Page 78 of False Flag

He shook his head, giving a hint of a smile, which was what she’d been hoping to trigger. “I’m never getting my shirt back from Dahlia, am I?”

“Not without stealing it. You never should have fallen for her ‘I lost my clothes skinny dipping’ ploy.”

“It’s weird how often that happens to me. It’s one of the curses of being hot as fuck.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. She patted his cheek. “Poor baby. Now, thank you for this shirt. It’s going to make an excellent addition to my collection.” She left the bedroom to change and brush her teeth. Thankfully, they’d picked up toothbrushes at the store when they got beverages and snacks. If Staci had been thinking, she’d have grabbed a cheap tourist tee to sleep in, but this worked for tonight.

Tomorrow, she’d have to go shopping. It was unlikely either of them would be ready to return to Letora Island for a few days.

She returned to Jake’s bedroom to find the lights out and him beneath the covers. She slid in beside him. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached out beneath the covers and found his hand. He squeezed her fingers.

They lay in silence for a while, her brain spinning as she tried to guess what had caused Lloyd’s collapse. When did he stop breathing? When did his heart stop?

In her mind, she focused on her own good memories of Lloyd. She didn’t have many, but there had been some pleasant conversations about the Pacific Northwest in general. Plus, he spoke of the Salish Sea with the same passion Jake had displayed when talking about fishing.

“Lloyd told me you and he used to scuba dive around here.”

“Yes. Mostly on the US side of the strait—off the coast of San Juan Island, but usually off the coast of Whidbey Island or in Similk Bay, where we lived.”

“You like diving here? In the Pacific Northwest, I mean?”

“It’s not the same kind of pretty as Okinawa or Hawaii or even Coronado—all places I’ve dived recreationally while stationed there—but it’s where I learned to dive and learned to love the water, so yeah. It’s satisfying. The feel of the water. The smell, the air, everything is familiar. A homecoming. What did you think of it?”

“I enjoyed the dive this morning. Partly just because it was good to get away from the group for a bit. I’m not a big fan of the cold, but it’s better than not being in the water at all.”

The conversation flowed from there. Staci told him about growing up an Army brat and finding a kindred soul in Morgan, whose father was a three-star general when he retired two years ago. Morgan was seven years older than her and a grad student when they first met. Their friendship had opened Staci’s eyes to paths she’d never thought to follow.

She’d borrowed textbooks and devoured them, for the first time considering that she, too, could go to college and pursue a career in something she found fascinating.

She’d assumed the only jobs in archaeology were in academia, which was not the career track she wanted to follow, but Morgan showed her that wasn’t true. In fact, the majority of archaeologists in the US—probably upwards of 70 percent—worked in the private sector. Not at universities, not at museums. Contract archaeology. That’s what Staci wanted. If she couldn’t work for FMV, she would work in a consulting firm. Maybe even start her own business.

But even those contract archaeology jobs were threatened by the lies of pseudoarchaeology. As they pushed to rewrite history, there were also active efforts to repeal the laws that protected cultural resources, claiming that the laws as written were based on lies or motivated by Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion. But when the conversation veered in that direction, Staci steered it back to Jake and his career choices. Tomorrow, they could discuss Gerard and his schemes.

Jake spoke of following his brother into the Navy, which was another source of friction between them. But he’d had his own reasons. His own path. He talked of his parents and losing his mother to a stroke and facing that grief alone because Lloyd wanted nothing to do with him. He shared how it had felt to be cut from his only sibling’s life and to not know how to bridge the gap.

The joy he felt when Lloyd reached out, at last. His determination to untangle the knots that shaped Lloyd’s perception, knowing it would be a long, slow process.

And then he cried again, and Staci held him. She cried too, but not for Lloyd. Her tears were for Jake, who fearlessly shared his grief and accepted her comfort.

This man was so different from that first impression and her early assumptions. He wasn’t an apostle. He wasn’t even a believer. He was funny and kind and just the right amount of cocky.

She’d been magnetically attracted to him at the party, but the one thing she’d thought she knew about him then had made it impossible to believe he could be safe.

It hadn’t been safe to like him or safe to want him.

And it definitely hadn’t been safe to be with him.

But still, attraction had won, and she’d done the risky thing, fleeing to protect herself the moment she’d gathered her wits.

Now she was truly seeing him for the first time. Except, the man she was seeing was exactly who he’d been all along. Was it possible that she’d slept with him because her heart had seen what her mind couldn’t?

Because in spite of the questions and danger surrounding Lloyd’s death, she felt safer every minute she was with Jake than she’d felt since the cold winter day when she’d been attacked by a masked man with a knife.

Sleep was fitful, but Jake was honestly shocked he managed to sleep at all. He had the woman who now slept beside him to thank for that. She’d gotten him talking, which led to crying until he had nothing left.

She’d then held him until he drifted off.

Now, in the gray light of early morning, he lay beside her, studying her face. He might be biased, but he was fairly certain she was the most beautiful woman in the history of humanity. But it wasn’t her symmetrical features or her amazing curves that made him think this.