Page 55 of Christmas Harbor Secrets
“Listen,” Blake said, low and careful now. “She’s already marked. Laurel Tide knows she’s alive, knows what she’s carrying. If I make itlooklike we’re delivering her?—”
Rone took a step toward Blake, hands fisting tighter. “You’ll draw your mole out. And in the meantime, she gets to stand in the crossfire.”
“She’ll be protected.”
Rone barked a quiet laugh, short and humorless. “By who? Your trigger-happy ghosts? You said it yourself, you don’t trust anyone.”
Blake’s mouth tightened, and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “You think I wanted this? You think I like dragging civilians into my operation? I’m out of moves, Rone. Laurel Tide’s cleaning house, and if I don’t stop them now, we’re next.”
Rone took another step closer, the boards underfoot groaning again. “Don’t put your failures on her.”
Something flashed across Blake’s face—anger, maybe guilt—but it was gone as quickly as it came. “You always did think you knew better.”
“I know when a line’s about to be crossed, and I won’t let you get Isobel killed. Figure out another way to end this.”
“If Isobel doesn’t go to that island with us, she’ll be murdered before I can even get her to WITSEC. Trust me. The only way to keep her safe is to walk straight into the trap. We won’t let her out of our sight, and whoever is working for Laurel, we’ll get them as soon as they attempt contact. I’ve already got positions on everyone on the island, Laurel and FBI. It’s the best shot I’ve ever had. You have only two choices: come with me, or let her die. Like Torres.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“You’rea monster and I don’t trust you.” Isobel marched by the armed men and out of the cabin, the door whispering shut behind her.
The deck was colder than she remembered.
Blake’s calm, clipped words, shaped like a command, were enough to tell her that she was the center of it. She knew he was right, but the way he spoke to Rone made her stomach churn. He was a man who did what he had to to get results.
And she was bait.
She’d been a lot of things in her life—daughter, disappointment, survivor—but never that.
Rone rushed out after her. “No.”
He joined her at the stern, hands braced on the cap rail, head bowed. The deck light cast him in muted gold, outlining the tension in his shoulders, the clean lines of muscle drawn taut under his shirt. The wind teased blond strands across his forehead.
He looked like a man trying to decide whether to fight the sea or drown in it.
“Rone.” Her voice came out soft. He didn’t turn to face her. “I wasn’t there, but based on what you told me and the man I’m starting to know, Torres wasn’t your fault. Blake made a low blow, and I don’t trust him.”
Silence stretched between them until she could almost hear her heartbeat syncing to the slow churn of the waves.
When Rone finally looked at her, the distance in his eyes hurt worse than anger.
“You can’t do what Blake wants,” he said. Not a question.
“I can.”
She gripped the railing beside his hand. The teak cap rail was cold, but his fingers brushed against hers. A tremor ran through him.
“He’s using us,” she said.
Rone’s jaw flexed, a muscle working in his cheek. “He’s usingyou.”
Isobel touched the pocket in her shorts to make sure the USB was still there. “We can’t just sit here.”
Rone’s jaw worked, shoulders hunched, the raw white of his bandage standing out against his tanned skin. She’d watched him through the dark and seen every line of him—how he carried danger like a second skin, how he slept like someone expecting to be woken by a nightmare. When he finally answered, his voice was low and rough. “You don’t have to be bait, Izzy.”
She hated the way he used her nickname, hated how it flattened her to something small and tender he might mistake for fragile. “I’m not going to be bait. I’m going to be the one who gets answers.” She took a step closer until the cramped space between them felt like the only clean air left. “If Blake’s right and that island is the only lead we have—if the chip ping is there—then not going is just giving them the chance to tighten the noose. If they found my father, they’ll findme. I’m not hiding anymore.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, and she saw it then—the exhaustion. “You don’t understand the kind of people we’re talking about. Laurel Tide doesn’t play by any rules that make sense. If you walk into their trap without backup?—”
