Zara Cruz's POV.
Let me make something clear.
I don't like being chased.
I don't like being cornered.
And I really don't like having my shampoo scanner stolen by some ski-masked mystery man with a dagger and gymnastic skills.
But I like Leo Thompson even less right now.
Because every time I try to figure out if he's on my side, he smiles like a sin and rescues me like I'm some half-drowning beach damsel.
Spoiler: I don't need saving.
I need answers.
And right now, those answers might be hidden behind a tiki bar, under a tuxedo, or sewn into a very suspicious VIP guest list.
An hour after the attack, I sat in Leo's suite in a towel, sipping a glass of water while trying not to scream. His room was neater than mine — minimal. A military man's habits.
"Tell me again," I said, pacing. "You think someone at the party tonight is connected to the cartel?"
He nodded, tossing me a shirt. "Put this on. We're crashing it."
"Do I look like your date?" I asked, slipping on the silky black shirt.
He smirked. "You look like trouble."
"You should see me when I'm not bleeding from the elbow."
"I have a very vivid imagination," he muttered, mostly to himself.
The Blue Pearl Resort was throwing one of their infamous Midnight Moonlight Mixers — a formal beach party where rich guests danced under lanterns, drank absurd cocktails, and pretended the ocean didn't hide bodies.
I wore a backless blue dress with a slit up to the heavens. Hidden under it? A thigh holster and two micro bugs tucked in my bra strap.
Leo, of course, wore a fitted white shirt and black trousers that made him look like an international jewel thief.
We strolled in arm-in-arm, sipping fake cocktails (mine was mostly ginger ale), scanning the crowd. I spotted him first:
Mr. Linen Shirt. Now in a tux, laughing with a Russian investor and a woman in red who looked like she could poison you with a glance.
"There's your guy," I whispered. "Linen Shirt upgraded."
Leo leaned down slightly. "That's Viktor Kalenko. Former arms dealer. Thought he was off the grid."
"Maybe the grid moved."
He nudged me toward the dance floor. "Act natural."
"Define natural."
"Pretend you like me."
I rolled my eyes. "Ugh. The hardest part of this mission."
<<<<<
Leo Thompson's POV.
She moved like a spy who forgot she was supposed to be pretending — cool, graceful, in full command. But her eyes gave her away. Zara wasn't just scanning the party. She was calculating.
She wasn't here to flirt. She was here to win.
And somehow…
That was the hottest thing I'd ever seen.
We slow-danced under the paper lanterns, the ocean glowing behind us.
"I planted a bug near the manager's office," I murmured against her ear. "Ten minutes of audio, max. If someone's talking, we'll hear it."
"And what if no one talks?"
"Then we crash their conversation."
She turned to face me fully. Her hand slid up my chest — not romantically, but to adjust my mic.
"Nice gear," she said. "Too bad your flirting's outdated."
"That's not flirting. That's foreplay."
She blinked, stunned for a second — then grinned.
"Oh, you are so annoying."
"But effective," I added, just as her gaze flicked toward something behind me.
"Don't move," she said. "Viktor's watching us. He knows something's off."
"What do we do?"
"We sell it."
I didn't even get the chance to ask before she grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me.
<<<<<
Zara's POV.
It wasn't part of the plan.
It wasn't even part of the backup plan.
But I kissed him. Right there. On the dance floor, in front of Viktor, the cartel's suspected middleman, and half of the resort's elite guests.
Leo went still for a half-second. Then he melted into it.
His hand slid around my waist. My fingers tangled in his collar. Our lips moved in sync — hot, deep, tangled in secrets.
It was fake.
It was strategic.
It was... oh no.
When I pulled away, we were both breathless. The music had stopped. Someone somewhere clinked a glass.
"Don't make it weird," I said, pretending my heart wasn't trying to beat its way out of my chest.
"You kissed me," he said, clearly shocked.
"You smiled first."
"Did not."
"Liar."
The rest of the night passed in a blur of tension. Leo eavesdropped near the bar. I tailed Linen Shirt, who ducked into a security hallway and whispered something to the woman in red. I couldn't hear the words — but I caught the key phrase.
> "The girl. Room 609. Kill her if she gets close."
Room 609. My room.
I bolted out of the hallway, dragging Leo behind me.
"We need to move," I hissed. "They're planning something tonight."
"You mean besides crashing your shampoo collection?"
"I'm serious, Leo."
He sobered quickly. "Let's gear up."
Back in our rooms, I packed essentials: burner phones, signal jammers, night-vision lens. I opened the mini-fridge to grab water and—
Boom.
The explosion wasn't big. Just big enough.
It shook the fridge. Fire burst out the side panel. A second more, and I'd be burnt toast in heels.
Leo tackled me to the ground. "Are you okay?"
"My water bottle tried to kill me," I gasped.
"That was a warning," he muttered. "They're getting sloppy."
"No," I said, standing shakily. "They're getting scared."