Page 32 of Doyle

Doyle came out of the gate, a dark look on his face, carrying a backpack. He stopped at the scooter. “I’m driving.”

“You think so. Get on.”

His eyes narrowed for a second; then he shook his head and got on. Didn’t put his hands on her waist but held the bar behind the seat.

“What’s in the backpack?”

“Something I hope we don’t need.”

Perfect. More secrets.Just like last night’s cryptic conversation about being a missionary, about the death of his fiancée.

It hit her then that maybe he had a reason for his fears. Beyond Sebold.

But they weren’t engaged, and she wasn’t going to break his heart. She turned on the bike. “Just don’t do something nuts and get us killed.”

“Oh, I think you’re already there, Lara Croft. Let’s go.”

Lara Croft.She bit back a smile despite the fury radiating off him.

And for a second, as she took off, she had to ignore the crazy sense that once again, Doyle Kingston was not at all the man she thought him to be.

But exactly the partner she needed.

FOUR

“Tellme again why we’re not just buying a new machine?” Doyle held the back of the scooter, the ocean splashing against the shoreline as they drove east along the coastline.

He had to shout it, although she wasn’t driving fast, and who knew if she could actually hear him through her helmet?

She said nothing, so clearly not. Or maybe she just didn’t want to answer questions, like how did she come up with the fifty thousand dollars in her fanny pack? Yes, he knew she was a Pepper, and according to his brother Conrad, who was dating her younger sister, they had money.

But what was she doinghere, working with him, raising support, if she already had enough to buy them an entire suite of medical equipment?

Ever since he’d gotten up this morning and gone down to the kitchen to find Rosa praying under her breath about something Tia might be getting into, the wordsif you give a mouse a cookiehad been going through his mind.

This couldn’t end well, he knew it in his coiled gut, but apparently there was no talking Miss You’re-Not-the-Boss-of-Me out of her escapade.

So he hung on to the back of the scooter, his gut tightening with every mile closer to the S-7 complex.

He probably should have alerted Stein, but his brother had gone to town to talk to the local police about last night’s break-in. Which felt like therightmove.

Doyle did have the diversion in the backpack that Stein had given him, so that might help too.

Tia seemed to know where she was going—and the HQ of S-7 wasn’t exactly hidden. Even now, he spotted it, a resort seated at the foot of the volcano, the tropical forest rising behind it, a smooth black-sand beach in front, spilling out to the ocean. The resort still bore the debris of the hurricane—palm trees, roofing material, sand and dirt spilling out of lower-story windows of the two main buildings, both two stories, balconies fronting every room. Shirts and pants hung, stirred by the breeze, vehicles parked on the former tiled pool deck, and the stone wall surrounding the complex now hosted barbed wire.

Book him a weekend in paradise ASAP. Doyle shook his head as she stopped, still a distance from the complex. He put his feet down to hold the bike as she turned to him.

“Let’s not get creative. We’ll ask to speak to Sebold, offer him the money, ask him to release Jamal. And hopefully he’ll also release the truck and the machines.”

“Tia—again, maybe we should leave this to the police.”

She cocked her head at him.

“Just... my gut says this isn’t going to go well. Sebold isn’t a man to reason with. First sign that your little plan is backfiring, we leave.”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “But on my signal—not yourgut.”

He raised an eyebrow, but she turned back around and hit the gas. He held on to the back, his legs tightening around her.

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