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“Nate said ten o’clock. Gives us time for breakfast and to get ready.”

They ate on the terrace again—the same ridiculous bounty of food, the same perfect weather, the same beautiful view. But Elena felt the tension building beneath the surface. Every moment of normalcy felt borrowed, stolen from the danger that waited just ahead.

At ten o’clock, they met Nate and Eden in the lobby. Eden wore a flowing white sundress and oversized sunglasses, looking every inch the glamorous tourist. Nate had his arm around her waist, playing the devoted husband.

“Ready for some quality souvenir hunting?” Nate asked with a grin.

The rental SUV they’d arranged was waiting at the resort’s valet stand. Nate took the passenger seat, and Elena and Eden took the back seat as they made the short drive out of the resort.

The town of Playa del Carmen was exactly what Elena expected—a tourist haven of brightly painted buildings, street vendors, and shops selling everything from cheap T-shirts to expensive jewelry.

The heat hit them the moment they left the air-conditioned SUV—a wall of wet warmth that made Elena’s skin prickle instantly with sweat. The sun was already brutal despite the morning hour, bouncing off white stucco walls and pale cobblestones with an intensity that made her wish for sunglasses darker than the ones she wore.

Quinta Avenida pulsed with life and color. Buildings painted in shades that would look garish anywhere else—coral and turquoise, sunshine yellow and flamingo pink—somehow worked here, vibrant against the Caribbean sky. Bougainvillea spilled over walls in explosions of magenta and orange. Hand-painted tiles decorated doorways and building corners, intricate patterns in blue and white and terra-cotta.

Music drifted from open doorways—mariachi from one shop, American pop from another, the rhythmic beat of reggaeton from a beach bar already doing brisk business. The smells layered over each other in waves—sunscreen and salt water, grilling meat and cilantro, the sweet scorch of caramelizing sugar from a churro cart, coffee so strong Elena could taste it in the air.

Street vendors had set up along the pedestrian avenue, their wares spread on blankets or arranged on folding tables. Silver jewelry caught the light—heavy chains and dangling earrings, rings set with turquoise and amber. Woven textiles in riot-bright colors—blankets and bags and hammocks. Hand-carved wooden masks, painted pottery, leather goods that smelled of tannin and dye.

Tourists moved through it all with the unhurried pace of people on vacation—couples holding hands, families with children darting between their legs, groups of friends already day-drunk and laughing. They wore resort casual—sundresses and flip-flops, board shorts and tank tops, everyone showing various stages of sunburn or tan.

Elena and Brock blended perfectly. Just another honeymooning couple, browsing the shops, enjoying the sun. Her hand in his felt natural now, not forced. When he pulled her close to let a family pass on the narrow sidewalk, she leaned into him without thinking, breathing in the scent of his skin mixed with sunscreen.

Normal. They looked so beautifully, perfectly normal.

The vendor who sold Brock the silver bracelet was an older woman with skin like tanned leather and a smile that showed three gold teeth. She fastened the bracelet around Elena’s wrist with fingers gnarled by arthritis, then cupped Elena’s face in both hands and said something in rapid Spanish about young love and destiny and babies with eyes like their father’s.

Elena felt her cheeks heat as the woman released her, still beaming.

“What did she say?” Brock asked as they walked away, his ears visibly red.

“That we’re going to have beautiful babies,” Elena said, watching his discomfort with something almost like affection.

He cleared his throat, suddenly very interested in a display of carved wooden dolphins. “That’s…specific.”

“She also said we have the blessing of the Virgin and should be married on a Tuesday for good luck.”

“We’re already married. Technically.” He showed her the wedding ring on his left hand—part of their cover, a simple gold band that caught the sunlight.

“Hard to forget when you keep introducing me that way.”

They wandered into the leather goods shop almost by accident, following the cool promise of air-conditioning and shade. The shop was narrow and deep, smelling of leather and wood polish and the mustiness of old buildings in humid climates. Bags and wallets displayed on rough-hewn shelves lined both walls. Soft instrumental music played from speakers Elena couldn’t see.

The shop owner—a man in his fifties with a neat mustache and watchful eyes—greeted them in English, then retreated behind his counter to give them space. Or the appearance of space. Elena noticed how his gaze tracked them in the mirror behind the register.

“These are nice,” Brock said, examining a messenger bag. “Might actually be worth buying.”

Elena moved to a display of journals, her fingers running over embossed leather covers. Beautiful work—floral patterns pressed into cognac-colored leather, brass clasps that looked antique but were probably new. It was something she’d never buy for herself, never write in, never keep.

That’s when she felt it.

The crawling sensation at the back of her neck that said someone was watching. Not the shop owner’s careful attention but something else. Something predatory.

She glanced up, catching a reflection in the shop’s front window. Two men stood just outside the entrance, trying to look casual but failing. One was speaking into a phone, his eyes never leaving her.

Her training kicked in immediately. She moved closer to Brock, her hand finding his arm.

“We have company,” she said. “Two men. Outside.”