He slowed again near a gap in the palms where sand met undergrowth.
A partial footprint marked the ground.
Recent. Too clean for the wind to have left it alone this long. Boot sole, not a flip-flop. Security patrols wouldn’t come this far south without radioing him first.
Zach crouched, studying the edges without touching. Before he could process further, a night bird exploded from the palms above them, wings thrashing against leaves.
Emma jumped, hand flying to her chest.
Zach’s hand had already reached the knife at his belt. He scanned the canopy it launched from. Birds spooked for two reasons: predators or disturbance.
His gaze searched past the canopy into the undergrowth beyond.
A narrow gap in the palms caught his attention—wide enough for a clean view of the beach. One of the lower branches had been bent back, leaves hanging at the wrong angle.
Could have been the wind. Construction crews wander all over the island during the day.
He made a mental note of the location.
He searched the shadows. Nothing moved.
“Sorry,” Emma breathed. “That scared me.”
Zach forced his hand away from the blade. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. The footprint timing. The bird’s panicked flight. The feeling that crawled over his skin fifty yards back. He stood, still scanning. “We should head back.”
She didn’t argue. She must have picked up on something in his tone. Smart woman.
He changed their route without explanation, angling them deeper along the irregular edge where beach met jungle. The terrain here broke up sightlines—patches of shadow, scattered palms, low brush that disrupted a clean shot from a distance. His mind tracked their six while maintaining casual forward movement.
Emma matched his stride, no questions asked, just casually pointing out, "This isn't the way we came."
“I know.”
She didn’t push for an explanation. Just trusted him.
Her trust warmed something deep in his chest, even as his tactical awareness ran overtime. He cataloged every shadow, every movement, every sightline from the jungle. His hand stayed relaxed but ready. Not combat-ready, but prepared.
The cottage lights came into view.
Emma’s shoulders dropped slightly, tension easing from her posture.
“Okay,” she admitted as they approached the door. “I’ll admit that helped.”
Zach unlocked the door for Emma, scanning the perimeter one more time. His eyes drifted toward the break in the palms before stepping inside and reaching for the light switch, dimming the interior lights. “Good.”
Emma kicked off her sneakers and headed for the kitchen. “Want some tea? I’m making chamomile.”
“Sure.”
But he didn’t follow her yet. He did one more sweep of the visible beach. Checked sightlines from the tree line. Watched for movement that didn’t match wind patterns.
Nothing. He closed the door. Closed the curtains. The instinct still hummed under his skin. Wrong.
Something was wrong.
Zach locked the door.
