Dakota swirled his wine and watched the firelight play through the glass. Across from him, Jayden was studying the dessert menu with more attention than it probably deserved.
“You’ve been quiet all evening,” she said without looking up.
He set the wine down. Found a smile. “I just wish we’d found your bag.”
“Me too. I miss my favorite toothbrush.” She smiled and winked. “Maybe it never made it to Cairns. Maybe it’s sitting in some airport lost-and-found in Fiji. Maybe?—”
“How are we doing tonight?”
Bonnie appeared at their table, clipboard in one hand, wineglass in the other—the tour director slightly softened by end-of-day relaxation. Her smile was warm, professional, relentlessly cheerful as always.
“Everything’s wonderful,” Jayden said, summoning her own smile. “The wine-country experience has been lovely.”
“So glad to hear it! Aren’t you glad we had those couple of cancellations? Otherwise we wouldn’t have had room for you two.” Bonnie beamed.
“Cancellations?”
“Yes—they cancelled in Fiji. The Martins went straight on to Sydney to meet their children.”
Dakota’s attention sharpened. “The Martins?”
“Lovely couple. Quiet. Kept to themselves mostly.” Bonnie shrugged. “We were sorry to see them go, but these things happen. Family first, you know? Anyway, luggage outside your door by tomorrow before breakfast. We’ll catch the train at 8:30 a.m. back to the airport and be in Melbourne by the afternoon.”
“Got it,” he said.
Bonnie wished them a lovely evening and drifted toward another table, and Dakota felt something loosen in his chest. A lead. A direction. Something to follow.
“You think they have my bag?” Jayden asked quietly. “The Martins?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
She nodded slowly, processing. Then: “Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere? A business meeting in Sydney? The security check you mentioned?”
Dakota hesitated. The lies were getting harder to maintain, the cover story fraying at the edges.
“I have a team there,” he said. “They know what they’re doing. I can coordinate remotely for a few more days.”
Jayden frowned—not suspicious exactly, but something. Curious, maybe. “That’s a lot to postpone for a missing suitcase.”
“That’s what I was going to say to you.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What if we don’t find it? What if the bag is just . . . gone? This is a lot of hassle, a lot of chasing. Maybe you just buy new stuff and move on.”
Something shifted in her expression. The guard that was always partially up, partially down—it dropped entirely.
“It’s not about the stuff,” she said quietly.
“Then what is it about?”
She was quiet for a long moment, looking at her wineglass instead of at him. The restaurant hummed around them—other diners, clinking glasses, the crackle of the fireplace. Normal sounds for a normal evening.
“It’s about my sister,” she said finally. “Skylar.”
He frowned, folded his arms.
“She was the smart one.” Jayden’s voice turned soft, almost distant. “Full ride to Stanford. Pre-med. She was going to be a doctor, save lives, change the world.”
Dakota stayed quiet.
“She got cancer when she was twenty. Diagnosed just before finals.” A pause. “She fought it for two years. Chemo, radiation, experimental treatments. She never stopped believing she’d beat it. Never stopped praying.”
