Page 84 of Nothing to Fear

Laughable. Right?

Or might it be possible?

A knock sounded at the door. She jumped and grabbed the gun.

“It’s me.”

Gideon. She relaxed and hurried to let him in.

“How did the bank look?” She handed him the gun.

“Fine.” With a grim face and sheen of sweat on his brow, he tossed the tools on the bed, threw on his shoulder holster, stuffed the gun inside, and covered up with the long-sleeved shirt. “Small building. Two exits. There’ll probably be two guards, four max.”

“You think we’ll have trouble?”

“I doubt the guards expect any action. People with offshore accounts wire their money in and out once it’s established. Those types of banks aren’t usually held up at gunpoint, but best for us to be prepared.” He caressed the wispy strands dangling around her face. “I like it. The messy bun.”

His gaze softened. He grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed her. Quick. Soft. Licking his lips, he smiled for the first time since they’d docked.

Warmth flooded her chest, chasing away the chill. She had a glimmer of real hope that their plan might work, her life would be restored, and everything would be okay.

He ushered her out of the room and down the stairs to the restaurant, which stayed opened until midnight seven days a week. His hand was on her lower back in the intimate way that whispered of protection and possession. The tension in her body eased.

They waited by the hostess’s podium at the entrance of the small restaurant. Less than twenty tables were inside, and a handful lined the wraparound balcony overlooking the beach.

A U-shaped bar sat catty-corner to the kitchen, enclosed in a wall of glass allowing patrons to see the inner workings. Ebullient music wafted from the overhead speakers, sultry vocals, guitar strings, and drums skirting the line between reggae and calypso.

“Good evening,” the hostess said, approaching them. “Two for dinner?”

Gideon gave a curt nod, scanning the restaurant. His head didn’t swivel, but his gaze panned across everything. He was always alert and stayed in this hair-trigger state of readiness.

“Inside or outside?” the hostess asked.

Willow was eager for fresh air. “Outside.”

“Inside,” Gideon countered. “That table in the back.” He pointed to one far from the open patio doors that were letting in a balmy breeze and away from any occupied tables.

The hostess glanced between them as if waiting for a final verdict.

A million factors to keep them safe must be going through Gideon’s mind, guiding his decisions. Willow needed to follow his lead instead of worrying about fresh air, but goodness, she was dying to sit on the patio.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Inside.”

They were shown to the table he requested. He sat with his back to the wall, but Willow faced the balcony. If she couldn’t smell the sea or feel the wind, by golly, she’d look at the flickering torch flames on the terrace.

The hostess handed them menus. “Can I get you beverages?”

“I want a real drink.” Willow put a hand on his forearm. “But I don’t know what to order.”

“I thought you didn’t like alcohol.” He glanced at her for the first time since leaving the room.

“I’ve tried vodka and tequila.”

His brows drew together. “Straight?”

She nodded. Laurel had insisted on shots of vodka with a tequila chaser during that unforgettable Thanksgiving. The sickening experience hadn’t been one she wanted to repeat. Fiddling with her pearls, she tried to ignore the rapier-sharp edge in his body and wary gaze focused on everything besides her.

“Want to try a drink on the sweeter side?” he asked.