CHAPTER FIVE: THE CODE IN THE COCONUT.

Zara Cruz's POV.

The sun rose like it hadn't tried to kill me last night.

Birds chirped. Waves lapped peacefully. And if I hadn't almost been blown up by a minibar bomb, I might've actually enjoyed the damn view.

Instead, I woke up on Leo's couch, wearing one of his shirts and cursing the resort's fake hospitality. My shampoo scanner was gone. My minibar exploded. And someone wanted me dead — again.

"Morning, sunshine," Leo said, walking out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and a toothbrush in his mouth.

I blinked. Once. Twice. Tried to stay professional.

"You brushing your teeth while half-naked in a crisis?" I asked flatly.

He shrugged, foamy. "Multitasking. Want eggs?"

"I want answers."

He winked. "Scrambled it is."

Ten minutes later, we were seated on the resort's private terrace — fake-laughing like a couple in love while sipping pineapple juice and eating croissants stuffed with secrets.

"You sleep okay?" he asked, eyes on me, voice playful.

"I slept like a woman who survived her fifth assassination attempt this year."

"So... like a baby?"

I snorted. "A baby being hunted by mercenaries, yes."

"Your sarcasm," he said, "is oddly attractive."

"And your flirting," I said, biting into toast, "is a red flag."

He leaned closer. "You kissed me first."

My cheeks went warm. "That was for the mission."

"Sure it was."

I glared. "Are we going to decode who tried to blow me up or flirt over carbs?"

"Both," he said, smiling.

<<<<<

Leo Thompson's POV.

She was sharp. Funny. Furious. Hot. And probably smarter than me.

Last night's bomb wasn't meant to kill — it was a scare tactic. A message. Someone wanted Zara off the trail. But instead of backing down, she was doubling down. And I couldn't help but admire it.

While she bit into her third piece of toast like it had wronged her, I casually slid a folded flier across the table.

"Hidden Excursion," it read. "Today only. Secret Island Coconut Tour. VIP guests only."

Her brows rose. "That's not on the official schedule."

"Exactly. Only people on Viktor Kalenko's guest list are invited. He was given this last night. I lifted a copy."

She stared at me, impressed — then annoyed. "You pickpocketed a war criminal."

"I've done dumber things. Like fall for a spy with a taser in her bra."

"I don't have feelings."

"Sure," I said, sipping my coffee. "You just have chemistry."

<<<<<

Zara's POV.

The boat ride to "Coconut Island" was ridiculously luxurious.

Champagne. Fruit platters. Tour guides in floral shirts. And twenty guests who looked like they belonged on FBI watch lists.

I wore a white one-piece swimsuit and a flowing wrap that doubled as a rope if needed. Leo wore black trunks and sunglasses — cool, calm, and constantly scanning.

We docked on the private island where a local host gave us all chilled coconuts.

"To paradise," she cheered.

"To secrets," I muttered under my breath.

As everyone wandered off to sunbathe and flirt, Leo and I drifted behind the cabanas.

"That guy," he whispered, nodding to a tattooed man handing out coconuts. "He's not staff. That's Elias Mendes. Ex-cartel tech fixer. Disappeared after the Mexico ops went south."

My gut twisted. "So why is he handing me fruit?"

I cracked open my coconut with a hidden blade, pretending to drink. Nothing looked odd—until I spotted it.

Inside the hollowed center: a tiny silver capsule.

I plucked it out and slid it into my sarong pocket.

Leo caught my eye. "That's not coconut jelly."

"Nope. It's encrypted intel disguised as tropical hydration."

Back on the boat, I pretended to nap. Leo sat beside me, talking about ocean temperatures like a real instructor. In reality, he slipped the capsule into a scanner built into his belt buckle.

A green light blinked.

Message Decoded.

> Shipment ETA: 48 hours. Client confirmed. Final drop = Blue Pearl (Room 702). KILL THE GIRL IF SHE INTERFERES. —E.M.

I blinked, reading the screen twice.

Room 702 wasn't mine.

It was Leo's.

<<<<<

Leo's POV.

She didn't say anything for a solid minute.

Just stared at me with that sharp stare that could either strip a man down or stab him in the chest.

"Leo..." she said slowly, voice calm but dangerous, "...why do they want you dead too?"

I sighed. "Because I'm not just a surf instructor."

"I know that."

"I'm not just an ex-Marine either."

"I know that too."

"I'm CIA. Deep cover. Embedded four months. Investigating the cartel."

Zara blinked. "CIA?"

I nodded. "And you?"

She lifted her glass. "Classified."

We stared at each other.

Enemy? Ally? Lover?

Who the hell knew anymore?

But one thing was clear.

Someone was playing both sides.

That night, we didn't sleep.

We set up motion sensors. Wrote down names. Checked facial recognition logs.

I looked at her sometime around 3 a.m., when she was curled on the couch with blueprints on her lap, hair messy, eyes glowing.

"You don't stop, do you?" I said.

She looked at me. "Stopping gets people killed."

"And kissing?" I asked.

She smirked. "That just complicates things."

Then she leaned forward. "You ever think this mission... might be bigger than both of us?"

I nodded. "And deadlier."

We were no longer chasing a smuggling ring. We were swimming in it. And paradise? Was about to burn.