Keene picked up the thread. “During that seizure, Natalie and any other girls are removed to protective custody.”
Rhys’s shoulders tensed noticeably. And she understood why.
This wasn’t a rescue. It was a trigger.
Gaby asked what she hadn’t heard discussed. “What’s our jurisdiction once we’re off U.S. soil?”
Keene answered her directly. “There is none. We don’t execute arrests. We don’t kick down doors. We build the case. Once we confirm Natalie is on that island and that Álvarez is directly involved, Costa Rican authorities take point.”
Price added, “Your job is to get the evidence. Not to be heroes.”
The words landed with brutal clarity.
Price looked at Gaby. “If it comes down to perfect evidence or your sister, you choose your sister. We’ll build the rest.”
Mateo broke the tension with a low exhale. “So we walk into a billionaire’s playground blind and mute, with a snowball’s chance at tipping the right domino.”
Leland regarded Gaby, steady and grave. “Pay him no mind. We’re going to find your sister and get all our asses out alive.”
Rhys squeezed her arm. “That’s my plan too.”
Dev let the silence sit before speaking again. “You’ve got an excellent team behind you, Gaby, but I need you to understand, once you board that plane, you are on your own. There is no cavalry waiting just over the hill.”
“I’d settle for a few armed men in a canoe over the next wave,” Mateo quipped, but no one laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “Just trying to introduce a little levity into this tense-as-fuck briefing.”
Rhys turned to face her. “Our cover is solid, or we wouldn’t have been invited into Álvarez’s sanctum. But there are risks, especially on a remote island, more so than at a five-star hotel on the mainland. Any questions?”
Gaby asked the one question that mattered. “When do we leave?”
Leland chuckled. Mateo grinned, adding, “I like a girl with big brass balls.”
Rhys squeezed her arm, respect gleaming in his eyes.
Dev didn’t smile, his focus unwavering. “The plane leaves at daylight tomorrow.” His gaze swept through the team gathered. “If there’s nothing else…”
The room emptied quickly but silently. Even Mateo had nothing to say. A rarity. They moved as if a course had been set, one they couldn’t turn back from. Rhys and Gaby remained at the table, reviewing cover identities, arrival protocols, and behavioral expectations one last time.
Outside, orange and pink streaked across the sky as the sun set on another day. The city carried on, oblivious that beyond the horizon an island waited, gleaming and silent, ready to devour anyone who mistook it for paradise.
That wouldn’t be Gaby, Rhys, Leland, or Mateo. And it for damn sure wouldn’t be Natalie. Because come hell or high water, she wasn’t leaving that island without her sister.
Chapter 18
The boat cut cleanly through the water, spray misting over Gaby’s skin, the sunshine on the waves flashing like glittering shards of glass. To a Florida girl, nothing about the scene should have felt dreamlike. Yet the clothes, the luxury, the role she was playing made the moment feel surreal: too bright, too perfect, too calm.
She glanced at Rhys at the rail beside her. Correction. Lucien Blackwood. She had to remember that. He stood in a tan suit, open collar, loafers without socks, and ultra-dark designer sunglasses. On anyone else, it would have screamed trying too hard. On him, it looked effortless, and like he’d stepped out of a GQ spread titled “Men Who Own the Ocean.”
In another life, another version of her might have called this an adventure. But the island rising ahead of them stole the breath from her lungs. It didn’t unfurl like a resort. Itloomed.
The mansion perched atop the cliffs. White stone walls and red-tiled roofs gleaming under the sun. Spanish-inspired architecture—arches, carved lintels, wrought-iron railings—gave it an old-world elegance, as if a Mediterranean fortress had been dropped into the Pacific.
It was beautiful. And wrong.
Rhys stood with the ease of a man accustomed to rare places, one hand resting lightly on the rail, his legs braced as the boat bounced over the chop. At a glance, he looked relaxed, butGaby knew better. The slight tension in his jaw, the subtle turn of his head as he tracked the shoreline—he wasn’t admiring the view. He was assessing the threat.
The boat slowed as they approached the main dock. The wide platform jutted from the cliff, built to accommodate several vessels. A few were already tied off, but the largest, a long, low yacht with mirrored windows and a gunmetal hull, overshadowed the rest. Álvarez’s, obviously.
Staff in pale linen waited in perfect stillness. No crowds. No noise. Just controlled privacy.
