She’d said that in the Hunter Valley when they’d talked about faith.
And then he’d promised to find her Bible. Promised to have faith that things would work out.
He put his hand to his chest. Looked at the ceiling. The hotel room was quiet, the city a distant hum beyond the glass.
Lord, what am I missing?
It sounded like a prayer. A tiptoe into faith, maybe. The desperate reaching of a man.
No answer came. Just the quiet darkness and Jayden’s breathing and the weight of tomorrow pressing down.
Sydney. The Opera House. The summit. His buddy West coming as backup. The Secret Service on high alert. And somewhere in all of it, an assassin with a rifle—maybe the woman beside him, maybe someone else entirely.
He blew out a breath, Ham’s words thundering.
You do your job. Whatever that requires.
But lying here, listening to Jayden breathe, feeling the peace she somehow gave him even now—Dakota wasn’t sure he could do what the mission required. Not if it meant hurting her. Not if it meant being wrong.
So, heaven help him, he shot up another prayer, his gaze out the window, into the darkening sky. Help me see the truth, God. Help me know what’s real.
And maybe it wouldn’t get answered, but asking it felt like something. A choice. A step toward the faith he’d been running from for years.
For now, all he could do was lie in the dark and hope, and try to believe that the woman beside him was exactly who she seemed to be.
Jayden needed to stop thinking like a tourist.
Still, Sydney was the most beautiful city she’d ever seen—the harbor glittering under the afternoon sun, the Opera House gleaming white against impossibly blue sky, its iconic sails catching light like something from a dream. She’d never been here before, and every cell in her body wanted to stop and stare and soak it in like, well, a tourist instead of an operative on the verge of mission failure.
She wasn’t on vacation. She was on a mission. A mission that was about to explode in her face.
And she was absolutely not going to cry.
The tour group gathered at the Circular Quay ferry terminal, Bonnie clutching her tablet, the wind in her hair. Behind them, ferries crisscrossed the harbor. Ahead, the Opera House rose from the water like a ship in full sail.
“This is the crown jewel of our tour, everyone!” Bonnie’s voice carried across the crowd. “We have full backstage access today—the Concert Hall, the Drama Theater, the rehearsal spaces. You’ll see areas most tourists never get to see!”
Dakota stood beside Jayden, quiet today as they’d flown to Sydney early this morning. They hadn’t talked about last night. About the kiss. About his words, or what the last five days meant or didn’t mean.
She wasn’t sure she could talk about it without falling apart, frankly.
He too seemed buttoned up today, maybe realizing this was the last day.
He took her hand as they approached the Opera House, however, his own solid and warm, a quiet weight that held her in place.
The steps rose broad and pale beneath the shell-like sails, which curved overhead in layered white tiles, catching the afternoon sun. Behind them, Sydney Harbour spread wide and restless—ferries cutting paths through the water, the wind carrying salt and engine oil and the distant cries of gulls. Up close, the Opera House felt immense and precise all at once, every curve deliberate, every angle refusing to be ordinary.
They crossed around the building and entered through the main doors, the sound of the harbor falling away behind them.
Inside, the building shifted in tone. Warm timber lined the walls and ceilings, ribs of laminated wood arching overhead, softening the scale without diminishing it. Light moved differently here—filtered, golden. Bonnie led them through the public spaces, pointing out the interlocking shells, the way the structure revealed itself only once you were inside it. She spoke about performances, renovations, the building’s long fight to reconcile vision with reality.
“This is amazing,” Jayden said.
Beside her, Dakota nodded, his mouth a line, unreadable.
Huh.
The Concert Hall stopped Jayden short.
