
“No problem.” Did his voice sound strange to anyone else?
“Good.” That slight smile again. “Because I’m not sharing a bed with you two nights in a row. The Great Pillow Wall of Fiji was a one-time architectural achievement.”
Despite everything—the rifle components, the suspicions, the mission ticking away in the back of his mind—Dakota’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Impenetrable.”
“Legendary.”
Avery looked between them but said nothing, just handed over the key cards with professional discretion.
He took his key and followed Jayden to the elevators. She indeed had the door next to his, and stopped as she tapped it.
“See you at dinner?”
He managed to nod and not raise a fist in a weird sort of triumph as he walked into his room.
Instead, he placed a call to Ham, left a short voicemail briefing him on the rifle components, took a shower, called Maxi twice—no reported bag—and finally headed down for the scheduled meet and greet.
The pool restaurant glowed purple in the tropical dusk, the storm long since spent.
Underwater lights turned the water into something ethereal—violet and blue rippling across the surface, reflecting off the white pergola columns and the faces of the handful of diners scattered along the terrace.
String lights added warmth overhead. The sky behind was lavender fading to pink, palm trees silhouetted against the last of the light.
He found Jayden standing near the pool, talking with an older woman—her seatmate, it looked like, from today’s flight.
He walked over.
“This is Mags,” Jayden said.
He shook the woman’s hand, and she gave him a warm smile.
“Glad you had a change of mind,” Mags said.
He glanced at Jayden, but she just smiled at him.
“You clean up,” Jayden said. Dakota had changed into a pair of jeans and a white oxford.
“You look . . . Well, for a gal who doesn’t have her bag and fancy underwear, you managed to pull it off.”
She laughed. “Hotel gift shop.”
Not just the dress—sure, he liked the pink sundress—but Jayden had done something with her hair, put it up into a messy bun, tendrils falling loose around her face. She looked . . . softer.
Sweet.
Feminine.
She ordered a glass of Semillon wine, and when the barkeep poured it, he told her it was a local Queensland white, this label a mix of sauvignon blanc. “It’s crisp, with a touch of lemon on the nose.”
Whatever that meant. But he ordered a glass too.
They found a table and ordered barramundi—a local grilled fish.
“You been reading up on Cairns?” he asked.
Jayden lifted a shoulder. “Hazard of the profession.” She swirled her wine, watching the light play through the glass.
Jayden was quiet for a long moment. The pool lights shifted from purple to blue and back again.