That maybe—just maybe—faith wasn’t the enemy of certainty.
Maybe it was its own kind of strength.
Dakota Rivers was going to be the death of her—and not in the way she’d originally suspected.
Jayden stood in the Westin Melbourne Hotel lobby, watching her fake husband carry Mags Winston’s bag to the luggage cart. He hadn’t been asked. Mags was seventy-two and the bag was heavy and Dakota had simply taken it from her, made some joke that earned a delighted laugh, and now he was organizing it among the others with the easy competence of a man who helped people without thinking about it.
This was the problem. This was exactly how it happened—you started seeing the good in someone. You started wanting to believe. And then you missed the knife until it was already in your back.
But Dakota wasn’t Ian. Dakota had saved her life on the reef. Watched over her through the allergic reaction.
And had been a gentleman last night when his eyes and kiss had said he might want more.
She had trusted Ian. That was what had cost her everything.
So what did that mean? That she could trust Dakota? Or that he was simply better at the performance?
Time to have some faith, to echo the conversation from last night, right?
The luggage cart was a riot of color now. After the bag confusion in the Hunter Valley, Bonnie had distributed ribbons and luggage tags—bright pink for the Winstons, yellow for Gerald, green for the Novaks. Dakota’s bag sported a blue ribbon.
Hers was nowhere to be found.
“Everyone!” Bonnie’s voice cut through the lobby like the woman should rightly be dressed in all pink, sporting a cruise-director sash. “Wonderful news! We have some new arrivals joining us for the rest of the tour!”
She gestured to a middle-aged couple. “Meet Ellis and Devin Hart. Their flight was delayed in the storm and they just caught up now.”
The couple waved.
“And Howard’s son is joining us,” she said just as Howard Brennan stepped through the front entrance with a young man at his side. Early twenties. Athletic build. Designer clothes that probably cost more than Jayden’s entire travel wardrobe (which was saying a lot, given the cost of gift-shop clothing). And eyes?—
Eyes that scanned the lobby the moment he entered. Something about him seemed . . . professional. Military, even.
Spectre.
Maybe not—but Jayden’s instincts snapped to attention. Especially when Howard said, “Everyone, this is my son, Blake.”
Howard beamed with paternal pride. “He’s joining us for the rest of the tour. Finally got some time off work.”
Blake. Suddenly the world was awash with gender-neutral names.
“What do you do, Blake?” Gerald asked cheerfully, binoculars still hanging around his neck from the afternoon’s bird-watching expedition.
“I work event security. Had a gig in Newcastle.” Blake’s smile was thin, practiced. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Boring corporate stuff.”
Jayden caught Dakota’s eye across the lobby. He’d noticed it too—she could see the tension in his shoulders, the slight narrowing of his gaze.
Interesting.
The lobby buzzed with introductions and small talk. Riley Stewart drifted over to welcome Blake, her smile bright and friendly. Vic Simons hovered near the edge of the group, wringing his hands and looking vaguely overwhelmed by the new arrivals.
Jayden positioned herself where she could watch Blake collect his luggage from Bonnie.
He grabbed a black duffel first. Then his hand reached for a second bag.
Gray canvas. Red tag.
Jayden’s heart stopped. Wait. Was that the bag with the rifle components? How had it suddenly shown up again?
