Except, he’d said he’d had a gig in Newcastle. Where he could have shown up at the airport to grab the sniper bag? Then why show up here? Although . . . the tour could be an easy way to get into Sydney, to access the Opera House.
Blake picked up the bag and headed for the elevator.
She was moving before she could think.
Dakota fell into step beside her. “What’s up?”
“I think that’s my bag.” She pointed at Blake’s bag.
“Your bag? Really?”
“No, I mean—the one that isn’t mine . . .” And right then, she nearly gave it away. Nearly spat out “the one with a sniper rifle.” That would have been brilliant. So much for keeping her cover. She stopped.
Dakota looked at her. “Jayden?”
She had to follow Blake. What if he was Spectre?
And what to do with Dakota?
The elevator doors opened. But Blake didn’t move. Just stood there looking at the bag. Then he crouched and looked at the ribbon.
“Oh—this isn’t my bag.” He looked genuinely confused, annoyed. “Shoot. I thought they’d found my dad’s missing luggage, but apparently not. Wrong tag.” He turned around. “Wait, is this your bag?”
She stared at him, suddenly nonplussed, but yeah, that seemed like a good reason to be stalking him, right?
“Yeah,” Dakota said and reached for it. “Sorry, we should have grabbed it.”
Blake pushed the bag toward them. “Too many gray bags. Dad’s been looking for his since Fiji.” Then he got on the elevator.
Jayden stared at the bag.
“Ready to reconsider the cotton underwear?” Dakota said.
“That’s not funny.”
But what had just happened?
“We leave for Phillip Island in an hour,” Bonnie said from the lobby. “Bundle up. The viewing platforms can get quite chilly after sunset. And remember—no flash photography! The penguins don’t like it!”
“Penguins?” Dakota said.
“I’m off to the gift shop,” said Jayden.
An hour later, she settled next to Dakota on the bus, wearing a puffer jacket, a wool hat, mittens, and wool socks. “Feels ridiculous to dress for Siberia when three days ago we were diving.”
“Remember,” Dakota said, dressed in his own purchased puffer and a blue wool hat that only made his eyes deeper, “the only thing between the southern coast of Australia and Antarctica is the ocean.”
“I think Tasmania might have something to say about that,” Lily Winston said, looking a little less dour than usual. She sat next to her mother but glanced at Blake across the aisle and grinned.
“I heard the penguin parade is the highlight of the Melbourne leg,” said Anna Novak. “Hundreds of penguins waddling across the beach after the sun goes down.”
The brochure made it sound a little more magical: As evening falls on Phillip Island, hundreds of little penguins emerge from the sea and waddle across the beach toward their burrows. Visitors watch quietly as the world’s smallest penguins return home at dusk, a gentle and unforgettable wildlife experience set against the Southern Ocean.
Jayden tucked the brochure away. Yeah, she should be focused on the mission. But frankly, her bag had to be long gone.
And the one with the rifle was locked in their room.
And clearly she’d read too much into Blake Brennan and his too-sharp eyes. In all likelihood, there was no assassin sitting somewhere in this group, wrapped in a scarf and pretending to care about wildlife.
