Alexis let out a deep exhale. “Which means we need to find him. Aside from warning him, we need to find out if he knows anything about this.” She pointed to the papers with the tide table and Balraj’s name.
“And like Yael said,” Isiah continued, “if he does know something, is he trying to start it or stop it? And if he’s trying to start it, whose orders is he following?”
“Big questions,” Eric said then leaned back in his chair and stretched, reminding Isiah it was well past two in the morning.
“They are,” Isiah agreed. “And maybe we should think about them tomorrow?”
Across from him, Alexis shook her head. “You can think about them tomorrow, but tomorrow I’m going to talk to my boss. There’s enough here that raises questions about the Summit that I think Director Shah will agree to sanction an investigation. If she does that, a trip to Honduras might be in order.”
“Trip?” Isiah asked, ignoring her use of “I” rather than “we.” Then it hit him what she was saying. “You don’t seriously think we can just take off for Trujillo tomorrow, do you?”
Alexis shrugged. “We all know The Gentleman was there three days ago. It’s our best lead. It’s possible he’s gone. Maybe even likely. But do you have any other ideas?”
That was the problem, he didn’t. If he had the same access to intel that Huck had, he’d suggest trying to pick up—or confirm—the last sighting of The Gentleman using some other resource. But he didn’t. Alexis did, though, which was another reason why her suggestion sounded a little on the crazy side.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to try to track him the same way Huck did? Surely you have access to solid intel and good tech people who can electronically pick up this search?” he asked.
Alexis inclined her head. “We do and we will. But it will take them some time to catch up. If we fly out tomorrow we can start looking for him while the computer people do their thing. If they get any good intel, we’ll already be there to act on it. If we wait for them to find him before heading to Honduras, there’s a greater chance he’ll slip away in the time it takes us to get there.”
“Or he could be gone already and we’ll have wasted a trip,” Isiah countered. But at least she was using “we.”
“Then he’s gone and we’re no worse off than we would be if we stayed here. We’ll still be waiting for the computer folks to feed us intel. We’ll just be waiting there rather than here,” she pointed out. And damn if she wasn’t right. If the spy was in Honduras, they were better off being there looking for him. If it turned out he’d moved on, whether he and Alexis were in Honduras or on Tildas Island wouldn’t matter—they’d still have to jump on a plane and track him.
And when did he start agreeing with her use of “we”? Sure, the “I” had bothered him, but he’d been out of the Navy for eight years, he had no authority and no jurisdiction. Just what did he think he could do? Well, scratch that, he could do a whole lot, but should he? Based on what Alexis had said, she made it sound like a forgone conclusion that her team would get involved—but could they even do that in a foreign country?
“I think we should sleep on it and figure it out tomorrow.” He didn’t know what they’d figure out, but there were too many questions floating around his head and he wanted some time to himself to weigh the pros and cons. He also wanted a little time to sort through the niggling panic that had his chest feeling tight. It hadn’t kicked in until Alexis had suggested they fly to Honduras together to track an elusive CIA asset, but now that he was aware of the feeling, he didn’t like it at all.
He’d been nervous before—hell, a person didn’t have the kind of job he’d had with the Navy without ever being nervous—but this was different. This was Alexis.
The unreasonable fear that gripped him was new, and frankly, confusing as hell. He might have known Alexis for six months, but for all intents and purposes, he’d really just met her the day before. He shouldn’t be experiencing this near panic clawing at him, especially not now that he knew she was a capable agent.
But while his mind tried to apply logic to the situation, his body—as evidenced by the tension in his shoulders and the churning of his stomach—had already made its decision. Alexis—and her safety—mattered to him. A lot.
And if that reality was unavoidable, he needed to sort through his shit before he agreed to anything. He sure as hell wasn’t going to go on an op with her if he couldn’t trust himself to stay focused on the mission and not get distracted by thinking he needed to protect her—especially because, as he kept reminding himself, she could damn well protect herself.
Alexis didn’t quite raise an eyebrow at him as his mind performed its mental gymnastics, but it did twitch up. He was pretty sure she was questioning whether or not she wanted to be on an op with such an indecisive partner. He could hardly blame her, but he also wasn’t going to be pushed into a decision. He’d only agree to go if he thought he could operate at a hundred percent. If not, she’d be better off with someone else. Probably.
“Tomorrow,” he reiterated.
She muttered a muffled “Fine,” then placed Puddles on the floor and rose from her seat. “I’m going to talk to Shah tomorrow at ten. If you’re in, give me a call,” she said. And if you don’t, you’re out, remained unsaid.
He understood she needed to bring what they’d found to her boss, but he’d be lying if he said her proclamation, and quasi-ultimatum, didn’t bother him. Which was yet another reason he needed to take a few hours to figure out if he could separate what needed to be done from the things Alexis made him feel.
He forced himself to nod, then gathered his set of papers as he rose. “Thank you,” he said to Yael and Eric. The couple remained seated, but nodded. “Do you live nearby?” he asked, turning to Alexis who was standing with her hands on her lower back stretching. A thin strip of skin peeked out between the bottom of her tank top and the top of her shorts. He looked away, tapping the papers to align them in a tidy stack.
“I’m good,” she said, not answering his question. “I’ll stay and help Yael and Eric tidy up.”
It was a lie, he thought. Other than putting a couple of glasses in the dishwasher, there was nothing else to do—well, maybe wash the coffee pot. But he wasn’t up for arguing with her, so he just nodded.
“Thanks again,” he said to the Goodmans. “I’ll let myself out.”
“You need my number,” Alexis said. He turned from where he stood with his hand on the door. “If you decide to go with me in the morning, you need to be able to let me know,” she added. He supposed it was her way of extending an olive branch for the abruptness—and finality—of her earlier pronouncement. And though it might seem petty, he wasn’t ready to pick that branch up quite yet. The weight of the situation was pressing down on him and he wanted to get away, to be out in the night, in the fresh air and on his own to think.
“Stop by the bar in the morning. I’ll let you know then.” Then he walked out the door before she—or he—said any more.
Taking the elevator down to the ground floor, he let himself out into the night. Cursing the new moon, he pulled out his phone to use the flashlight. The darkness suited his mood, but between the lack of any ambient light and the looming jungle-foliage on both sides of the streets, he needed the light to navigate the road to The Shack and his apartment that sat above it on the second floor. If he decided to go with Alexis tomorrow, he didn’t want to show up at the FBI office with a big-ass bruise on his face because he’d stepped into a pothole and fallen.
He inhaled a deep breath of the tropical air. Ha, who was he kidding? Of course, he was going with Alexis tomorrow. There had never been any question in his mind that he’d see this through, not with Huck’s life on the line. But he did need some time to figure out how he’d manage the feelings Alexis elicited from him with the seriousness of what they’d need to do when they reached Honduras.
In the last thirty-six hours every reason he’d given himself to stay away from her had been st
ripped away. And in that wake, a primal and visceral attraction had taken hold of him, electrifying his senses and bringing his body to high alert. And those sensations only grew stronger the more she let him see into her life. There was something almost unspeakably evocative watching her defend herself against those two men then turn around and snuggle up with a little brown dust mop with a weak bladder. And he wanted to experience more of everything that Alexis was.
But a trip to Honduras wouldn’t be a fun-filled vacation where they could spend time getting to know each other, though. He’d need to get his head in the game and figure out how to both tap back into his SEAL training and not let his feelings for Alexis influence his actions. It wouldn’t be the hardest thing he’d ever done, not even close. But the situation was both sudden and unexpected, and as the safety lights of The Shack came into view, he admitted it made him uneasy. There was a lot at stake—not just Huck, The Gentleman, and Alexis, but maybe even this fledging thing between them, too.
A few minutes later, he let himself in then locked the door behind him. Turning to his left, he unlocked and opened another door then started up a flight of stairs to his studio apartment.
The familiarity of the space calmed him and using only the light he’d left on above the stove, he prepared for bed. Climbing between the sheets a few minutes later, he stared up at the ceiling. After he’d left the Navy, he’d never thought he’d step back into the game, let alone step back in willingly.
But come ten o’clock tomorrow morning that was exactly what he planned to do.
He was in the parking lot, leaning against the door of The Shack when Alexis drove up in her jeep. He climbed into the passenger seat and couldn’t help but notice the way her skirt draped across her thighs, falling into a little vee where they met.
“Sleep well?” he asked, forcing himself to look out the window as she started down the road.
“Well enough. You?” she asked.
“Fine,” he answered. Which was the last word spoken for the next fifteen minutes. He didn’t know where the FBI office was, but figured, based on the route Alexis was taking, that it was somewhere near the main town of Havensted.
“You okay?” Alexis finally asked.
“What are you going to tell your boss?” he replied, rather than answer her question. He still hadn’t quite come to terms with everything that had happened in the last two days—especially the changing nature of whatever was going on between Alexis and him—and talking about it at this moment didn’t seem like a good idea.
She paused, as if debating whether to call him on his evasion, but then answered. “I’ll tell her what we found last night. After you left, we confirmed the table is a tidal table. Without the year specified, there were a couple of dates it lined up with. One of which is—”
“Let me guess, May tenth,” he interjected.
She nodded.
“I know you just learned about Rosen last night, but tell me more about Balraj.” When she hesitated, he pressed. “If I’m going to be involved in this, there can’t be any secrets. Not ones that relate to Huck or what we learned last night,” he clarified. By now, he was well aware that Alexis preferred to keep most things pertaining to herself a secret.
After a beat, she bobbed her head. “Fair enough. Do you remember reading about the boat that blew up in the marina last February? And then the one that blew up over by Norman Island not long after.”
“Let me guess, those explosions weren’t due to mechanical failure as reported in the news?”
She shook her head. “They definitely weren’t, but you know, we can’t let the tourists think there’s a mad bomber on the loose.”
“Is that sarcasm I hear, Agent whatever-your-last-name-is?”
She let out a soft laugh at that. “Wright,” she said.
Hearing a sarcastic “right,” he raised an eyebrow at her. Was she still not going to tell him her name?
She looked at him and shook her head, still smiling. “No, my name is Alexis Wright. With a ‘W’.”
A wave of relief washed through him that was disproportionate to the minor fact she’d shared. He shook his head at his folly, but the small movement didn’t stop him from noticing the slight tightening of her hands on the steering wheel. He didn’t recognize her name, but clearly she was waiting for a reaction.
“You catch Balraj?” he asked. Her hands relaxed.
“Unfortunately, no. The Coast Guard wasn’t far behind him, but he’s from the region and has a network here. You’ve been here long enough that I’m sure you can imagine how easy it is to slip on and off islands.”
They took a hairpin turn and the town of Havensted came into view. He always had mixed emotions about appreciating the beauty of the town—with its well-preserved colonial buildings and stringent building codes, it was objectively beautiful. But the wealth of the colonies had been built on the back of the slave trade and the Virgin Islands had hosted some of the biggest slave markets in the western hemisphere in the eighteen-hundreds.
Rather than dwelling on the origins of the island’s population, he shifted his attention to its modern-day source of income and commented on the obvious. “There are two cruise ships in town today,” he said. No one could miss the two behemoths docked on the western edge of the wide bay.
“Our office is on the north side of town so we’ll avoid the worst of the traffic,” Alexis responded as she whipped around a corner, startling a rooster who squawked at her as he hustled into the bushes alongside the road. “It’s just a few more blocks.”
As she navigated the narrow roads, he considered what she’d told him about Balraj. With more of the story than he’d heard the night before, he now had a better appreciation for why she’d been so uncompromising about the need to speak to her boss. Yes, Rosen’s activities were important, but Balraj had intentionally tried to kill one of their team—not once, but twice—and still lived to tell the tale. He’d made it personal.
“You said those bombings were four months ago?” he asked as she pulled into a covered parking area on the northern edge of the town.
She nodded.
“Was anyone hurt?”
She hesitated. “Not badly.” She’d pulled into a parking spot and was avoiding his gaze as she shuffled around for her purse.
“It was that night, wasn’t it?” he demanded, the timeline suddenly clicking in his mind. “That night you came into the bar—the night you had the shiner. You got hurt, didn’t you?”
She gave him a half shrug as she opened her door. “Like I said, no one got hurt badly. Charlotte was stabbed and I got a little banged up. But we’re all fine, now.”
She slid from her seat and shut the door behind her, leaving him staring at the empty space beside him. When he didn’t immediately move, she gestured for him to get rolling.
He closed his eyes and, taking a moment to let his new reality sink in, he accepted the fact that Alexis Wright—the bad ass FBI agent who had more secrets than a bank vault, and was hands down the sexiest woman he’d ever met—was probably going to be the death of him.
Chapter Six
Alexis sneaked a glance at Isiah as they rode the elevator to the fourth floor. The local FBI office was in a newer building in Havensted, and though it looked like a charming colonial-era mansion from the outside, the inside was tricked out with all the bells and whistles of a twenty-first-century office. In fact, it was easily the nicest FBI office she’d ever been in and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel a special affinity for it—despite it being nothing more than a temporary post.
The elevator door opened and she and Isiah stepped into the lobby. Steven, their receptionist, greeted them with a smile.
“Agent Wright, nice to see you. I thought it was your day off,” he said. At five foot ten, clean-shaven, and with baby soft skin, Steven looked ten years younger than his actual thirty-six. Dressed in a lime green button-down, deep purple slacks, and a burnt orange vest, he also looked as harmless as a high school d
rama student. But in his case, it wasn’t just that looks could be deceiving, they actually were. Steven spoke seven languages and had been an agent with MI6 before falling in love with a woman who’d come to the Caribbean to study medicine and never left. Alexis had never asked how it came about, but she did know that three years ago, he’d walked away from his career, moved to Tildas Island, proposed to his love, and gotten married. And he’d worked for the Bureau since the week he’d landed on the island.
“It’s nice to see you, too. I do have the day off, but I was hoping to speak to Director Shah. Is she in?”
Steven’s gaze darted to Isiah before he answered. “I’ll buzz you through.” He nodded toward the door. “She has an appointment at eleven, but she’s free until then. Someone did just stop by to see her, but I don’t think that will take very long.”
Acknowledging that they might need to wait to see Shah, Alexis nodded then, when Steven unlocked the first of two secure doors, she led Isiah into a hallway. Using her badge to unlock a second door, they proceeded into what some would call the bullpen, but was just a room with five desks scattered around the open space. One wall had a huge picture window that let in beautiful natural light, but the others were lined with offices and a couple of conference rooms.
When the task force had gathered in the building on their first full day on the job, each had been offered an office of their own—a rarity at the Bureau. But collectively—their first group decision—they’d agreed that they’d all rather sit in the open bullpen and use the offices for calls, conference space, or, when working cases, war rooms. The one exception was, of course, Director Shah, who had taken an unassuming office tucked into the corner to the right from where they’d entered.
It was in that direction that Alexis looked first when they entered the space. But seeing the blinds up and the office empty, she looked back to the bullpen to see which, if any, of her teammates might be present.
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