Page 79 of Nothing to Fear

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In the heart of bustling George Town, they passed the Nova World Bank, a two-story building on a busy corner. Gideon didn’t see any traffic cams and no security camera above the front entrance. He still needed to do a walk-by.

He signaled Willow, and they hopped off at the next stop on the long drag of Church Street adjacent to the beach. The bank was two blocks back to the north on the main strip. Shops, restaurants, and hotels dotted the road in splashes of color, prodding his spirit to lift, but he tuned it out. He needed detachment to stay focused.

She pointed out an electronics store and he followed her inside. Back on the boat, he’d explained his rough plan, but she’d had a better one. He didn’t understand the technical jargon, but she needed a laptop, thumb drive, and had to create something called a rootkit to pull it off.

While she collected the items in the store, he blocked her profile from the security cameras. They paid in cash and ventured outside. With his hand pressed to the small of her back, they meandered south through a stream of pedestrians, past a side street lined with stores and restaurants.

The first accommodation they came upon was a behemoth resort on the busy corner of the shopping row. Too much activity. Low-key was better.

They crossed the congested street to a modest four-story hotel on the beach. Nothing flashy. A good place to hole up until morning.

“What are we doing here?” she asked. “I thought we were staying on the boat tonight.”

He held the door open for her. “Docked in the harbor, someone might nose around. Better to be close to the bank, and I could use a shower where I’m not cramped.”

Strolling across the polished floor of the lobby, he scanned for surveillance cameras. He noted elevators, stairwells, an exit to the beach, sign for a restaurant, and two bellboys.

At the reception desk, he turned, facing Willow. His back to one camera, limited profile to the other, he screened her partially from both.

“Good evening,” said a middle-aged man with inky curls. “How may I help you?”

“Checking in. No reservation. One room. One night. Top floor, if you have it available. Something with easy access to the elevators and stairs, but away from ice or vending machines.”

More than one egress point was essential, and those machines made too much noise. More important, they provided a plausible reason for someone to loiter.

“Ocean or pool view, sir?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Willow took his hand, drawing his gaze, stirring his blood. “I’d like the ocean view.”

The honed instinct to break free of the physical contact wrestled with the impulse to tug her closer. He’d never worn two hats in mission mode before, and he didn’t know how to label the second hat. Playing a role for an op was natural, but his ability to compartmentalize with Willow had malfunctioned.

Straddling the chasm was a tricky spot. The gateway to mistakes.

She was as dangerous to him as he was bad for her. He couldn’t risk alienating her or ratcheting up her nerves to a precarious high. Keeping her calm, close, and safe mattered most.

He curled his fingers around hers. “Ocean view it is.”

* * *

The seaside hotel sat on the beach, their room facing the water. As Gideon showered, Willow opened every window, drawing the balcony doors wide. A warm cross-flow breeze whipped the white gossamer curtains into the air. Waves broke on the sandy beach below.

She peeled off the scratchy, plastered-on dress, tossing it to the bed. Briny air danced across her skin like brushed silk, and the smell of sea salt curled around her until she tasted it.

The bathroom door flew open, and she turned. Gideon hovered in the threshold, dressed, steam snaking out from behind him. His golden hair shone like a halo, his pale-blue gaze hard as bulletproof glass. She stilled.

He stalked across the room and slammed all the windows shut. Reaper was back.

The tender man who’d made love to her and cooked for her on the boat was gone. This other side of him she respected, even admired, but she didn’t like it one on one.

She’d never get over how easily he shifted from giving off so much heat he could melt the polar ice caps when he touched her to being agent-on-duty, radiating an arctic chill.

“I’m going to scope out the bank.” He locked the last window, drawing the curtains. “When I get back, I’ll grab food from the restaurant. We’ll eat in the room. While I’m gone, windows and balcony doors stay shut, babe.” The biting tone he used when barking out orders was worse than fingernails scraping chalkboard.

Lobbing in a babe didn’t do a smidge to soften it.