UNDERCOVER SPY.

CHAPTER FOUR: KISS OR KILL.

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.”

“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.”