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My chest flutters for reasons entirely unrelated to our impending spy mission. “Really?”

“Really. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, we need to clear his name.” David glances at the clock. “Speaking of which, we should probably hit the steam room and sauna before our little . . . investigation. Make it look like we’re actually here for the facilities.”

I nod, pushing away from the edge. “Race you to the steam room?”

“You’re on, McIntyre.”

We splash towards the steps, our laughter echoing off the high ceiling.

* * *

After the steam room and sauna, David and I meet up in the resort’s plush lobby, both of us dressed in our normal clothes again. My hair is still damp from the shower, and water occasionally drips onto my collar, but I barely notice. My stomach is too busy tying itself in knots.

David glances around and then lowers his voice so only I can hear him. “Ready for phase two?” He’s wearing a navy-blue polo shirt with tiny embroidered flamingos on the collar, his idea of understated spy attire.

I nod then take out my phone and open the staff corridor layout Robbie sent me earlier. “Just to confirm what we’re doing . . .” I tilt the screen so David can see it. “Samantha’s office is here, just past the locker rooms. And we access the staff area from here.”

Despite the knots in my stomach, excitement builds inside me. This is the kind of thrill I used to chase in Glasgow—snogging strangers in dark corners, getting up to no good on sticky dance floors, dancing on tables when I’d had one too many. But this time, the stakes are higher than being chucked out of a nightclub.

“Let’s go,” I say, tucking my phone away.

We casually make our way through the resort’s grand hallways, past guests lounging in armchairs and staff carrying trays of drinks. I saunter along like if I’m heading for a hot stone massage and not about to channel my inner cat burglar.

As planned, we find Johnny near the entrance to the staff corridor. When he spots us, his eyes light up with perfectly feigned surprise.

“David! What are you doing here?” He pulls his boyfriend into a hug before turning to me. “And Cat! What a lovely surprise.”

I bite back a smile at his acting. For someone who’s supposed to be a rule follower, Johnny’s quite good at this subterfuge business. Only . . . there’s no one else around in this part of the resort, so it seems a little unnecessary.

“We’ve just been enjoying the spa facilities,” David says, playing along. “The steam room was divine.”

Johnny leans in, ostensibly to give David another hug, and whispers, “I’ve checked. Samantha’s not in her office, and the locker rooms are empty. Most of the staff are helping with a wedding, so the corridor should be quiet.”

He glances around to confirm we’re alone then swipes his keycard against the reader. The door unlocks with a soft click.

“There’s CCTV in the corridor, but it’s not actively monitored. They only check the footage if something goes wrong.” Johnny holds the door open for us. “So don’t let anything go wrong.”

I nod, my mouth suddenly dry.

“And if you do get caught,” he adds, his expression serious, “please leave me out of it. The last thing Robbie needs is for the police to think I’m interfering with their investigation.”

“We’ll be careful,” I promise.

He nods, but I can’t help but notice the tension tightening his shoulders. “Good luck.” He ushers us through then walks off, allowing the door to click shut again behind us.

“Right,” David says, his usual cheerful demeanour replaced with steely resolve. “Let’s do this.”

We move quickly down the corridor, our shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum, a far cry from the soft hush of the guest hallways. My heart is thumping like mad. If anybody clocks us back here, there’ll be questions I absolutely cannot answer. But luck is on our side: the corridor remains deserted all the way to Samantha’s office. David opens her door and we slip inside.

The office is small but neat, with a large desk dominating the space. There’s a window behind it that looks out onto the resort’s gardens, and a cupboard against one wall. A few framed certificates hang on display: management qualifications and employee of the month awards.

I eye the window. If someone wanders past, we’ll be busted faster than you can say “criminal mastermind”. I dare a quick peek through it, but it’s clear outside. For now.

“I’ll keep watch,” David says, positioning himself by the door. “You search.”

I nod and approach the desk, my fingers tingling with nervous energy. This is it, our chance to find something that proves Robbie didn’t commit the thefts.

I start with the drawers, carefully sliding each one open. The first contains standard office supplies—pens, paper clips, sticky notes. The second is filled with resort paperwork—schedules, inventory lists, nothing interesting.