Page 50 of Lethal Sins

Finally, she nodded, decision made. “You’re right. Dad went to a lot of trouble to leave me that clue. Let’s do it.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

She picked up her phone. It took less than five minutes to arrange for a private jet out of a local airstrip. He liked the way these Redemption Creek people operated.

He eased the sports car past yet another black SUV, following Paige’s directions to the airfield. Whatever Atticus had left for them, it had to be big. And in their line of work “big” usually meant “dangerous.”

The early evening sky illuminated Paige’s profile. Despite the tension of the situation, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of ... something he couldn’t name. Admiration? Attraction? He pushed the thought away. Now wasn’t the time for that particular complication.

He gripped the wheel tighter. Whatever lay ahead, one thing was certain—they were venturing into uncharted territory, and there was no turning back.

31

Four hours later,Paige leaned back in the passenger seat of a red convertible, the sultry Florida night air a stark contrast to the crisp chill they’d left behind in DC. The silence between her and Cody was comfortable, filled only by the purr of the engine and the whisper of wind. As they cruised north on the Overseas Highway from Key West, the darkness enveloped them, broken only by the intermittent headlights of passing cars and the distant twinkle of boat lights on the water.

Cody grinned over at her, his face briefly illuminated by the glow of the dashboard. He gunned the engine. “I could definitely get used to this.”

She could, too.

Once they’d agreed to head to Florida, Kate had arranged a private flight with a taciturn, clearly ex-special ops pilot from an airstrip well outside DC’s city limits.

The memory of landing in Key West was still vivid—the lingering warmth that hit them as they stepped off the plane, the tang of salt in the air thick enough to taste. Even as night had fallen, the humidity had enveloped them like a blanket.

Another special ops type had been waiting next to the little red convertible. “Vehicle’s clean,” he’d said, voice gruff. “Headup the highway to Big Coppitt Key. Rusty’s Clam Shack. Mario’s behind the bar. He’s got a cruiser gassed up and ready to go. Captain Hackett said you needed a boat with a hundred-mile range, at least.” He’d paused, staring past Paige’s shoulder. “Can you do me a solid? Tell Kate if things don’t work out with that spy dude, there’s a SEAL down here ready to take her on. Let her know Mad Dog’s still waiting for her.” With a tip of his baseball cap, he’d vanished.

Mad Dog? She and Cody had exchanged tired grins. Interesting. Someone shadowy from Kate’s past, Paige had realized.

Now, as they cruised along the highway, Paige was acutely aware of how odd it felt to be wearing the pretty floral sundress she’d found in one of the suitcases left for them. Sitting next to Cody in his gaudy Hawaiian shirt and shorts, they looked for all the world like a real couple on a late-night drive.

The thought sent an unexpected flutter through her stomach. She sneaked a glance at Cody, his profile barely visible in the darkness. It was all pretend, she reminded herself firmly. But as the warm night breeze caressed her skin and the scent of the ocean filled her lungs, Paige couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this surreal journey was blurring lines she’d thought were clearly drawn.

The car purred beneath them as they sped north, the uncrowded highway stretching out like a concrete ribbon suspended over an impressive expanse of dark water. Occasional streetlights and the headlights of oncoming cars revealed brief glimpses of the surrounding ocean, now a vast expanse of inky blackness. Paige glanced at Cody, noting the fatigue etched in the lines around his eyes, visible in the fleeting moments of illumination. She felt it too, a bone-deep weariness that even the balmy Florida night couldn’t quite dispel.

“Next island coming up,” she murmured, more to break the silence than out of any real need to navigate. The straight shot of highway left little room for wrong turns.

As they pulled into the parking lot of Rusty’s Clam Shack, the establishment’s weathered charm came into full view. The old wooden building stood defiantly against the elements, its salt-worn clapboard siding painted a faded blue that had seen better days. A giant neon clam sign flickered atop the roof, its claws opening and closing in a mesmerizing rhythm, casting an alternating red and blue glow over the gravel lot.

The wraparound porch sagged slightly, festooned with strings of multicolored lights that swayed gently in the night breeze. Mismatched wooden chairs and tables, some adorned with chipped paint and all bearing the patina of countless seaside meals, dotted the deck. A collection of weatherbeaten buoys, fishing nets, and sun-bleached life preservers adorned the exterior walls, telling silent stories of maritime adventures.

The windows glowed warmly, offering glimpses of the lively atmosphere within. Through the screened door, the sounds of clinking glasses, laughter, and the faint strains of Jimmy Buffet drifted out into the night air.

As she and Cody approached, they passed a vintage boat that had been repurposed as a planter, now overflowing with vibrant tropical flowers. The wooden sign above the entrance, its letters long faded by sun and salt, creaked gently in the breeze.

The aroma of fried seafood wafted through the air, a tantalizing mix of crispy batter, fresh fish, and zesty lemon that made Paige’s stomach growl audibly. She caught Cody’s amused glance and shrugged. “What? Saving the world works up an appetite.”

“Can’t argue with that.” He reached for the door handle. “Let’s see if the food lives up to the ambiance.”

As they stepped inside, the full sensory experience of Rusty’s Clam Shack enveloped them—a perfect slice of laidback Florida Keys life, worlds away from the high-stakes mission that had brought them here.

Cody studied the space in that way her teammates had of checking things out without appearing to do so. “What do you say we play tourist for a bit? Grab some grub, scope out the scene?”

The idea of a moment’s normalcy was too tempting to resist. They slipped into the restaurant, the cool air-conditioning a welcome respite from the lingering heat outside. The chatter of diners and the clink of cutlery created a soothing backdrop as they settled into a corner booth.

Despite the cozy ambiance, Paige found herself hyperaware of their surroundings, her eyes constantly scanning the room. A boisterous family settled in nearby, the kids squabbling over crayons. An elderly couple shared a plate of conch fritters, heads bent close in intimate conversation. A group of sunburned tourists compared their day’s catch at the bar.

“You look great, Penderson.” Cody’s voice drew her attention back to their table.

The unexpected compliment sent a zing of awareness through her. She had to stop herself from touching her lips. Remembering that kiss. Unwilling to meet his gaze, she glanced down at her sundress, then at Cody’s garish shirt, and felt a laugh bubble up. “Yeah, just your average vacationing couple. Nothing to see here, folks.”

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