Page 78 of Nothing to Fear

She looked out over the water. A cool distance yawned between them. She seemed far away even though she was next to him.

His throat tightened around an unbearable lump. “Where are your pearls?”

“In the backpack. If they fell in the water or anything happened to them, I’d be devastated.” She gazed at the sky. “They were my mom’s. Those pearls have been in my family for three generations. They’re all I have left of her.”

Exhaustion would only compound all the negatives, making her anxiety worse. “You should sleep.”

“I tried. I can’t. If I had my computer, I’d be fine, but it’s in ashes, with my clothes, mementos, pictures of my mom I never saved to the cloud, my house. My mom loved that house. I was born there.”

This was the most grueling thing she’d ever endured, losing every material possession, her career at stake, life at risk, and her father, who she cherished, was in a coma. Gideon was blown away by her quiet strength. Most people would’ve unraveled, wallowed in tears. Not his starling. She was titanium at the core.

“I appreciate you risking everything to help me.” She sighed. “I know it’s your job to find the mole and I’m nothing more to you than a mission, but you don’t have to babysit me.”

“You started out as a target.” Not even that was true. He’d picked her because he wanted to know her, to get close, and not for a job. “But you’re not just a mission. You’re…” Everything I didn’t know I wanted but that I don’t deserve.

She gazed up at him, waiting, a bright look of expectation dancing across her face.

“You’re important. To the Gray Box.” To me. He rubbed the back of his neck, anxious to make her understand what he was still figuring out. “I’m sorry this forced us together.”

Her gaze fell, and her shoulders slumped as if something inside her had deflated.

Fuck, it wasn’t coming out right. “I’m here for you.” He white-knuckled the railing. “I’ll do whatever I can to ease the strain of this on you.”

“I’m not a baby you need to coddle.” Her voice was a little too sharp, too defensive.

He fought the urge to pull her into a fierce hug. “Then it’s good the only thing I know how to coddle is an egg.” Eyes on the water, he roped an arm around her shoulders.

After a few minutes, her tense body melted pliantly against him, and she rested her head on his chest. They stood there, not talking, the silence an easy comfort. She let out a heavy breath as if surrendering and turned in to him, wrapping herself in his arms.

A strange sensation soaked through him, both comforting and disturbing. He held her, giving the hug she must’ve needed. She’d lost so much and was hurting. He wanted to give her anything and everything, gift wrap the world for her if it’d make her feel better.

This woman had ambushed his heart with the little sneak attacks of an insurgent. She owned him now, from skin to viscera to bone.

32

Grand Cayman Island

Sunday, July 7, 7:35 p.m. EST/8:35 p.m. EDT

Gideon had slept a total of eight hours in the last forty-seven. With twin 550 horsepower engines and a tank capacity of 525 gallons, they’d only made two pit stops at small fuel docks that wouldn’t have surveillance cameras linked to a real-time facial recognition system and then pressed on wide-open throttle.

Docking at Grand Cayman Island was a sobering dose of reality. The journey had been a reprieve Willow needed, and the languid interludes of honesty and sharing in a manner that was foreign to him had been…nice.

But the vacay vibe dulled his edge. He needed to be wired, sharp, and hard. No room for softness.

He’d steered clear of customs, avoiding the harbors packed with cruise ships, and picked a smaller one for locals. Stealing a car would’ve been simple. A plethora of older models lined the streets. It’d been a while since he’d driven on the left side of the road—though like riding a bike, he’d pick it up again—but no need to draw unnecessary attention to themselves. The British territory provided conveniences such as a public bus system, and a sign indicated a stop a short walk from the residential harbor. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and helped Willow off the boat onto the dock.

The pink sundress clung to her, draping her curves and showing off her legs. He must’ve gotten the size wrong, too small. The fabric looked airbrushed on.

At the bus stop, they caught the shuttle, a glorified van with seats for twelve. He steered Willow to a rear seat by a window and sat next to her, settling the backpack on his lap. Angled to leap into action at a nanosecond of notice, he gave everyone who boarded the once-over.

There were no security cameras on the van and no CCTV on the roads. If the Gray Box or whoever else was after Willow tried to tap into any surveillance feeds here, the coverage would be limited and easy to evade on the streets.

The bank was a wild card. A thirty-minute drive away, considering the island’s sluggish speed limit of twenty-five miles per hour, the bank wouldn’t open for another thirteen hours, but he wanted to scope out the exits and windows before they walked in. They needed the passport with Willow’s real name to access the account, but he’d have to devise an exit strategy and get her a passport with a fake name to leave later.

Willow gazed out the window, fiddling with the hem of her dress and balling her fingers into knots. If the situation were different, not overcast with danger, he would’ve taken her hand in his. They’d enjoy the long drive down the coast, gazing at the sparkling sea, her warm body nuzzled against him. She’d let her inner starling out, snap pictures of the clusters of houses that adorned the landscape in a vivid palette of color. He’d offer to take her parasailing or snorkeling, or if she preferred, they’d simply laze around.

He shoved the quiet longing into the darkness. Time for indulging in fantasies was done.