okay?”
I texted them back. I couldn’t handle talking to them. Then I took the dogs outside and watched them run along the fence. The lights from Ski Liberty and the houses beyond its slopes shone in the darkness. Normal and safe. All my senses had returned. I breathed in the icy air and crunched up the gravel driveway all the way to the road to take in the night sky.
Ben was up there somewhere among the glittering constellations. I knew it. I picked out the brightest star over the woods.
“ That must be your star because it’s the best one,” I whispered. “I miss you, sweetheart.”
I could hardly stand to think about the prisoner and his fate. He’d witnessed something, but whatever it was, he’d chosen to go into that nightmare jungle rather than give up a name. I called the dogs while the uneasy questions kept coming.
The six-fingered man on the island had to be related to John Savenue. They had the same mutation in their hands and the same mockery in their voices. Maybe they were brothers in a cartel or an international crime family. Who the hell else would tie a guy up and throw him behind a wall?
The dogs emerged from the woods with gleaming eyes and followed me toward the house. Whatever the answers were, John Savenue had to know about the prisoner. The device between the man’s shoulder blades was identical to the one I held in my hand. I closed my fingers over the cool metal and felt certain about one thing. I wasn’t going to give it back.
Chapter 3
I hid the device in the shadows under the bed, then behind the mirror on my dresser, and then inside a coat of mine that I shoved in back of all the other coats in the downstairs closet. No place seemed secure enough, even though I argued with myself that John Savenue couldn’t possibly know I had it.
No word from Mike and Karin. They were probably asleep by now.
For the next hour, I sat cross-legged on the couch with my laptop and waded through exotic botanical photos. The blood-red flowers had almost looked like bougainvillea, only larger and heavier. Tropical, but where? If I could identify them, maybe I could pinpoint the island, or at least the region.
Nikki nuzzled my feet and lay down beside Luna.
I rubbed the red line on my wrist. My hand ached, one more thing to worry about. Maybe I’d banged it against something when I was stumbling around in the dark.
At one in the morning, I struck out with the flowers and turned my attention to the islands. I was right about Hawaii. Kilauea and other volcanoes in the Hawaiian chain had been erupting for decades. Some of the volcanoes were tourist attractions, but the place I’d seen was too remote to stay hidden near a popular location.
I skimmed dozens of websites about obscure islands with beautiful names. One website said the Pacific had 789 habitable islands out of 25,000. Indonesia included thousands of islands and dozens of active volcanoes along three tectonic plates.
The two men who’d forced the prisoner across the lava field had spoken English, but the crowd on the beach had chattered in an unrecognizable language. If I’d glimpsed a street sign or a hotel marquee, even a license plate, maybe I could get somewhere.
The wind rattled the tree branches against the house. Frustrated with everything, I turned off the laptop, pulled up an afghan, and said goodnight to Ben’s photo on the coffee table. When I finally fell asleep, though, I dreamed about the prisoner heading under those strange flowers.
In the morning everything looked different, safe and sound, but the memory of the sinister island still lingered. I took the dogs out for a walk in the woods and caught myself staring along Meade Road, half-expecting to see John Savenue striding over the hill toward the house. Heavy gray clouds hung over the empty road.
“ Come on, Nikki, let’s go home,” I told her.
Her face lit up. She jumped in the Jeep (blue, my favorite color) and settled her lean body on the
I texted them back. I couldn’t handle talking to them. Then I took the dogs outside and watched them run along the fence. The lights from Ski Liberty and the houses beyond its slopes shone in the darkness. Normal and safe. All my senses had returned. I breathed in the icy air and crunched up the gravel driveway all the way to the road to take in the night sky.
Ben was up there somewhere among the glittering constellations. I knew it. I picked out the brightest star over the woods.
“ That must be your star because it’s the best one,” I whispered. “I miss you, sweetheart.”
I could hardly stand to think about the prisoner and his fate. He’d witnessed something, but whatever it was, he’d chosen to go into that nightmare jungle rather than give up a name. I called the dogs while the uneasy questions kept coming.
The six-fingered man on the island had to be related to John Savenue. They had the same mutation in their hands and the same mockery in their voices. Maybe they were brothers in a cartel or an international crime family. Who the hell else would tie a guy up and throw him behind a wall?
The dogs emerged from the woods with gleaming eyes and followed me toward the house. Whatever the answers were, John Savenue had to know about the prisoner. The device between the man’s shoulder blades was identical to the one I held in my hand. I closed my fingers over the cool metal and felt certain about one thing. I wasn’t going to give it back.
Chapter 3
I hid the device in the shadows under the bed, then behind the mirror on my dresser, and then inside a coat of mine that I shoved in back of all the other coats in the downstairs closet. No place seemed secure enough, even though I argued with myself that John Savenue couldn’t possibly know I had it.
No word from Mike and Karin. They were probably asleep by now.
For the next hour, I sat cross-legged on the couch with my laptop and waded through exotic botanical photos. The blood-red flowers had almost looked like bougainvillea, only larger and heavier. Tropical, but where? If I could identify them, maybe I could pinpoint the island, or at least the region.
Nikki nuzzled my feet and lay down beside Luna.
I rubbed the red line on my wrist. My hand ached, one more thing to worry about. Maybe I’d banged it against something when I was stumbling around in the dark.
At one in the morning, I struck out with the flowers and turned my attention to the islands. I was right about Hawaii. Kilauea and other volcanoes in the Hawaiian chain had been erupting for decades. Some of the volcanoes were tourist attractions, but the place I’d seen was too remote to stay hidden near a popular location.
I skimmed dozens of websites about obscure islands with beautiful names. One website said the Pacific had 789 habitable islands out of 25,000. Indonesia included thousands of islands and dozens of active volcanoes along three tectonic plates.
The two men who’d forced the prisoner across the lava field had spoken English, but the crowd on the beach had chattered in an unrecognizable language. If I’d glimpsed a street sign or a hotel marquee, even a license plate, maybe I could get somewhere.
The wind rattled the tree branches against the house. Frustrated with everything, I turned off the laptop, pulled up an afghan, and said goodnight to Ben’s photo on the coffee table. When I finally fell asleep, though, I dreamed about the prisoner heading under those strange flowers.
In the morning everything looked different, safe and sound, but the memory of the sinister island still lingered. I took the dogs out for a walk in the woods and caught myself staring along Meade Road, half-expecting to see John Savenue striding over the hill toward the house. Heavy gray clouds hung over the empty road.
“ Come on, Nikki, let’s go home,” I told her.
Her face lit up. She jumped in the Jeep (blue, my favorite color) and settled her lean body on the
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