Free Omega (Alpha #3) by Jasinda Wilder Page A

Airport and we landed a few minutes later with a perfect no-bounce touchdown.  
    We taxied to a private hanger where an old-school white Range Rover waited, engine idling. After transferring our baggage to the Rover, Harris drove us away from the airport…in complete silence.
    I wasn’t sure what was bothering Layla, or whether Harris was pissed off, but you could cut the silence with a knife. Harris was hard to read when it came to facial expressions, but that was just his way—he liked being quiet and inscrutable. Layla was easier to read. She was my best friend, and had been for many years. I knew her inside and out, so it didn’t take much for me to figure out that she was indeed still stewing. What exactly her problem was, I wasn’t sure. It was her own filterless, sassy mouth that had embarrassed her, not me.  
    It was a long drive across Grand Turk Island to a marina where a yacht waited for us. During that time she didn’t look at me, didn’t look at Roth, didn’t look at Harris. She just stared in silence out the window.  
    The silence between Harris and Layla especially was rather icy and pronounced, and a little awkward. Maybe I was imagining things…or maybe not. Maybe they’d argued while alone together in the cockpit. Or maybe something else had happened.  
    I watched Layla intently the whole way to the marina. She was leaning against the door, forehead to the glass, watching the scenery, her lovely half-black/half-Italian features schooled into neutrality. I knew that look. It was the look that said she was battling intense inner turmoil, keeping an emotional tsunami from overtaking her.  
    Layla was an intense person. Everything she did was done at full speed, no holds-barred, all-in. But, emotionally, she could be closed off. Anything real, anything personal, anything deep, and anything that could leave her vulnerable she avoided or kept behind those walls of hers. Even with me, she was very rarely openly emotional, using her smart mouth and colorful vocabulary to deflect anything that got too personal. And if things got too intense she closed down completely, putting out spikes, and refusing to interact until she had it under control.  
    I would be willing to bet money that something had happened in that cockpit.
    Things didn’t improve on the boat ride either. Harris piloted the big antique boat out of the marina and away from Grand Turk in silence, black Oakleys shielding his eyes. His only concession to the Caribbean climate was that he chose to wear a white short-sleeve button-down and khaki trousers, rather than the two-piece suit he usually wore.  
    The boat was long, low, and open-sided, with a roof to block out the sun. Benches lined the sides, and there was a screened-in sitting room/saloon at the bow, two small cabins belowdecks and the cockpit aft. As soon as we were out of the marina, Layla walked along the outer railing and stood as far forward as she could, her thick, curly hair tied back, a cheap pair of knock-off Ray-Bans on her face, looking completely miserable.  
    I was tempted to go forward with her and try to get her out of her shell, but something told me she wasn’t ready.
    I left Harris alone, too. He was busy piloting the ship, navigating around the many small islands and reefs. I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t say a word to me about whatever may or may not have happened between him and Layla.  
    That left Roth and me to lounge on the starboard-side bench, the wind in our hair, warm salt water leaping up in spits and sprays as we rolled over the shallow waves.  
    “She okay?” Roth asked, nodding at Layla, who was visible standing at the port railing, staring out at the water.
    I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think something is going on with her and Harris.”
    “Should you talk to her?”
    I shook my head. “Not yet. Not here, anyway. I think she needs some time to work through whatever is bugging her.”
    “But you think it’s something with