He crossed to her and ran a hand up her arm, a fleeting touch. “It’s the best we can do. But it’s one step closer to freeing her. Hold on to that.”
She nodded, but her gaze lingered on his. Hours ago, he’d been unguarded. Now he was back in control, every button fastened, every emotion locked away.
“Ready to go?” he asked. “I think we’ve both had enough of Álvarez’s hospitality.”
Gaby slipped on her shoes. If she were never his guest again, it would be too soon.
She glanced around to make sure she had everything. Her gaze landed on the rumpled bed. What they shared there was the one memory she wanted to take with her, even if it hurt.
“I’m ready,” she said softly.
As they stepped outside, the sun broke through the clouds. Gaby took it as a good omen for the mission, and for whatever might follow. Although it was thewhateverthat unsettled her most.
***
The flight back to Miami was quiet in a way that felt different. Gaby took the window seat without comment and stayed there the entire flight, chin propped on her knuckles, eyes following the clouds as if she were untangling her thoughts mile by mile.
She wasn’t withdrawn exactly, just focused. Thoughtful. The animation he’d seen in the villa, the spark and teasing ease she’doffered him that night, were gone, packed away with everything else she didn’t have the luxury to dwell on.
Leland sat across the aisle, arms crossed, expression carved from stone. Every so often, he stared hard at Rhys, his judgment unmistakable.
Mateo was worse. No glare. No comment. Just a slow shake of his head when Rhys caught his eye. As if the verdict that he was an absolute idiot had already been reached.
Rhys told himself the silence was temporary. That they’d talk once they landed. That there would be time to sort through what had happened. What they had let happen.
But when the plane touched down, and the seat belt lights blinked off, Gaby was already unbuckling, already reaching for her bag.
They deplaned together but split toward their vehicles. She would have kept going. He wasn’t ready for her to walk away. Not like this.
That was what finally made him speak.
“Gaby.”
She stopped and turned. Her expression was calm, composed, but not closed. Just decided.
He opened his mouth, uncertain which of the dozen things crowding his mind might survive being spoken aloud.
She spared him the trouble. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“I feel like I should—”
“I know.” A faint, almost rueful smile touched her mouth. “But I’ve had time to think.” She stepped closer, keeping her voice low. “What happened in Costa Rica wasn’t a mistake,” she said. “It was adrenaline, forced proximity, a storm we both got swept up in.” One corner of her mouth lifted. “Two adults with chemistry, alone in a villa, cut off from the world. It was real, and I’ll never forget it, but it was one night.”
His chest tightened.
“I’m not asking you for more,” she continued. “I don’t expect promises. Or anything beyond what we agreed to. We’re coworkers. We have a mission. That’s enough.”
Bloody hell. She was letting him off the hook. The very thing he’d convinced himself he needed.
“Natalie comes first. Everything else can wait.” She smiled then—not flirtatious, not sad. Steady. “I’m good, Rhys. Really.”
She stepped back. No pause. No invitation to argue. Just a clean withdrawal, as if she were doing him a favor.
He watched her walk toward her car, posture straight, shoulders squared, not once looking back.
This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? No expectations. No entanglements. No risk.
So, why did it feel like he’d just been punched in the gut for accepting it?
