His dive card was on his app on his phone. He’d kept his certification current through the years, logging hours whenever work took him somewhere with decent water. Military training first, then recreational dives scattered across roughly five years of security contracts.
Jayden was waiting by the doors, talking to a woman with a clipboard and relentless enthusiasm.
“—and you must be Dakota!” The woman descended on him before he could prepare. “I’m Bonnie, your tour guide! Maxi mentioned you might be joining us. So exciting! The reef is absolutely spectacular today—calm water, great visibility. You’re going to love it!”
She talked in exclamation points. Dakota managed a nod. He remembered her from before, but clearly all the tourists had become a blur for her.
“Bus is just outside. Find any seat you like!”
The bus was a comfortable coach with tinted windows and aggressive air-conditioning. Dakota followed Jayden down the aisle, cataloging faces as he went.
Vic sat alone near the front, already looking queasy. He gave Dakota a weak wave.
“Boats,” he said mournfully. “Even worse than planes.”
Behind him, an older man with binoculars around his neck was lecturing anyone who’d listen about reef fish species. “—the parrotfish alone, there are dozens of varieties. And the colors! Wait until you see the colors!”
Mags sat across the aisle, watching the boarding passengers. The younger woman beside her—tense, phone clutched in her hand—barely looked up.
Near the back, the Czech newlyweds from yesterday, Josef and Anna, sat close together.
A middle-aged man in a Hawaiian shirt was taking photos out the window, muttering about “insurance assessments for reef-tourism operators.” What was his name? Howard something.
The British woman from Hawaii—notebook in hand—glanced at Jayden, then away.
Two twentysomethings sat in the very back, absorbed entirely in each other, oblivious to everything.
Dakota filed it all away and slid into the seat beside Jayden, midway through the bus.
“Recognize anyone?” she asked quietly.
“Most of them were on our flight from Hawaii. The ones who got diverted to Fiji.” He kept his voice low. “The IT consultant. The bird-watcher. The older woman and her daughter. The Czech couple. The insurance guy.”
“So one of them is the owner of the mystery bag.”
“Probably.” He glanced at her. “Unless it’s someone who already left the tour.”
“Then we ask around. Casually. See who mentions luggage problems.”
“Casually,” Dakota repeated.
“I can be casual.” She smiled. “It’s practically my job description.”
The bus pulled away from the hotel, and Cairns began sliding past the windows—palm trees, tourist shops, glimpses of harbor blue. Bonnie launched into a monologue about the Great Barrier Reef that included approximately forty-seven facts and at least that many exclamation points.
Dakota let the words wash over him and watched Jayden instead. The way she leaned toward the window. The slight furrow between her brows when she concentrated. The fact that she’d woken up early, checked on the bag, come up with a plan, and was ready to execute it before he’d even finished his run.
Organized. Efficient. Adaptable.
All excellent qualities in a hotel inspector.
Also excellent qualities in an operative.
He pushed the thought aside as the marina came into view.
They disembarked and found their dive boat moored at the end of the dock.
“This is nicer than anything I’ve ever dived from,” Dakota said. A sleek white catamaran with multiple decks, sun lounges, a small bar ready with welcome drinks, and “REEF DREAMS” painted on the hull in flowing script. The dive platform at the stern was professional-grade—racks of equipment, tanks already filled and staged, crew members filling tanks and setting up rigs.
