“Let’s talk more about this,” I choke out, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.
The fucking digital pets.
That’s how Stefano’s communicating with his clients off the radar. And I’d bet my right hand that if our forensics team gets their hands on Bea’s device, they’ll be able to hack the entire network.
I’ll have to snag it from her while we’re on the evacuation boat, which I will be contacting immediately.
“But don’t tell him about our beach walk, okay?” I release her hand and grab my cell from my small beach bag. “And turn it off? Is that cool?”
Her forehead wrinkles, and fresh worry fills her eyes. “Oh, God. I’m in trouble, aren’t I? He’s crazy. Or bad for me. Maybe both? But I really love him, Zan. I really do.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I say as I type out the SOS Code in a message to Blaire and Neville and receive confirmation from them within a few seconds of each other that extraction protocols are underway.
Thank God. A boat is en route.
Now, I just need Nick.
I swipe at my screen and text in the same SOS code to Nick—Watermelon on the dock sounds so good right now. Want to meet me there ASAP?
Bubbles float at the bottom of the screen almost instantly. That’s good news, but I still hold my breath as I wait for his response to pop through. When it does—All right. See you then.—my hand shakes with relief.
I text back—Great. I’ll invite Beatrice to go fishing with us.
Tucking my cell beneath the strap of my swimsuit for easy access, I grab Beatrice by the elbow. “Let’s go. I have a surprise for you.”
“What’s that?” she asks, falling in beside me as I start through the resort toward the beach. Silently, I say goodbye to everything still in our room.
But clothing and luggage are replaceable.
Lives aren’t.
“Nick’s getting us a boat,” I say in an upbeat tone. “So we can go fishing while we chat, blow off some steam, and get away from the resort for a while.”
“Oh. Okay.” She’s clearly surprised by the announcement. But after a moment, she nods and adds, “That sounds good. I love fishing!”
“Me, too,” I lie as I cross and uncross my fingers, silently willing Nick to hurry.
A few minutes later, Beatrice and I arrive at the beach. Bea takes the towels the attendant offers, and I amble across the sand, lifting a hand to shade my eyes as I scan the horizon.
Not far away, I spot what looks like our extraction boat. It’s too small to hold a load of missiles, too large for a snorkeling trip, and it’s cruising in from the other side of the island at an encouraging speed.
“Is that ours?” Beatrice asks, stopping beside me.
“I think so,” I say, glancing over my shoulder.
But there’s still no sign of Nick.
There is, however, an ebony-skinned man in a red swimsuit and a loose white tee shirt wandering over to the lifeguard stand. He’s a bit too well-groomed for me to buy that he’s a full-time beach bum, which sets my spy tail to tingling right away. He yawns and sips coffee from a paper cup as he studies the water with sleepy-looking eyes, then rubs a hand over his closely shorn head and tugs twice at his left ear.
It’s the signal. He’s our backup. Our contingency agent.
I should feel relieved he’s already been contacted and activated—but I don’t.
And I won’t.
Not until Beatrice, Nick, and I are on that boat.
Wandering a little farther down the beach, I pretend to watch a pair of men washing down the orange kayaks at the rental station, but in reality, I’m scanning the edge of the resort and the three paths leading to the beach, willing Nick to appear. Beatrice pads after me, chatting about her decision to become a pescatarian and how guilty about it she felt at first, until she found a shop that only sells sustainably raised fish.
The seconds drag on for minutes, and minutes feel like hours, but when I finally let myself check my phone, only a quarter-hour has passed. As I tuck my cell back into my bathing suit strap, the extraction boat is pulling up to the dock, but there’s still no sign of Nick.
I’m about to text him again when a burst of familiar laughter drifts my way on the wind.
Hope clutching at my throat, I turn back toward the resort to see Nick, laughing hard as he emerges from behind a row of short, squat palm trees. Chest buzzing with relief, I lift my arm to wave him over, but my fingers go numb and his name dies on my lips.
Because he isn’t alone.
And we aren’t going to make a clean getaway, after all.
Not with Stefano right behind him.
Chapter Twenty
Nickolas
In my experience, missions rarely go to shit, but when they do, they do so swiftly, sloppily, and with minimal warning.