Page 26 of Doyle

That and the fact that Declan treated him more like a friend than a bodyguard, giving Stein a chance to get close enough to really watch his back. And speak the truth. “I don’t think it was an accident.”

“Then what?” Declan had sat in a nearby overstuffed chair, leaned forward, looking at his hands. Probably considering taking off the bandages. Stein would have taken them off already if it were him, and it seemed his boss might be cut from the same cloth despite his wealth and, frankly, IQ. He’d learned a lot watching the man teach at the AI symposium in Barcelona.

Declan Stone was some version of Elon Musk, complete with patents and world-changing technology. Which meant, “I think someone is after something—like your bio-encrypted vault.” He’d then gone on to describe how Avery had swiped Declan’s bloody gauze. “Probably enough to synthesize a bio key.”

That had sat Declan upright, and he’d gotten on his phone, and suddenly, their flight plans changed to Montelena, a small country north of Italy, nestled in the Dolomites, the location of the world’s most secure cryptocurrency and digital-tech hard-storage vault.

Whatever Declan had retrieved, he’d brought to his estate in Mariposa and locked in a hard-storage, off-the-grid vault located under his home, deep in the lava rock.

So maybe he’d turned a little Howard Hughes in that moment as he’d locked the vault with his bio key. Stein hadn’t asked.

And Declan hadn’t offered any information as to what he might have been securing.

Not Stein’s business. His job was to keep Declan alive, and so far, so good. Especially since his sister Austen had shown up, just like that, to guide a dive to a sunken ship for Declan’s high-end friends.

High-end potential donors to Hope House, the orphanage founded and funded by Declan, which made Stein like him even more.

They were safe. Surrounded by a town that treated Declan like the local hero. And in his concrete, built-in-the-rock fortress with house security—no one was getting in.

Relax.

Still, ever since arriving, and especially over the past week, a feeling had woken him in the middle of the night. As if he was being watched. Which was crazybecause his room was on the third floor, just down the hall from Declan’s, with a view of the estate, and nobody could get up those sheer walls. Or, for that matter, peer into the room from outside, as the estate sat on the highest point of the island, not counting Cumbre de Luz, the sleeping giant, so...

Calm down.

Last night he’d gotten up and walked through the darkness to the balcony. Stared out over the ocean. And yes, if anyone had wanted to take a shot at him, they could have. But as he stood there, Phoenix had walked into his brain and sat down.

Looked at him, a spark in her green eyes, and said,“Are you going to get in my way, Frogman?”

A memory, one he’d tried to ignore, or bury, and now it dislodged and floated to the top, and for a long moment, he was back in Krakow, Poland, at a safe house, trying to figure out if he had to shoot the woman who’d saved his life.

After all, she had stolen the asset he’d sneaked in to grab. The asset who, at that very moment in his mind’s eye, sat in the back room, probably freaking out. But that seemed right, given their under-siege escape through the embassy tunnels and out into the back alleys of Old Town Krakow to a house built like a fortress with a secure back entrance.

She still wore the canvas pants, the tech vest, and shirt—looking very commando—but she put down her gun and opened a fridge and tossed him a water bottle.

He caught it and looked at her. “Not sure yet.”

And then she smiled, something of playfulness in it, or perhaps challenge. And it just sparked something in him.

Stop.

The voice had thundered through him then, just like now, and Stein brought himself out of the memories and back to the darkness. To the humid Caribbean night, the stars bright, the moonlight on the silvery grasses.

No one had been watching him. And the woman in Barcelona couldn’t have been Phoenix.

Really.

He’d watched her die. Or at least, disappear into an explosion, so...

Light glinted out in the grass. Or maybe not light, but...

A reflection of light. Like field glasses.

Or a scope.

He pulled out his own binoculars and searched the road, the field, his heart thumping. Nothing.

Stood up.

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