“Fine.” She was shaking. When had she started shaking? “I’m fine. I checked my tank—I had full air when we went down. I don’t understand?—”
“Let me see.” He swam behind her, and she felt his hands on her tank, checking the connection. A pause. Then, “This didn’t come loose on its own.”
“What?”
“The O-ring is damaged. Cut, almost.” His voice had gone hard. Cold. “Someone tampered with your gear.”
The words landed like stones in her stomach. Someone had tried to kill her?
Dakota swam around to face her, his jaw set, his eyes hard. “We’re getting you back to the boat. Now.”
He didn’t wait for agreement. Just wrapped an arm around her waist and started towing her toward the dive platform, his strokes powerful and furious.
“I can swim,” she protested.
“I know. Humor me.”
She did. Let herself be held, be helped, be protected. It felt foreign and strange and terrifyingly good.
They reached the boat’s ladder, and Dakota practically lifted her onto the platform. The dive master rushed over, alarm on his face, but Dakota cut him off.
“Equipment failure.” His voice carried the edge of command. “I want to see every piece of gear that was on that rack. And I want to know who had access to the equipment room between dives.”
The dive master blinked. “Sir, equipment failures happen sometimes?—”
“The O-ring was cut.” Dakota stripped off his BCD and set it down with barely contained fury. “That doesn’t just happen.”
Jayden sat on the bench, her legs unsteady, her mind racing. The equipment had been staged on deck during lunch. Anyone could have accessed it.
Anyone.
But not Dakota.
She watched him argue with the dive master, his whole body vibrating with protective fury, and something settled in her chest. A certainty she’d been fighting since Hawaii.
He wasn’t the threat. He couldn’t be. No operative who’d sabotaged her gear would react like this—immediate, instinctive, angry. An enemy would have let her struggle. Would have “tried to help” and conveniently failed. Would have worn the right face while letting her drown.
Dakota had saved her life. Without hesitation. Without calculation. Because that’s who he was.
Which meant the real assassin was still out there. Still on this boat. Still watching.
And maybe—probably—now knew that Jayden was more than just a hotel inspector.
Dakota returned to her side, his expression still thunderous. “They’re checking all the equipment. The captain’s logging an incident report.” He crouched in front of her, his hands gripping her knees. “How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Pain?”
“I’m fine.” She covered his hands with hers. “Dakota. I’m okay. Thanks to you.”
“You could have—” He stopped. Swallowed. “If I hadn’t been right there?—”
“But you were.” She squeezed his hands. “You were right there. And you didn’t panic. You just . . . handled it.”
“Training.” His voice was rough.
“More than training.” She held his gaze. “Thank you.”
Something shifted between them. The same something that had shifted in the hallway last night, and in the underwater cathedral that morning, and over pasta while they traded stories about grandparents.
He lifted a hand and brushed a wet strand of hair from her face. “Someone tried to hurt you.”
