“I thought we might take that walk to the Botanic Garden,” she said, not looking at him.
“Jayden—”
“Oh! Jayden!”
Bonnie was hurrying toward them, clipboard clutched to her chest, face bright with excitement.
“I think I found your suitcase! There was one that was delayed—it finally caught up with us here at Sydney airport. Come, come!”
She led them out to the tour bus, still parked in the loading zone. The luggage compartment was open, a few remaining bags visible inside.
Bonnie pulled out a bag—gray with red stitching on the handle. Jayden stilled. Her actual bag with the neurotoxin intel and, well, her sister’s bible.
“Is this it?” Dakota said.
Jayden took the bag, unzipped it. Her equipment was still there—camera gear on top, the hidden compartments undisturbed beneath. She kept her face neutral as she confirmed the contents, but she put her hand on the bible. Took a breath.
“Yes. This is it.” She zipped it closed. “Thank you, Bonnie.”
Dakota was watching her with a strange expression. Like he was seeing her for the first time. He frowned, then let out a long breath.
As if . . . what? Relieved?
She looked at him. “You okay?”
“Yep,” he said.
She turned back to the luggage. Wait?—
“What about the other bag?” She spotted it in the luggage compartment, the one with the red ribbon. “Whose is that?”
Bonnie frowned. “I have no idea. If it’s not yours, then it’s . . . a lost bag. No one’s claimed it.” She turned to close the compartment. “We’ll return it to the airport lost-and-found.”
Jayden’s fingers itched to grab it. To take it back to the safe house and dismantle it, maybe send photos to Nimue and figure out who could have used it.
But Dakota was right there, watching her with those too-perceptive eyes, and she couldn’t?—
“Jayden.” Dakota’s hand closed around her elbow, pulling her gently away from the bus. “Can we talk? Please?”
She let him lead her toward the harbor railing, away from Bonnie, away from the bus, away from the gray bag that was right there.
She’d round back. But first . . . she followed him.
The harbor stretched before them, ferries cutting across blue water. The Opera House gleamed to their left. Seagulls called overhead.
Postcard perfect. The kind of view that should have made her heart sing.
Instead, this felt like goodbye.
“I owe you an apology,” Dakota said. “I should have told you that my job was to help secure the Opera House. I didn’t think it mattered, but you looked . . . surprised, I guess. I don’t know. Anyway . . .” He sighed.
“It’s over. I get it.”
He stared at her. “What—no, I mean . . . yes, but?—”
She held up her hand. “Listen.” And her throat tightened. “I told you—I’m not good at long-term. This is just . . . where we are now.” She blinked hard, hating her words. But really . . . he was a good guy.
And she was a spy.
