His wry tone coaxed a laugh out of her, and that startled her more than the alarm. Because under his sarcasm was a kind of collected focus, an unflappable control she badly needed to see right now. Her fingers clenched around the tablet in her grip. She hoped to hell he could deliver on that coin toss.
“What can I do? Where can I best help?” Her phone buzzed in her palm like it had a heartbeat of its own. Messagescontinued to pour in—logistics updates, bottled water stations, guest complaints mounting by the second, despite the late hour. Or should it be early hour? The staff were holding the line. Still, she itched to do something, to stop this sense of helplessness crawling under her skin like fire ants.
David didn’t glance away from his tablet. “Don’t know. Come with me and let’s see what the situation is first.” His voice was clipped, flat, but there was no virulence in it—not for her. Just a man already halfway down a problem that required solving.
She followed without another word.
The path to the watermaker shed was slick from the moisture-dense air. Palm fronds drooped overhead, brushing wetly against her shoulders and arms as they jogged. The lingering mist settled into every hair follicle, every crease of her clothes, until she felt like someone had wrapped her in a wet towel she couldn’t escape. Her sneakers squelched with each step. The humidity pushed into her lungs, slow and unrelenting—making her feel half-drowned.
When they reached the shed, she skidded to a stop, pulse tripping. The bulky metal door hung on bent and splintered hinges—forced open. The odor hit her and her stomach turned. Acrid. Bitter. A scorched cocktail of melted plastic, charred wires, and ozone. Like a dying battery magnified a hundred times. It rasped against the back of her throat.
She lifted a fist to her mouth. This wasn’t an accident or malfunction. It screamed intention.
“Shit.” David’s mutter broke her shock, the word landing like a boulder.
He ducked inside, muscles tense, movements wary. Lena stopped in the doorway, allowing her eyes to adjust to the gloom. The room looked punched in the gut—wires dangled like entrails from the control panel, pipes were smashed, and water—fromthe storm or a pipe—collected in dull puddles on the grit-covered floor.
“Somebody knew where to hit it,” he frowned as his sharp eyes assessed the destruction. “This wasn’t random. The damage is surgical.”
Lena’s heart knocked against her breastbone. The shed may well be a crime scene.
“Call Zach. I want a guard at the door until we can get it repaired. And reinforced as well. And better alarmed. And a camera on it.”
She fumbled with her phone, her fingers stiff with tension and moisture, and found the number through muscle memory more than thought. An eternity waited between each ring.
Zach picked up, his voice gravel and thunder. “Lena.”
She straightened, even though he couldn’t see her. “I’m at the water plant with David. Someone broke in. The entire control panel’s cooked.” Her eyes darted to where David knelt, his back to her. She took a deep breath and started again. “The door’s trashed—it was forced open. This was deliberate. David says the damage is surgical. He thinks they knew what they were doing.”
She stepped out, scanning the trees beyond the path where the dense fringe of jungle loomed with watchful eyes. The resort always seemed desolate this early in the morning, before the guests spilled out into its manicured beauty. Now, it felt exposed. Vulnerable. Her ears strained for movement—any out-of-place rustle in the underbrush.
“Zach,” she dropped her voice to a whisper. “I know it sounds paranoid, but… what if this is about getting to David?”
Silence spread like oil on water across the line before he spoke.
“Agreed. It’s a possibility.” Zach said at last, low and deliberately. “I’m a minute out. I was already tracking. I’ll stay until we’ve got someone on-site full-time. We need eyes oneverything now.” He paused. “Stay with David. He won’t ask, but your presence will help—more than he’ll ever say. Even if all you do is hand him a screwdriver.”
A small rush of purpose straightened her spine. “Of course.”
She hung up a split second before the familiar growl of Zach’s motorcycle tore through the thick air. It sliced around the corner and up the gravel path like a shark fin through water.Wait, how had he spoken on the phone while riding?She let the question flicker and die. She didn’t have enough mind space right now. A puzzle for another day.
She went back inside the damaged shed, fingers clenched on her tablet, eyes seeking David—ensuring his safety as he pieced together a labyrinth of damage with sheer will and wiring. Whatever this was, it wasn’t about the guests anymore. It was personal.
And whoever was behind it had just poked a very patient bear.
The muffled hum of half-alive equipment filled the air like a dying breath. David kneeled before the gutted panel, his hands moving with practiced urgency—steady, controlled, but faster than Lena had ever seen. The slight shake in his wrists betrayed the strain. Sweat rolled down his temples, glistening in the weak light filtering through the open doorway. His eyes focused on the circuitry, his concentration a living thing radiating from him.
The tap-tap of his tools against the metal casing was rhythmic, almost hypnotic, as if he were playing some desperate last-minute symphony. His tablet sat propped nearby, data and diagnostics a pale green bouncing across the lenses of his glasses and casting ghostlike glimmers over stark, tired features.
Underneath the earthy damp of mildew and scorched plastic, she caught the sharp tang of solder and rubber—chemicals and adrenaline, mixed into something unmistakably urgent.
“How bad is it?” Lena murmured, not wanting to startle him. “Oh, and Zach’s outside. He’s arranging a team to secure the building.”
David didn’t look away from his work. “Zach’s here? Good.” His voice was strained but composed. “Knowing him, he’s already widened the security perimeter.”
She nodded, although he wasn’t looking. The collar of her polo clung to her neck in the suffocating air, as if the havoc had chased out all the oxygen and left behind only the burnt breath of machines. Her skin was slick, her hair frizzing at the edges from the humidity.
David gave the panel a grim smile that was all teeth and no humor. “All right, we’ve got a few problems here. They fried the controller board. These circuits here—” he gestured at a mess of blackened wires and green board, the insulation curled like dead leaves, “—are toast. There’s damage to the piping too. Looks like they smashed it at one of the outflow junctions. That’s where the pressure problems are coming from. The valves were left open, so the pumps kept cycling. Dumped thousands of gallons right into the dirt.”
