“So,” I say as we pull into the resort parking lot, trying to keep my voice steady, “what’s next? You know, in our investigation partnership thing.”
He frowns hard, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “It’s my investigation, Jinx. You can’t insert yourself into it anymore. You’ll—” He motions vaguely at me.
“I’ll what?”
“Jinx it.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious. This is getting dangerous, and you have a talent for being in the wrong place at exactly the wrong time with exactly the wrong level of self-preservation instinct.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s accurate. You’ve been here less than a week, and you’ve already set fires, flooded kitchens, and gotten yourself invited onto boats with a potential killer.”
He parks the truck and turns to face me, and suddenly we’re very close in the confined space. Close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his eyes, close enough to catch that scent of ocean air and dangerous competence that makes my brain forget how to function.
“Jinx,” he says quietly, and my name in his voice sounds different than it ever has before.
“Yeah?” My voice comes out breathier than intended.
He leans closer, and I can feel my heart doing things thatcould lead to it stopping entirely. His hand moves to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone, and I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
The moment stretches like taffy in the humid air, perfect and electric and absolutely inevitable?—
WAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!
An alarm splits the night air with the enthusiasm of something that’s been waiting decades for this exact moment to ruin everything. The sound is so loud it probably wakes the dead on neighboring islands, and every chicken within a five-mile radius starts crowing in confused solidarity as if they’re announcing the apocalypse.
“What in the name of—” I start, my heart still racing for entirely different reasons now.
“Resort fire alarm,” he says, already moving with the efficiency of a hot detective whose romantic moments are frequently interrupted by emergencies. “Defunct system that goes off whenever it feels neglected or wants attention.”
We scramble out of the truck, both of us heading for the main building where the alarm box is mounted beside the eternally half-open doors like a mechanical chaperone. Hale reaches it first, yanking open the panel and hitting switches until the wailing stops with one final protest.
The sudden silence is almost as shocking as the noise was, leaving my ears ringing and my heart still pounding.
“Well,” he says, straightening his shirt and looking like someone who’s just been reminded that paradise comes with rather loud boundaries. “I’d better leave before this place finds new and creative ways to interrupt the evening. Locusts might be next.”
“More like a plague of chickens. Go ahead and make a run for it.”
“It’s self-preservation.” He sheds a quick smile. “Try not to burn the island down while I’m gone. And for the love of everything holy, stay out of trouble.”
“Famous last words.”
He climbs back into his truck, and I watch him drive away with the distinct feeling that the universe has a twisted sense of timing and perhaps a personal vendetta against my love life.
I head toward my storage closet of a room and discover I have a welcoming committee waiting for me. A gecko the size of my thumb sits on my door handle, appointed as my personal greeter. Spam, my new favorite orange ball of fluff, lounges on my windowsill like he owns the place, and ten chickens have arranged themselves around my door in what can only be described as a feathered honor guard.
“Well,” I tell my assembled audience, “at least somebody around here knows how to make a girl feel welcome.”
The gecko does a tiny push-up and skitters inside ahead of me, clearly claiming squatter’s rights in paradise.
And despite everything—the murder, the failing resort, the almost-kiss that got interrupted by a fire alarm from hell—I can’t stop smiling.
Because Detective Koa Hale thinks I’m trouble.
And I’m pretty sure I’m falling for him anyway.
