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“A rogue SEAL isn’t a Navy SEAL. He lied to you. Here’s the proof, if you don’t believe me.”
He hands me a folder, and I thumb through it listlessly. Sure enough, there’s Noah’s face, and his discharge papers dated three years ago.
“He used you, Kenzie. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand. If he isn’t a SEAL and you didn’t send him to watch out for me, why did he travel halfway across the world to give me back Liam’s bucket list when I’d accidentally left it in his room in Vegas? Why did he offer to help me?”
“Apparently El Gato had paid Liam for a huge shipment of guns, but Liam died before he could deliver them. He thinks you know where the guns are.”
My throat is hot and sore from choking back the tears of hurt and betrayal that are threatening to spill. But if I cry now, one raindrop’s going to unleash the whole fucking storm. “Why would he think that?”
“Gemma said you’ve been trying to complete Liam’s bucket list. And that he’d even added some things more recently.”
I nod.
“I’ve heard that El Gato is going on the assumption that Liam’s bucket list is a map of sorts to where the guns are hidden.”
I’m silent for several long minutes as I process everything Walker’s said. I don’t even know I’m crying until Walker’s wrapping his arms around me and saying, “Shhh. It’s going to be okay.”
…
An hour later, I’ve cried until I’m out of tears and left with those big shuddering breaths you get after crying the tears of a broken heart. Now I just feel numb. And determined to never let someone into my heart again. I’m also firmly resolved to finish Liam’s bucket list with Walker’s help, find the guns, and clear Liam’s name. Maybe if I can focus on that, I’ll forget about Noah, and how I thought he loved me.
But we need a plan.
“Have you eaten?” Walker asks. When I hedge, remembering Noah and I had decided to wait to have dinner on Sipadan where we could watch the sunset and enjoy more than just dinner together, he insists on going downstairs and getting me a sandwich.
“You’ll feel better after you eat. And,” he scolds, his voice taking on that dominant tone I’ve grown accustomed to over the last week, “you need to take care of yourself.” I wonder for about the fifth time how I never recognized Walker was so alpha and dominant. And, I think with a pang, I’ll never be on the receiving end of that treatment again.
While Walker’s downstairs, I wash my face, determined to wipe away the proof of Noah’s heartbreak. I apparently picked the wrong day to wear mascara.
There’s a knock at the door and, imagining Walker’s hands full with food and drinks from the bar downstairs, I open it. A man I don’t recognize is standing in the doorway. He’s got close-cropped dark hair that reminds me of someone in the military, but while I’m used to the hard-edged and imposing demeanor of my brother, his SEAL brothers, and even Noah, there’s something chilling about this man. I take an instinctive step backward, intent on closing the door, but he blocks it with his foot, and I feel the snout of a gun press against my rib cage as he grabs my elbow.
“Do exactly as I say and you might stay alive.” His accent is undeniably American, with the clipped, nasal tone of someone from the northeast. “Fight me at all, and I’ll put a bullet through you. Do you understand?”
Fear hits me squarely in the gut. I know without a doubt that he will do exactly as he says. When Walker grabbed me in the bathroom, everything happened so fast, I didn’t have time to panic. Even in the trunk of the car, when I had time to think, I’d kept the panic at bay because I knew I had Noah, and that he would find me and keep me safe. Now I have no such delusions. Noah is apparently just as bad as the man standing in the doorway with a gun shoved under my shirt. For all I know, Noah hired this guy to accomplish what he couldn’t, finding the guns that Liam supposedly hid somewhere. But still…something about this man, and this situation, is causing the hairs on my arms to stand up. I feel my breath shorten and my chest begin to close as the cyclone of panic starts to pull me down into its vortex.
Screw that. Fear is an old friend of mine now. I know how to walk with it without letting it lead the way. I have jumped off a waterfall, sailed the Philippines, held a loaded gun, saved myself and a little girl from a deadly current in a pitch-black cave, embraced the darkness within me, and given myself wholly and completely to a gorgeously sexy man who is as dangerous as the devil himself. Noah’s words echo in my head.It takes downright fearlessness to let yourself go and to offer yourself to another, not knowing where they’ll take you.I think of the things he demanded of me, and the things I gave him. I’m not fragile, but strong and durable. I’m a fucking badass.
I think about our conversation about overcoming fear, and Noah’s tips for crossing the threshold when you’re afraid. Don’t think about what might happen. Shut out the doubt and negativity. Be comfortable with the uncomfortable. Act and then react.
I push aside my fears. The man could have shot me when I opened the door, but he didn’t. I still have a chance to get away. If I can stall long enough, Walker will come back.
I nod slowly.
The man hands me a black blindfold. “Put this on.”
With trembling fingers, I place it over my eyes, taking as long as possible. He rams the gun into my side. “Hurry up.”
Before I realize what’s happening and can react, he’s gripped my wrists and secured them with zip ties, so tightly that the plastic is digging painfully into my skin. I mentally chastise myself for not taking the three seconds I had without a gun pointed at me to run.
He wraps something soft loosely around my wrists, covering the zip ties. “We’ll go out the back and hopefully avoid running into anyone. But just in case, paste a smile on your face and act like we’re two lovers on a kinky little adventure. You should be good at that. You won’t even have to act,” he adds snidely. Oh God. He’s been watching me? How? I remember the plane and shudder.
The door closes behind me as he propels me down the hallway, the gun firmly pressed into my side and his fingers digging into my skin. I’ll have bruises tomorrow, if I live that long.
