Tracking us.
I keep splashing. I laugh at something Sadie says and let my body stay loose while everything behind my ribs goes cold and quiet. Khaki shorts, dark polo, ball cap pulled down, sneakers instead of sandals. Nobody wears sneakers to shoot beach scenery. He's been there a while too. There's a drink sweating in the sand next to his foot and no towel, no bag, no chair. A man with a two-thousand-dollar lens and nothing to sit on.
"Stay here a second," I tell Sadie, keeping my voice easy. "I think I see somebody I know."
Her eyes flick past me and find him almost as fast as I did. Smart girl. The fun drains out of her face. "Jace."
"Probably nothing. Shallow water, lots of people around you. Don't move."
I come out of the surf, shaking water off, just a guy heading back to his towel. Ten yards in, I change the angle and walk straight at him. The lens drops. He doesn't wave, doesn't call out some line about the great light this morning, doesn't do any of the things an innocent man does. He turns and walks fast toward the public lot, cap brim down, camera hugged to his chest like a football.
"Hey, buddy," I call, friendly as a golden retriever. "Get any good shots?"
He doesn't answer. Doesn't run either, which tells me he's done this before. Running gets remembered. By the time I reach the edge of the lot he's swinging into a gray sedan, rental sticker on the bumper, plate angled away, and pulling out with the unhurried speed of a man who practices leaving.
I stand there and let him go. Chasing a car through a crowded beach lot in board shorts gets me nothing except attention we can't afford. But I burn the details in. Height, build, the sedan, the brim of that cap. If I see any piece of him again, I'll know it.
When I walk back, Sadie's out of the water, arms crossed over her cover-up, watching me with those serious teacher eyes that see too much.
"Friend of yours?" she asks.
"Turns out I didn't know him after all." I pick up the umbrella and start breaking it down, keeping my movements lazy for anyone watching. "Probably some creep photographing women on the beach. World's full of them."
"You don't believe that."
I look at her, and I think about lying better. Then I think about how she reached for my hand at the grocery store when it counted, how she worked Melissa and Brooke like a pro twenty minutes ago. She's not a package I'm transporting. She's a partner, whether I planned it or not.
"No," I say quietly. "I don't. So we're going to pack up, smile, take the long way home, and I'm going to make some calls. And tomorrow night at the club we stick close. Closer than close."
She holds my gaze, chin up, steady even though I can see her pulse jumping at her throat. "Okay."
That's it. Just okay. No panic, no argument, no demanding answers I don't have. Something in my chest tightens hard enough to hurt.
When we finally load up and head back to the Jeep the sun is higher and the beach is fuller. I keep scanning faces the whole way.
10
Sadie
I stand in front of the full-length mirror in the safe house bedroom, eyeing the navy dress with a healthy dose of skepticism. The fabric clings in all the places I usually hide under button-downs and khakis. It’s not indecent. It’s... more. The neckline dips enough to show the line of my collarbone and a hint of cleavage I forgot I had. The hem hits mid-thigh, and the slit on one side flashes leg when I move. I bought it on impulse in Halo City last year for a faculty dinner I never attended. Now it’s armor I’m not sure I know how to wear.
Jace is out in the living room getting ready. I can hear him moving around, the soft sound of him humming something upbeat under his breath. He’s been in an obnoxiously good mood since the beach. The arm-around-my-waist moment keeps replaying in my head like a song I can’t turn off. The warmth of his palm on my bare skin. The way my body leaned into him before my brain could object. The distinct rumble of his voice when he told me I felt good right there.
I press my hands to my hot cheeks. This is ridiculous. I have rules. No flirting. No nicknames. No treating this like anything but a temporary protection detail until Anniston sorts out her mess and I can go back to my lesson plans and my quiet life. Yet here I am, blushing over a bodyguard who has no business making my heart race this much.
A soft knock on the door frame makes me jump. Jace leans against it, and for a second my brain short-circuits completely.
He has traded the board shorts and faded tee for dark slacks and a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. The top two buttons are open, showing a slice of tanned chest. His hair’s still messy in that deliberate way that probably takes him zero effort. He’s the kind of trouble that comes in expensive cotton and a dangerously confident smile. Gorgeous, arrogant, fun-loving trouble.
His eyes travel down the dress and back up. The grin that spreads across his face is slow and appreciative and completely unfair. "Wells. You clean up dangerously."
I smooth the fabric over my hips and try for serious. "It’s just a dress. Don’t make it into a thing."
"Too late. It’s already a thing." He pushes off the door frame and offers his arm. The gesture is straight out of a romance movie, which is ridiculous considering we’re headed to a country club dinner to fake a relationship. "Ready to go sell the fantasy, sweetheart?"
I ignore the nickname on principle and take his arm because refusing would look suspicious even to the empty room. "I’m ready to gather information. That’s all. Melissa and Brooke mentioned Victor's restaurant at the marina. If he’s as connectedas they made it sound, maybe he knows something about new faces or unusual activity. Anniston said the people after her had ties to waterfront businesses. It’s worth pressing."
Jace's expression shifts for a second, the charm softening into something more focused. "Smart. I’ll work the men after dinner. You take the wives. We compare notes on the drive home."
