Page 53 of One Secret

Darcy glares at me but there's not a lot of spark in it.

'It doesn't happen all the time,' she says, reminding me that she wasn't sick when we came across on the ferry yesterday. 'It just hits weirdly sometimes.'

I'm bewildered and more than a little worried. The exhaustion yesterday, now nausea...

Though we've never discussed it, I know things are stressful in Darcy's life these days. Money trouble, stress at her job...

...these changes she's talking about.

Is she working herself into the ground over all this?

'If you knew you might get sick, why insist on coming?' I demand angrily.

Darcy catches sight of something over my shoulder, grins, and points.

'Because of that.'

I turn to look.

On our side of the outcropping, the black rock is an uneven, rugged staircase with sharp protrusions and engorged boulders. From our new vantage point, we can see around its peaked spine and down the other side. Below us, the tides have worn away the rock, smoothing it to a glassy polish. The tides have carved out several shallow rock pools and a larger crescent-shaped water trap. Like a private, sun-heated hot tub.

The water itself is almost entirely transparent. The shadows of small fish dart about against a backdrop of tropical blue, swaying gently with the current. With each ebb and flow, white spray leaps for land and explodes into foam softer than candy floss.

'Wow...' I can't help but murmur.

'Come on!' Darcy hurries.

Her sudden bout of sickness not slowing her down one bit, I see Darcy swinging herself up and over the ridgeline to dance her way over to the rock pools.

'Darcy, hold up!' I call out, her confidence somehow spiking my anxiety.

Like a gazelle, she leaps and bounds her way to a patch of even ground. I have to pick my path more carefully, bare toes gripping the edge of each stone and fingers gripping nearby handholds before I risk the next venturing step.

I finally find a spot a few feet above Darcy, plant my ass on the ground, and pull my binoculars from my bag.

Nisí tou Chrysoú suddenly comes into full view, the power of the oculars enough to knock you sideways if unprepared. From a decorative doll's house on the horizon to a life-size painting, detailed enough to count the windows of the resort or the number of people on the docks.

'Anything of interest?' Darcy has come to join me. Standing on a lower section of the rockface, she folds her arms over my thigh and rests her chin on her wrists. The tips of her fingers brush against my in-seam and the warmth of her breath caresses my lower abs.

I swallow. Hard.

'I'm assessing where Caruso might place look outs,' I explain, trying to keep my mind on work. Cold, emotionless work. 'And picking out some extraction routes.'

Darcy's tone is suddenly serious as she settles her sunglasses on her face and peers up at me through their wide frames.

'You really think it will come to that?'

She doesn't sound scared. Just irritated. Like having to escape angry mobsters would put a real kink in her vacation.

'Not if we play our parts right,' I say. 'If rumors are to be believed, Felix only has one regular hitman on the books.'

'The guy you're looking for?' Darcy iterates.

'We hope, yeah. But only one reliable wet worker for a whole mob family is a poor showing. Worse still if the one he has is loyal to the Caruso name and not to him personally... He's definitely shopping. And shopping hard.'

'So, he's desperate for a loyal attack dog. Someone like you.'

I snort.

---