Coincidence? Dakota didn’t believe in coincidences. Not anymore.
“I need to check on something,” he said, turning from the window. “Make a call. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Jayden looked up from her phone. In the soft lamplight, she looked tired. Worried. “Everything okay?”
“Just work stuff. Won’t be long.”
She studied him for a moment—those whiskey-brown eyes seeing more than he wanted to show. But she didn’t push. Just nodded. “Be careful.”
Wow. See? He was a jerk. He crossed to the bed, bent down, kissed her forehead. “Lock the door behind me.”
He was in the corridor before he could second-guess himself.
He stepped into the quiet stairwell at the end of the hall, leaned against the concrete wall, and dialed.
Ham answered on the second ring. “Status?”
“We’ve got a situation.” Dakota kept his voice low, the stairs carrying even whispers. “A tour member was attacked in his room tonight.”
A pause. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. And we’ve got three new faces who joined the tour today. Ellis and Devin Hart, as well as a guy named Blake. Showed up right before we went to Phillip Island. The couple mentioned something about a delayed flight.”
“Gender-neutral names,” Ham said. “All three of them.”
“Yeah. I need intel. Room number for the Harts and anything you can find on all of them. I want to take a look.”
“Hold on. I’m patching you through to Coco.”
The line clicked, and then a new voice—female, competent, slightly amused. Their white hat hacker. “Dakota Rivers. Heard you were chasing ghosts in Australia.”
“Coco. I need a room number. The Westin Melbourne Hotel, guests named Ellis and Devin Hart. They would have checked in this afternoon.”
“Give me thirty seconds.” The sound of keys clicking. “Here we go. Room 412. Ellis and Devin Hart, checked in at 2:47 p.m. today. Paid with a Visa ending in 3892.”
“Anything else? Background?”
“Running it now. Give me a few hours and I can dig deeper. Want me to keep searching?”
“Do it. Send whatever you find to Ham.” He paused. “And Coco—thanks.”
“Stay safe, cowboy.” The line went dead.
Room 412. Fourth floor. Dakota pushed off the wall and headed for the elevator.
The lobby was quiet this time of night—just a bored clerk at the front desk and the soft murmur of conversation from the bar. Dakota paused at the elevator bank, surveying the space.
And there they were.
Through the glass doors of the hotel restaurant, two figures at a corner table. A woman with short dark hair, a man with broad shoulders—drinks in front of them, heads tilted toward each other in quiet conversation. The Harts.
They looked . . . normal. Relaxed. A married couple unwinding after a long day of travel and chaos. Not like people who’d just hit someone over the head.
But that was what deep cover looked like, wasn’t it? Normal. Unremarkable. Invisible until it was too late.
The Harts were occupied. Their room was empty. He might not get another chance like this.
He took the elevator to the fourth floor.
