7. Knox

Knox checked the signal on his phone. They had service, thank fuck. Valentine Cay, population six hundred and forty-two, was a heart-shaped sandy paradise nestled among half a dozen uninhabited rocks ten miles from Ilha Grande.

Only a handful of significant islands were farther from Ilha Grande—Starlight Reef, famed for its displays of bioluminescence after the sun dropped; Emerald Shores with its lush forests; Dreadhaven, home to a sunken pirate ship that reappeared every so often when a storm shifted the sands; Treasure Atoll, once a picture-postcard paradise but now ruined by amateur sleuths who believed tales of hidden gold; and Skeleton Cay, the deserted prison isle that lay another eighteen miles to the west.

The Valentine Cay Turtle Sanctuary was situated in the dip at the top of the heart, surrounded on both sides by coconut palms and other greenery. In the centre of the dip lay a spacious dining room made from rough-hewn wood with a kitchen and a small office off to the side. The kitchen was partly open-air. The walls didn't go all the way to the roof, presumably to let out the heat and the smell of cooking. In the dining room itself, there were two tables, one with long benches on each side and the other surrounded by mismatched chairs. Beside the dining room, to the east, was Franklin Baptiste's cabin plus the five "pool rooms" where the turtles lived. Well, one of the pool rooms was still under construction, but it would house more turtles eventually. And to the west were two bunkhouses, each with a modest bathroom attached.

Knox had spent yesterday evening poring over background information with Ryder while Jubilee packed the girls' belongings on the yacht. A barrier reef curved around the top of the island, protecting the sun-kissed waters and sheltering the beach while limiting boat access. A RIB would go straight over the top of the coral, but any craft with a draft deeper than a couple of feet would scrape a hole in its hull unless it went through the deeper channel to the east of the sanctuary. Since most of the boats available for hire in San Gallicano were fishing vessels pulling double duty, the paparazzi would find it hard to get close by sea. The team would just have to watch out for telephoto lenses, but Knox had a semi-automatic and plenty of experience with hitting moving targets.

Relax, he was only joking.

Probably.

In satellite photos, the forest around the sanctuary looked wild and dense, but Knox and Ryder would make a better assessment from the ground. They'd brought a dozen wireless motion detectors that they could place around the camp to warn of approaching trouble. Knox would have no problem escorting overzealous reporters off the property—in fact, he was looking forward to it. The Cleopatra's "fully equipped" gym was missing a heavy bag, and it had been a frustrating week.

After Caro had shown them around, he took pity on Ryder and grabbed two of Luna's suitcases. What the hell did she have in there? Fuckin' meteors? Damn things weighed a ton. They dumped the luggage in the girls' bunkhouse, which was a duplicate of the boys' bunkhouse with the exception of a screened-off corner at the rear that seemed to be Caro's space. Bunk beds lined the walls, five up, five down, and there was a table with chairs in the middle. Someone had added homey touches—a bookshelf full of dog-eared paperbacks, paintings of marine life, and a mirror with "Don't Worry, Be Happy" written across the top. Luna was sitting on a bunk at the front, crying, while Jubilee tried to comfort her.

"It'll be okay," she said. "All you need to do is not get arrested again."

"This is so unfair. They tell me that without publicity, talent doesn't matter, so I get publicity, and then they don't like it?"

"I think it was the whole criminal charges thing. I mean, they loved the original turtle post."

"What happened?" Ryder asked.

Jubilee answered because Luna was too busy hiccuping.

"Julius emailed. You know who Julius is?"

"Luna's agent?"

"Right. Anyway, he emailed and said the label was concerned about reputational damage. A bunch of eco-warriors are boycotting her records as well as all the other artists who are signed to Sonic Flare, and sales have declined dramatically. If Luna messes up one more time, they're gonna drop her."

"I don't see how they can do that," Luna said, sniffling. "We have a contract."

"There's a clause about public behaviour. If you bring the company into disrepute, they can do whatever they want."

"How do we speak with my lawyer? Mom should be dealing with this."

"I already asked the lawyer, and that's what he told me. That if you mess up one more time, they can sever all ties."

Luna flopped backward onto the bed and sighed dramatically. "That freaking turtle ruined my life."

"Do you ever take responsibility for anything?" Caro asked from behind the screen.

"Why can't you even pretend to be supportive? You don't understand what it's like to face losing your whole career and everything you've spent your life working toward."

"Actually, I do. And I didn't sit around complaining the whole time. Are you going to put proper clothes on?"

"These are proper clothes. They made me wear a freaking jumpsuit last week, and it was hideous." Hideous, but probably more practical than the high-heeled flip-flops and crocheted dress she'd chosen this morning. "Where can I plug in my hair straightener?"

"For fuck's sake," Knox and Ryder both muttered at the same time as Caro said, "Give me strength."

"Maybe you could try a messy bun today?" Jubilee suggested. "That's hot right now."

Caro headed for the door, wearing shorts and a T-shirt with "Marine Biologists Do It Underwater" printed on the chest.

"Whatever you do, you'll need to do it quickly. There's a briefing in the dining room in five minutes, and then we have to get to work."

* * *

Franklin Baptiste gave the briefing, leaning on his elbows over a huge table made from scarred wood. Luna—predictably—had complained that the benches didn't have cushions, and Jubilee had found her a sweater to sit on. The black dog that seemed to belong to Caro snored softly in one corner.

"We got four types of turtle in San Gallicano," Baptiste said. "Green turtles, hawksbills, leatherbacks, and loggerheads, but the loggerheads don't nest here, and we don't see them often. They're all endangered, and hawksbills are on the critical list. They got threats coming from every direction—folks eat their eggs and meat, they get caught in fishing gear, and we're ruining their habitats. Turtles travel hundreds of miles to lay their eggs on the beach where they were born. Now when they arrive, too often they find someone's built on the sand or left deckchairs in the way. Then there's plastic in the oceans, climate change, and the turtleshell trade—all threats to their survival."

"Sometimes, I think it would be better if humans went extinct," Caro muttered, then paused to blow on her coffee. "We ruin everything."

It was a thought Knox had shared many, many times. As a SEAL, he'd seen the worst of human nature. Senseless killing, the hunger for control, the inability to coexist peacefully alongside others. No other species fought wars over differences of opinion.

"I'm with you there," he said. "Is there any hope for the turtles?"

Baptiste's fist clenched around the pen he was holding. "As long as there's still hope, I'll fight until my last breath."

"That's quite a commitment."

"Occasionally, a person needs to put aside their ego and do what's right for the planet."

He was looking at Luna as he said it, and she bristled.

"Hey, that's rude."

Caro rolled her eyes. "Accurate, though. What we do here makes a difference."

"I make a difference. When I was hired as a spokesmodel for Elemental Gems, I doubled their sales to the under-thirties market. Do you realise how many grooms pick out an emerald or a ruby instead of a diamond because of my social media posts?"

"Why does that matter?"

"It matters to the brides. Firstly, because Elemental sources their gems ethically, and secondly, because they're available in more colours than diamonds. But what would you know? I bet you've never been engaged because what man would put up with you?"

"You know nothing about my life, and at least I don't spend my days cavorting with half-naked men for likes."

Luna stood and leaned across the table, her face going redder by the second. Knox hoped Jubilee might step in since she tried to curb Luna's outbursts on occasion, but she just fidgeted with her rubber bracelet, gaze studiously averted.

"I do not cavort with men! Those are carefully staged photo ops. Do you even have one clue about marketing? Probably not, seeing as I'd never even heard of this place."

Now Caro was on her feet too, and she was a good six inches taller than Luna and probably forty pounds heavier. Not overweight though, not even a little. Just fit from labouring away at the sanctuary day in, day out, plus she had curves under that baggy T-shirt.

"I don't suppose there's much going on in that closed mind of yours at all."

"Ladies…" Ryder warned.

"Shut up!" they both yelled at him.

"My mind is not closed," Luna snapped. "I travel, I meet people. You live in a hut and your best friends are amphibians."

"Turtles are reptiles, you idiot."

Franklin Baptiste had been chuckling quietly to himself until that point, but when Luna marched around the table, his eyes widened in alarm. Ryder nodded to Knox, and they acted as one.

"Get off me!" Luna shrieked as Ryder picked her up and carried her back to her seat.

As for Caro, she froze the moment Knox's arms wrapped around her, but she quickly recovered to elbow him in the gut. Which didn't have much impact on abs that did two hundred crunches before breakfast every morning, but Knox would probably have a nice bruise.

"What the fuck was that for?" he asked.

"I don't appreciate being manhandled."

Once Luna was back on her ass, Knox released Caro. She might have spoken relatively calmly, but her chest heaved as she sucked in air, and he'd felt her heart hammering against her ribcage. He figured that suggesting she calm down would only add fuel to the fire.

"Just trying to stop a catfight."

"I can take care of myself." She turned and narrowed her eyes, her gaze locked on his from mere inches away. Her voice dropped close to a whisper. "A catfight? I'm not a pussy."

Time stood still as he stared into pissed-off sea-blue eyes with flecks of green around the edges, and that was the moment Knox realised he was in trouble. He was stuck on an island for the next thirty days alongside a pop diva with an attitude, a ball-breaker who made his dick twitch, and a sense of foreboding that left his lizard brain on high alert.

"I'm glad we got that cleared up."

Ryder cleared his throat. "Maybe we could go over the daily routine? What does Luna need to do while she's here?"

Slowly, slowly, Caro turned around and sank onto her seat again, leaving a faint aroma of vanilla hanging in the air. Shampoo? Perfume? Knox caught himself taking a deeper inhale and gave himself a mental kick. Step back, asshole. This was work. Caroline Menefee and her intoxicating mix of fire and vulnerability was firmly off limits.

"We have a list of daily tasks," Baptiste said. "The pools get cleaned out each mornin', and the turtles need to be fed. Some are permanent residents, but most are hawksbills that are part of our ‘raise and release' program. Each year, we keep a number of the hatchlings here in seawater pools, and then we release them into the wild when they're older."

"It gives them a better chance of survival," Caro said, speaking normally now, although her hands clenched and unclenched on her thighs. She was stressed, and understandably so. Had she felt what Knox did? Or was she just annoyed at the thought of being stuck here with Luna for a month? "As with so many things, it's a trade-off—turtles raised in captivity are less accustomed to life in the sea, and so they have to learn survival skills, but their larger size makes them less vulnerable to predators. We mark the shells and tag them before release, and overall, the program has been shown to benefit the hawksbill population in these waters. Or at least, it did until two years ago."

"What happened two years ago?" Ryder asked.

"Our surveys have been showing a decline in all turtle species. When I moved to San Gallicano, it was rare to make a dive without seeing at least a handful of turtles, but now, we're lucky if we see one. As Franklin said, we mark those we release so we can track them, and they're just disappearing."

"How do you mark them? Couldn't a tag fall off?"

"We use different methods depending on the size. For adults, we attach a pair of flipper tags and inject a PIT tag—a Passive Integrated Transponder—under the skin. Juveniles are too small for flipper tags, so we use PIT tags and also notch the backs of their shells. People often used to see them swimming around and tell us about it. With hatchlings, we've been using VIE, Visible Implant Elastomer. It's a coloured polymer we inject under the skin that fluoresces in UV light." Caro glanced at Baptiste. "This season feels as if it'll be make or break. We built two extra pools over the winter so we can raise more hatchlings."

"What's causing the decline?"

"Mankind."

Caro didn't have a high opinion of her fellow humans, did she?

"Who hurt you?" Luna asked, and was it Knox's imagination, or did Caro flinch?

She recovered quickly and fired back, "Who made you believe you're better than everyone else?"

Before the two women could face off again, Baptiste raised both hands, stopping them.

"We haven't been able to pinpoint a reason for the decline. Could be due to changes in the sea—the temperature, loss of food sources, pollutants. Could be increased activity in the water and on land, so the turtles avoid the area. Could be because people are takin' them, either as bycatch or on purpose. Smuggling still happens."

"So do idiot tourists," Caro added.

Once again, Luna looked as if she'd swallowed a hornet. "Why do you hate me so much?"

"Because you're still breathing."

How the fuck were these women going to share a bunkhouse without killing each other?

"Turtle meat's always been considered a delicacy," Baptiste continued, ignoring the animosity. "And the shells are valuable even though there are regulations in place to prevent them from being sold. The dwindlin' population might be due to a combination of all of those issues, but we need to do more research."

"Who even cares?" Luna asked. "What's the point of turtles anyway?"

Caro's eyes went from calm to stormy in a second. "They're an important part of the ecosystem. Turtles can live for two hundred years, did you know that? If they didn't eat algae off the coral, the coral would die, and we'd have no reefs. They also eat baby jellyfish. Do you want to get stung every time you swim in the sea?"

"I don't swim in the sea."

"She doesn't swim, period," Jubilee muttered.

"Be quiet!"

Luna didn't swim? Because she didn't enjoy it? Or because she couldn't? Knox mentally scrolled through the background file—there were pictures of her posing in hot tubs and relaxing beside pools—but not a single one of her in open water. She didn't know how to swim, he'd put money on it, and now she was living on an island. Well, damn. At least she couldn't make a run for it under cover of darkness.

"We try to do regular surveys," Baptiste said. "Do any of the rest of you folks dive?"

Knox and Ryder both raised their hands.

"But we're here to protect Luna," Ryder told him. "We can't dive together and leave her behind."

"That's a damn shame. I got a problem with my eardrum, so Caro's been on her own for the past month."

The first rule of diving? Never go alone. If something went wrong underwater, you were reliant on your buddy to help. Plus Knox wouldn't mind seeing Caro in a bathing suit.

"I don't mind diving in my downtime," he offered.

"We'd appreciate that, son. You PADI qualified?"

"I'm Navy SEAL qualified."

Caro's eyebrows arched in surprise, and Knox wasn't sure whether to be pleased or insulted by that.

"And your friend?" Baptiste nodded toward Ryder.

"The same."

"We don't have fancy dive gear here, just the basics."

"We brought our own. Occasionally, a principal likes a little private time, and we get a few hours to play tourist."

Ridley from the EP team had once told Knox about a job he'd worked in the South of France where the client spent most of the contract in her stateroom, entertaining men who weren't her husband. Each evening, she'd kick Ridley off the yacht with orders not to return until she called him. He'd spent more time in the hotel gym than working. But apart from hanging out with Kory, Luna hadn't shown any interest in men. And Kory wasn't much of a friend—as soon as the trial was over, he'd taken off for the Bahamas without a backward glance.

"We schedule surveys depending on the wind," Baptiste said. "Most of our dives are done from the boat"—he tipped his head toward the wooden dock, where an old but well-maintained C-Dory bobbed gently in the breeze—"so entry and exit don't depend on the tide. Not that there's much of a tide here, only a couple of feet between high and low. We can refill your tanks with the compressor out back."

"Air or Nitrox?"

"We only have air."

Caro took a sip of coffee. "Air is enough for what we do. Plus we're coming up to nesting season, so we won't get much time for surveys. We'll be too busy collecting eggs and reburying them on the beach here."

"Why do you do that?" Knox asked.

"Because it's easier to keep them safe from predators that way, both human and animal. And when they hatch, we can make sure they reach the water."

"Tourists like to see the babies," Baptiste said. "We show people around the sanctuary in return for a donation, plus we visit schools on the other islands to teach the children about conservation. Some of them have never seen a real live turtle before." He shook his head. "Times have changed. When I was their age, I went skin diving on the weekends, and I could name every sea species in San Gallicano by the time I turned ten."

"We won't have any visitors this month." Caro shot a dirty look at Luna. "Everyone who's called in the last two days has been a reporter; I just know it. Oh, sure, they say they're on vacation, but when you ask them if they liked the hanging gardens at Fort Elizabeth—every tourist visits Fort Elizabeth—they all say yes, they loved them, even though the hanging gardens are on Malavilla. Rumour says they're offering hundreds of bucks a day to the charter operators on Ilha Grande."

Finally, Jubilee spoke. "Thank you for keeping the reporters away."

"I'm not doing it for you; I'm doing it because Judge Morgan said your cousin isn't allowed any publicity. So now we're short of donations at our busiest time of the year, and all we have is two helpers who have no interest in wildlife, one of whom can't even swim." Luna didn't contest that assertion, which led Knox to believe it was correct. "I hope you're good at cleaning."

Luna looked faintly sick at the prospect. "I don't know anything about cleaning. Why would I? I have people for that."

Caro grinned like a movie villain. "Not here, you don't. And I'm an excellent teacher."