22. Knox

Was Luna okay?

Her eyes looked red and puffy, but she was smiling and carrying a tray of drinks. Even Jubilee looked confused. Ryder was walking close behind her, and he gave the slightest nod. Was that "yes, she's fine"? Or "yes, I've replaced her with a cyborg and we can just take the batteries out if she gets snippy"? Caro gave Knox a questioning look, and he shrugged.

No clue here, baby.

He was in the fucking dark, and not only about Luna. Caro was a mystery too. The only things Knox knew for certain were one, she could suck a man's brain out through his cock, and two, her name definitely wasn't Caroline Menefee. Agatha had sent the yearbook picture over with a note: I thought at first it was Rebel Wilson, but the facial recognition program says no.

So, who was the sexy blonde who climbed into Knox's bed every night? And he said "blonde" because she needed to dye her roots. There was only a hint of new growth, but she definitely wasn't the brunette she pretended to be. He hadn't gotten much further with unravelling her identity since the first time she showed up in the middle of the night.

Agatha had volunteered to dig into Caro's background, and for a moment, Knox had been tempted to take her up on the offer. But did he really want to know the truth? Their relationship was purely physical—okay, mostly physical—and it had an expiration date. What good would it do to dig around in her past? Knowing her real name wouldn't change his attraction to her, although if he knew her ex's name, he'd gladly punch the asshole in the face if their paths ever crossed. Caro didn't talk about him much, but she'd mentioned they used to work together, so when they split, she'd had to leave her job too. The gig at the turtle sanctuary had been a fresh start, Caro following her heart rather than her head for once. She wasn't sure she'd stay on Valentine Cay forever, but at the same time, she had no plans to leave.

And whatever was between them was only casual. She'd gone out for dinner with Vince Fernandez last night, and Knox had spent the evening on bodyguard duty.

"I made coffee," Luna announced. "The unicorn mug has the sugar in it."

Caro claimed the glittery unicorn with a muttered "Thanks," and Knox took a chipped mug advertising Havana Hills Cigars. A trio of local volunteers had shown up to help today—friends who came a couple of times a month, Baptiste said—so Luna and Jubilee were staying clear of the pool rooms. This morning, they were putting the finishing touches to the sponsorship scheme. Jubilee had given the sanctuary's website the makeover it desperately needed and set up a page for each of the permanent residents. For thirty bucks a year, folks could sponsor their favourite turtle and receive quarterly updates on how it was doing. The girls had even created templates for the updates, so all Caro and Baptiste needed to do was tweak the write-up and add some current photos.

"Ugh!" Caro spat her coffee back into the mug. "Are you trying to poison me?"

For a moment, Luna looked puzzled, but then her barriers slammed into place. Ryder swore her bitchiness was a defence mechanism, and at first, Knox hadn't believed him because bitchiness was her default operating state. But over the past few days, he'd been watching her to see if Ryder's theory held water, and he'd spotted a few glimmers of humanity, mostly when Ryder was close by.

"Oh, gee, you're welcome. Why are you always so mean?"

After Knox asked Caro to lighten up on Luna, she'd been mostly civil, but now they were back to square one. Knox sighed.

"Because this coffee tastes like it was made with seawater."

"I used the water from the big plastic jug, just the way you do."

"It's true," Ryder said. "I filled the kettle."

Knox took a sip of Caro's coffee, and his tastebuds went into meltdown. Fuck, that was disgusting.

"Where did you get the sugar from?" he asked.

"From the white canister on the shelf."

Caro snorted. "That's the salt. The sugar's in the blue canister."

"Well, how was I supposed to know? There aren't any labels."

Ryder touched her arm. "Let's go make more coffee, moon."

Moon? He'd given her a nickname? Whatever, Ryder's influence had turned her from an unbearable pain in the ass to mostly tolerable. The two of them headed back to the kitchen, and Caro drank half of Knox's coffee, presumably to take away the taste of her own.

"There are still no more shark sightings," Jubilee said. "I've checked every San Gallicano group I can find. I put together a spreadsheet with the past reports, and they average six days apart, but the minimum is three days and the maximum is fourteen. That's assuming that all the sightings are false ones." She shrugged. "There could be some actual sharks around, which is why I'm never going in the water around here."

"Shark attacks are rare," Caro said. "And they mostly happen when people behave like prey, splashing around on the surface. If you see a shark, stay still and hang vertical in the water."

"Stay still? No way. I'm swimming away as fast as I can."

"The shark will always be faster. They don't even like eating humans—most of the time, they'll just take a test bite and you might lose an arm."

Jubilee shuddered. "I'm only swimming in a pool from now on."

"I spent years of my life in the ocean, and—" Knox started, but then his phone rang. He checked the screen. Emmy. "I have to take this."

He stepped outside into the sunshine and immediately missed the cool breeze from the ceiling fan. The air was still today, a wall of heat despite it being so early in the year. The summer would be oppressive.

"Dude, did you seriously requisition condoms from the Nassau office?"

People said that Emmy knew everything, and they were right.

"They're an important part of our field kit. They keep underwater fuses dry, stop sand from getting in gun barrels, we can use them as emergency canteens…"

"You ordered two hundred of them."

"It's cheaper to buy in bulk."

"I see. And the ‘Dracul the Destroyer' dragon dildo?"

Fuck. He'd added a note in the comments field that the goods were for a special hush-hush operation. Didn't the purchasing department understand what "confidential" meant?

"It's a joke gift for one of our hosts. Kind of like an April Fool."

"It's March. And what about the stilettos?"

"I'll cover the cost. It's just really hard to get that shit in San Gallicano."

"Tell me you're not sleeping with the principal."

"I'm not sleeping with the principal."

"Tell me you're not neglecting your duties because you're sleeping with someone else."

"Ryder and I have agreed on an appropriate schedule. He said he was happy to work extra shifts."

"Fucking hell. Tell me Ryder isn't sleeping with the principal."

"Nah, she thinks he's gay. He's teaching her to swim instead."

"You're kidding?"

"Nope."

"How can she think Ryder's gay? The guy oozes testosterone and inappropriate suggestions. Not as many as you, granted, but still an above-average amount."

"Because in the beginning when she was being the diva from hell, he told her he had a boyfriend, but then it turns out he's the Luna Whisperer. I guess now he doesn't know how to set her straight."

"So they're just hanging out on the beach and drinking mai tais?"

"They talk." Knox paused for a moment, considering. "Do you know who Neve was?"

"You think I don't background-check my team thoroughly? Honey, I'd know if you had polyps in your colon. Of course I know who Neve was, and I also know about Bitter Edge."

Deep down, Knox had always figured Emmy must have an idea of his past, but she'd never mentioned his old band, not once. Or the accident. His three best buddies, gone in one night.

"Right," he said.

"You're a different man than you were back then."

Knox had been forced to grow up fast. If he'd carried on along his old path, if things had worked out as they were supposed to, he'd probably be the male version of Luna right now. Hounded by the paparazzi, living in a bubble far removed from the real world. Did he wish things were different? He wished Brent, Eric, and Jayden were still alive, but he preferred his current life to the one he could have had. Good friends, anonymity, and enough money that he never worried about the bills. When he was seventeen, his only goal had been to leave Buttfuck, Wyoming, and music was his ticket out of there. After his bandmates died, he'd joined the Navy because he didn't care whether he lived or died, only to discover it was where he was meant to be all along.

"I was an asshole in those days. But Ryder says Luna reminds him of Neve, and I'm not sure he's changed as much as I have."

"He hasn't. Ryder's been on Blackwood's radar for years. Just stay safe and enjoy the sun, and next time you try to purchase sex toys on your expense account, for fuck's sake email me first. I'll approve it directly instead of having the authorisation request bounce around various supervisors before finally landing on Sloane's desk. She nearly choked on her sandwich, by the way."

"Give her my apologies."

"Will do." Knox was about to say goodbye when he hesitated. Emmy was a good boss. Firm but fair, and she had a sixth sense that could be unnerving at times. "Do you know anything about wildlife smuggling?"

"Not a lot. Wildlife can't usually afford Blackwood's services. Why?"

"Because it's possible someone's stealing turtles." Knox summarised the trip so far, starting with Caro's recklessness on their first dive, running through Stacey Custer's investigation, and finishing with the shark theory. "One data point doesn't make a pattern, so we're waiting for another alleged shark sighting, and then we're gonna check for bait lines."

Emmy blew out a long breath. "Bloody hell. Look, turtles are cute, but you're there to protect Luna. She's our client."

"So you're saying we shouldn't get involved? Because Caro isn't gonna drop it, and Luna's stuck here, so whether we like it or not, we're wrapped up in this until we leave."

"I'm saying you need to tread bloody carefully. What you do in your free time is up to you, but criminals can be vicious when their livelihood gets threatened. Protecting Luna is the priority."

"Got it."

"Ask the cyber team to do a bit of background research, see if anything interesting pops up."

"I already submitted a request to see if they could track down the IP address of whoever made the shark posts, but it hasn't been processed yet."

Since this wasn't an official Blackwood operation, Knox had assigned the task a low priority. Current wait time? Roughly two weeks.

"Get it bumped up the queue, and I'll sign off on it."

"Thanks."

"And don't wait around for some jackass to make up a shark sighting. Take the initiative, create a fake account, and post one yourself. Control the situation. There's a reasonable chance the enemy will take advantage and throw in a bait line. They can do that from the shore, right? If they don't even need to get into the water, what's the risk?"

Why the hell hadn't Knox thought of that? Create an "OMG, I think I saw a shark!" post and wait for the poachers to bite. They could lie in wait for those fuckers to arrive. Well, he could lie in wait. No way was he taking Caro along—if her actions at Coconut Cove were anything to go by, she'd try to make a citizen's arrest and wind up in the hospital.

"We'll do that."

"Keep me updated, okay?"

"I will."