They sat in the shade of a palm, sheltered from the heat of the day, but she was drained—ready to leave, and who could blame her.
Gaby scanned the dock for someone who could speed things along. Leland and Mateo were busy loading the crate onto one of the boats. But there was no sign of Rhys.
Someone else caught her eye, however, and made her blood run cold.
Sebastián Álvarez. Marched across the sand in cuffs, still wearing his shooting jacket torn at the sleeve, smeared with ash and dirt, one side darkened with blood from a split lip. The smug confidence he’d worn so easily the day before was gone.
His Majesty reduced to a prisoner. And she’d witnessed his fall.
He walked stiffly between two officers, gaze fixed straight ahead—until it wasn’t.
The churn of the engines, the cry of seagulls, and the crash of waves all receded as Álvarez’s gaze met Gaby’s. If looks could kill, she would have dropped dead right then and there. But she didn’t shrink, and she didn’t glare back. She simply lifted her chin and smiled. Not wide. Just enough to say, you lost, you vile bastard. And a woman helped bring you down.
“Avance,”his police escort ordered with a firm nudge.
He stumbled, caught himself then continued down the sand toward a gray patrol boat.
She checked on Natalie. She had finally stretched out on the cool sand, her head resting on Gaby’s thigh, eyes closed, breathing deep and even. Thank God she had missed him.
A shadow fell across them. Gaby looked up.
“Rhys.”
He was bare from the waist up, his ruined shirt discarded. A clean white bandage wrapped his torso, stark against sun-warmed skin, clearly the work of a real medic. Sand clung tohis forearms. Wind and sweat had pushed his hair back, and he was still as striking as ever.
He glanced at a sleeping Natalie before lowering himself beside Gaby. A quiet exhale left him as he stretched his legs out in front of him.
“You two holding up?” he asked softly.
Gaby nodded. “Trying to. But I could ask the same of you. What did the medic say?”
“That it was more than a scratch but didn’t need stitches. He cleaned it, bandaged it, and sent me on my way.”
She narrowed her eyes, skeptical. “At your insistence, I’m sure.”
A flash of white teeth was his answer before he brushed a knuckle lightly down her arm. “Today couldn’t have happened without you, Gaby. You did good.”
As a distraction, it worked. She breathed out slowly. “Back in the muses’ wing, locked behind a gate, the fire spreading with the wind… I wasn’t sure we’d get here.”
“I had faith in you. Mateo did too. He filled me in.”
“I did what I had to, and I’d do it again.”
“I know, love. And I respect that now.”
Their eyes held. Something warm and unfinished passed between them.
“We’ve got a lot to sort out back in Miami,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
Mateo’s whistle cut through the moment. “Cargo’s secure!”
Rhys pushed to his feet—too easily for someone who’d been cut open hours ago. Gaby’s gaze followed the sweep of his hands brushing sand from his backside. When he turned back to her, expectant, she glanced down—straight into Natalie’s open eyes and the faint, knowing smile curving her lips.
She ignored it, took Rhys’s hand up, and then helped her sister.
Rhys guided them across the sand to the dock where one boat remained. The island’s former owner and soon-to-be convict were nowhere in sight. They crossed a short gangplank, Rhys steady at their side.
