Chapter Three
THE FIRST THING SHANE did when we reached the cottage was exactly what I told him.
He stayed inside.
The sight of him obeying without a joke sent a quick pull through my stomach.
I stepped onto the patio before my judgment got worse.
The sun had heated the striped cushions and glass table until the space looked wrong for an envelope of photographs. Ocean air lifted the open flap. A water glass sat upside down over one corner, where Carlos had placed it without touching anything else.
Rafi photographed the table, pulled on gloves, then lifted the glass. He eased the prints from the open envelope.
The first showed Shane leaving The Salty Spoon.
The second caught us in the service lane, my hand at his waist as I moved him toward the SUV. Whoever had cropped it had removed the fans, the vehicle door, and every reason I’d been touching him.
What remained looked less like an extraction and more like something I’d tried not to imagine since yesterday.
“Well,” Shane said through the patio door, “at least they found my good side.”
I glanced back.
He stood inside in his white rehearsal tank and dark pants. Sweat darkened his hair at the temples, and the glass between us did nothing for my concentration.
“You don’t have a bad side,” I said before common sense arrived.
His smile flashed.
I turned back to Rafi. “Forget you heard that.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“That works for me.”
Rafi unfolded the note behind the photographs.
CANCEL SATURDAY.
STOP HIDING BEHIND HER.
JESSE DESERVED THIS COMEBACK.
Shane opened the door two inches.
“Cassidy, am I the only person in those pictures?”
My attention dropped to my hand at his waist in the photograph.
“No, you aren’t.”
The cropped photograph didn’t show my face clearly, but it showed my hair, my clothing, and enough of my profile to identify me. The sender had aimed the message at Shane. I’d still been included on purpose.
Rafi slid the photographs and note into separate evidence sleeves.
“Does that mean they’re threatening her now?” Shane asked.
“It means they noticed her,” Rafi said. “We don’t have a direct threat against Cassidy.”
Shane’s attention stayed on me. “That isn’t very comforting.”
“It isn’t supposed to be,” I said. “It’s the honest answer.”
He pushed the door open another inch.
I pointed at him. “You’re still staying inside.”
“I’m asking whether you’re safe.”
“I’m standing behind active coverage, and nobody gets near this patio without passing an SBS agent.”
“That didn’t answer whether you’re safe.”
“It’s the answer I have.”
His lips flattened, but he stepped away from the door.
Carlos waited beside the garden path in a short-sleeved blue shirt that somehow remained pressed after an hour in Florida humidity. He’d cleared the surrounding cottages of staff without alarming the guests, which required a kind of calm I respected.
“Walk me through the access,” I said.
“The beach path runs behind the sea grapes,” Carlos said. “A person can reach this patio without entering the main property drive or using a guest key. The hedge blocks most of the view from reception.”
“Does the route pass any staffed area?”
“No. It connects the boardwalk side to the beach stairs.”
“So whoever left this never needed to enter the cottage.”
“That’s correct.”
I checked the path again. A couple in matching sun hats passed the far opening with a cooler between them. Neither glanced toward us.
We didn’t need a long discussion. The patio couldn’t be made private without closing a public route, and the person who’d left the envelope knew our schedule well enough to arrive while we were at High Tide.
I pressed my earpiece. “Sloane, I recommend relocation.”
“I agree,” she said. “Rafi has the secure cottage ready. Exterior coverage is moving now.”
“Carlos will restrict keys and staff access.”
“I’ve already pulled the housekeeping assignment,” Carlos said. “I’ll handle entry myself if the cottage needs anything.”
“Thank you.”
Rafi rose with the sealed evidence. “I’ll take this to the vehicle. You move Shane through the interior corridor.”
I opened the patio door.
Shane stood exactly where I’d left him, although he’d folded his arms across his chest in a way that stretched his tank over every muscle I didn’t need to notice.
“We’re moving you,” I said.
He nodded. “Tell me where.”
I crossed the room and stopped in front of him.
“Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m not the one whose picture got left with a threat.”
“The demand is still directed at you.”
“The photographer framed your hand like you belonged to me.”
My breath caught.
I kept my voice even. “The photographer cropped out the reason I was touching you. That doesn’t change the reason.”
“I know why you touched me.”
His blue eyes dropped to my mouth.
My skin prickled beneath my deep-teal tank.
I stepped back before proximity became another problem we had to relocate.
“You have five minutes to pack what you need tonight. An agent will collect the rest after the first cottage is cleared.”
“I can be ready in three.”
“You don’t receive a prize.”
“Do I receive another approving nod?”
“You received one this morning. Don’t get greedy.”
A trace of his grin returned. “That nod has been carrying me through a difficult day.”
Shane moved toward the bedroom without another argument.
I used the time to check the interior corridor with the agent stationed outside.
Three minutes later, Shane returned with a duffel over one shoulder and his phone in his hand.
“You really can follow instructions,” I said.
“You’ve spent twenty-four hours making it sound attractive.”
“That still isn’t why you’re following them.”
“No.” His humor faded. “Someone photographed the exact moment you got me out of that restaurant and left it where I sleep. I understand the difference now.”
I held his gaze for one beat, then opened the corridor door.
“Stay on my left.”
“I remember.”
Shane stayed there.
We moved through the inn’s back corridor, past a linen room and a locked staff door, then crossed a short covered path between cottages. An SBS agent walked ahead. Rafi followed behind us after securing the evidence in the vehicle.
The new cottage sat farther from the beach route, screened by thicker landscaping and a solid privacy fence. It had one controlled entrance and no direct public approach. An agent already held the exterior position near the side path.
Carlos unlocked the door himself.
The cottage opened into a compact living area with pale-blue walls, a kitchenette, and a small settee beneath the front window. French doors led to a private patio enclosed by the fence.
I checked the locks, windows, patio, and bedroom while Shane remained near the kitchen without wandering into my path.
The bedroom contained one king bed.
I returned to the living area and pressed the settee cushion. It was narrow, short, and shaped like it had been designed by someone who hated human spines.
Shane leaned against the counter. “Let me guess. Two keys and one bed.”
“One key is staying with Carlos. The other is staying with me.”
“So the inn improved the trope.”
“This isn’t a trope. It’s the most secure available cottage.”
“With one bed.”
“And a settee.”
He crossed the room and sat on it. His knees rose several inches above his hips, and one broad shoulder nearly touched the window.
The settee creaked beneath him.
Shane stood again. “That was insulting.”
“You hurt its feelings.”
“It tried to fold me in half.”
“You’re six foot two. Most furniture considers that hostile.”
He glanced toward the bedroom. “I suppose we’ll need a fair and professional discussion about sleeping arrangements.”
“I’m still wearing an earpiece.”
“That isn’t a no.”
“It’s the reason I’m not discussing any bed with you.”
Shane studied my face. “I can wait.”
I turned toward the door. “Carlos, please limit all cottage access to yourself. Food deliveries stop at the exterior agent.”
“I’ll notify the desk.”
“Thank you.”
Rafi checked the front lock after Carlos left. “Coverage is set. I’ll stay until the relief rotation starts.”
“What time?” I asked.
“Six. Sloane approved an adjacent overnight post and exterior coverage through morning.”
Shane shifted his attention between us. “Does that mean Cassidy leaves at six?”
“It means another agent assumes active protection at six,” Rafi said.
I checked my watch. It was barely four.
“We’ll deal with six at six,” I said.
Shane gave me a small smile. “You make the future sound exciting.”
“I make it sound scheduled.”
Rafi almost smiled. “I’ll send the takeout through when it arrives.”
He stepped outside to coordinate the remaining move.
Shane put his duffel in the bedroom while I closed the curtains and checked the patio from behind the glass. The fence blocked the public path, and the exterior agent had a clear view of the only side approach.
When Shane returned, he’d changed out of his damp rehearsal clothes. Gray lounge shorts sat low on his hips, and a soft white T-shirt stretched across his shoulders.
I’d spent most of the afternoon wishing he’d put on more clothing.
Apparently, the correct amount didn’t exist.
He carried two bottles of water from the kitchenette and held one out.
“You’ve been moving since breakfast,” he said. “Drink.”
I took it. “Are you giving me an instruction?”
“I’m returning one of yours.”
“You remember those?”
“I remember the important parts. Like you checking me out after I put on the shirt.”
“I was checking whether the shirt helped.”
“Did it?”
“Not especially.”
He laughed, and his expression eased.
The food arrived fifteen minutes later in sealed containers from a nearby coastal grill.
Rafi carried it in after the exterior agent checked the delivery.
He set my overnight bag and locked gear case beside the front door, then placed fish tacos, a grilled chicken bowl, chips, salsa, and electrolyte drinks across the kitchenette counter.
“Eat while it’s warm,” he said. “I’m going back to the Beacon to work the repost chain and the patio timeline.”
“Call me if the risk changes.”
“You’ll be the first call.”