Zara Cruz's POV.
By 7:00 a.m., the beach was already glowing golden under the Hawaiian sun, the waves gentle, the sky pretending nothing could go wrong. Liar.
I adjusted the strap of my black one-piece swimsuit and tossed a towel over my shoulder, shades on, hair tied in a sleek bun — not because it looked good (though it did), but because I wanted it out of the way in case someone tried to drown me.
Because that might actually happen today. Mission status? Complicated.
Suspect? Shirtless and smug.
Backup? None.
Trust level? Absolutely no one.
Especially not Leo Thompson. He stood waiting by the surfboards like a damn Abercrombie ad gone rogue — golden skin, low-slung board shorts, and an expression that made it very hard to remember he might be a criminal. Or a killer.
"Nice swimsuit," he said, handing me a board. "Very... practical. Are those spy-proof?"
"I like to dress for survival," I said. "And I don't float well."
"That's why I'm here." He flashed that maddening grin. "In case you sink. Or snap."
Snap?Was that innuendo? Or threat? I was about to reply when I noticed someone watching us.
At the edge of the beach, near the coconut shack, a man in a white linen shirt stood with a drink he hadn't touched and aviators that didn't match the weather.
He wasn't just watching the lesson. He was watching me. And not like I was hot. Like I was hunted.
I flicked my wrist slightly — activating my watch lens for a quick scan. No identity match. No digital trace. A ghost.
Leo noticed too. His body shifted just slightly in front of mine — protective, calculated. Interesting.
"Friend of yours?" he muttered without looking.
"No," I whispered. "Friend of yours?"
He didn't answer.
<<<<<
Leo Thompson's POV.
I recognized the guy instantly.
Not by name — no, ghosts like him didn't have names. But I'd seen his type in Bogotá. Istanbul. Sierra Leone.
Trigger-happy mercenary in a resort disguise.
Which meant things were officially getting messy.
Too many pieces were moving too fast.
Zara wasn't the only one being watched.
"Let's get in the water," I said tightly, nudging her board. "Now."
We waded in waist-deep. I kept glancing back to shore, waiting for the hit. Resort assassins didn't usually like public kills.
Usually.
But this morning felt different.
Too quiet.
Too... expectant.
<<<<<
Zara's POV.
Ten minutes into the surf lesson, I had two problems.
One: I was actually enjoying it.
Two: Someone was trying to kill me.
"Bend your knees," Leo said, hands on my waist, steadying me on the board. "Don't lock them."
Easy for him to say. He wasn't trying to stay balanced while adrenaline flooded his bloodstream and a man with murder in his eyes stood fifty feet away.
Then I saw it.
Out of the corner of my eye — a flash underwater. Something metallic.
And suddenly, boom — the ocean erupted.
A jet ski roared into view, cutting through waves like a blade, heading straight toward us.
"Down!" Leo yelled.
We dove just as the machine skidded past, its rider masked and aiming something shiny that was very much not sunscreen. Gun.
Leo was already moving. He yanked me down behind a crashing wave as bullets sliced into the water with terrifying accuracy.
"Oh great," I muttered, coughing salt. "First date and I'm getting shot at. Classic."
Leo grabbed my hand underwater and tugged me toward the reef wall. I caught a glimpse of something strapped to his ankle — a knife holster.
Of course he had weapons. Of course he was prepared.
I hated how hot that was.
<<<<<
Leo's POV.
I slashed the jet ski's path with a throw — my blade spun into the rear tire, popping it just enough to throw the driver off balance.
The rider swerved, crashed, and hit the water with a hard splash.
But I didn't celebrate. Because when one shows up, more follow.
Zara surfaced beside me, furious and breathless. "Let me guess — just another Tuesday for you?"
"Only when the girls are pretty."
"Flirt on land," she snapped. "Right now we have company."
She was right. From the beach, Linen Shirt Guy was now holding a walkie-talkie — and more guests were backing away, whispering, confused.
Which meant our mystery man wasn't here for surveillance. He was coordinating a takedown.
<<<<<
Zara's POV.
We made it to shore fast, water dripping from our clothes, bodies pulsing with adrenaline. A crowd was starting to gather, and Leo and I were suddenly just a couple who got a little too wild in the waves.
At least to everyone else. To the man in the linen shirt? We were marked.
Before I could confront him, he disappeared into the resort like smoke. Coward.
Leo grabbed two towels and wrapped one around me. "You okay?"
I looked up at him, chest heaving. "Aside from nearly getting turned into ocean salsa? I'm fine."
He laughed — and I hated how charming it was.
I should've been pissed. Panicked. Packing my bags.
But all I wanted to do was chase him into his room and demand answers.
And possibly... do other things.
"Looks like you're not the only one being hunted," he said softly.
I narrowed my eyes. "Who's hunting you?"
He didn't answer.
Which meant... he didn't trust me yet.
Fair. I didn't trust me either.
But I would find out.
Because
this mission just turned deadly. And Leo Thompson?
He just became the one person I couldn't afford to fall for — and the only one who might keep me alive.