Zara Cruz's POV.
By the time I changed into dry clothes, my head was spinning like a loaded gun.
This mission was no longer about surveillance and quiet digging. It had turned personal — someone had just tried to kill me, in broad daylight, on a beach full of witnesses.
That wasn't just bold.
It was desperate.
And desperation meant one thing:
I was getting close.
I glanced around my hotel room as I dried my hair. Everything looked normal. Too normal. The pillows were fluffed. The minibar was untouched. Even the tiny pineapple-scented soap was still in its wrapper.
But I've been trained to notice what others miss.
There was a faint scuff on the lock. A missing earring from my jewelry roll. My shampoo bottle — the one hiding my tech — had been moved half an inch to the left.
Someone had been in my room.
While I was out surfing for my life, someone had broken in and searched.
But for what?
I was halfway through scanning my suitcase with my portable UV wand when I heard a knock at the door.
Three short taps. Pause. One long.
A coded knock.
I opened it slowly — and there he was.
Leo.
Wearing dark jeans, a black shirt, and that same maddening smirk that made me want to interrogate him… with my lips.
"Nice towel trick on the beach," I said, folding my arms.
"I aim to impress," he replied. "Can we talk?"
I didn't trust him.
But I also didn't trust anyone right now.
So I grabbed my keycard, slid into flats, and followed him into the hallway — keeping just enough distance to grab my weapon if he pulled anything stupid.
<<<<<
Leo Thompson's POV.
She followed me, silent and sharp-eyed like a jungle cat.
The hallway of the Blue Pearl Resort was quiet — dim lights, bamboo wallpaper, and soft island music playing from hidden speakers. But Zara's energy? She was tense, alert, and absolutely on edge.
I stopped near the elevator and turned to her.
"Someone broke into your room, didn't they?"
Her eyes flickered. She didn't answer right away — which meant yes.
"How do you know that?" she finally asked, voice low.
"Because someone broke into mine too."
There it was — her surprise, just for a second.
"Your room?"
I nodded. "They flipped my closet, checked under the mattress, even messed with my surfboard rack. Amateurs, but determined. Looking for something."
She crossed her arms. "You think they were after the same thing in both rooms?"
"Feels like it. You're not just here to write about pineapples, Zara."
"And you're not just here to teach rich tourists how to fall into waves."
We stared at each other.
A full minute passed.
And then… we both laughed.
A short, dry, we're-so-screwed laugh.
We ended up at the hotel's rooftop bar — the only place with open-air privacy and no hidden cameras (that I hadn't already disabled, anyway).
I ordered a ginger tonic. She ordered straight pineapple juice. No alcohol.
Smart. Alert.
The night air was warm, and the torches flickered as music drifted up from the beach party below. But up here?
It felt like war planning.
"I know about the Gold Ring Network," I told her.
Zara didn't even flinch. "I figured you did. You have field training."
"So do you."
She sipped her juice. "What tipped you off? The waterproof mascara or the custom heels?"
"Your reaction to the hitman on the jet ski."
She smirked. "Thought that was just a really bad welcome tour?"
"I've had better," I said. "But worse too."
She paused, then leaned forward. Her voice dropped.
"I think someone inside the resort is coordinating with them. Maybe management. Maybe staff. And I think they knew I was coming."
My jaw tightened. "Same."
We both went silent. The music below played something upbeat. But between us?
It was anything but.
Then she looked at me — really looked — eyes scanning mine like she was searching for something she wanted to believe.
"You're not one of them," she said quietly.
"No," I replied. "Are you?"
She hesitated. "No."
"Then why don't we stop playing spy versus spy… and work together?"
Another long pause.
Then—"Fine. But if you double-cross me, I'll kill you with a hairpin."
"Fair," I said. "If you betray me, I'll drown your favorite heels."
She snorted. "Deal."
<<<<<
Zara's POV.
By the time we got back to our floor, something felt off.
The hallway was too quiet. The lights flickered. The elevator dinged... but no one stepped out.
Leo and I exchanged a look.
"Do you feel that?" I whispered.
"Yeah. Ambush energy."
I reached slowly into my purse for my taser pen. Leo adjusted his jacket — I caught a glimpse of metal at his waist.
We approached my door.
Stopped.
It was cracked open.
I mouthed one word: Trap.
Leo nodded.
I kicked the door in hard.
The room was dark — moonlight spilling across the floor.
And everything… was trashed.
The bed flipped. Mirror shattered. My suitcase torn apart. My shampoo bottle? Missing.
I moved fast — scanning drawers, closet, under the bed. All clear.
Leo turned toward the bathroom. "Zara—"
Too late.
A masked figure leapt from behind the door — blade flashing.
I ducked just in time as the knife missed my neck by inches.
Leo grabbed the attacker, slamming them against the closet door. The assailant kicked hard, caught him in the ribs, and broke loose — sprinting for the balcony.
I chased after, barefoot and pissed.
The attacker vaulted over the railing — down one floor, rolling across a rooftop cabana and disappearing into the night.
Gone.
But not empty-handed.
They had taken my tech.
Back inside, I collapsed on the bed, out of breath, chest burning.
Leo handed me water and leaned against the dresser, also panting.
"Well," he said.
"That escalated quickly."
I glared at him. "They have my scanner."
"Then we need to move fast," he said. "Because now they know what you know."
And what I know?
Could blow the whole network apart.