Page 5

Perplexed by her response to the call, I return to Caleb’s statement. “If I survived for a reason, it’s to find her and bring her in.”

Caleb’s eyes narrow in on me. “You don’t have the resources.”

A knot grips my stomach and doesn’t let up. “I may not have pilots and bomb techs on speed dial, but I have resources.”

He holds my gaze. “You’re talking about your sister? You sure that’s wise, involving her?”

My shoulders instinctively pull back. “She volunteered. Not every day her baby bro almost gets blown to kingdom come.”

“These people are dangerous. Just think you should consider that.”

He’s not wrong. Idoneed to consider that, but since a hot blonde led me like a lamb to the slaughter, I’ve been struggling toconsideranything but putting her behind bars where she belongs.

“It’s a matter of honor.”

His eyebrow hitches. “You sure it’s your honor talking? Smells more like revenge to me.”

My chest tightens. “Does it matter?”

Caleb releases a long sigh. “That you don’t know is what concerns me.”

Two

Samantha

The second I’m inside, I kick off my heels, toss my Walmart bags on the lumpy bed, and close the door to my two-star motel room.

It’s a significant comedown from the opulence of the Four Seasons, where Mona is staying, but laying low means slumming it. As much as I hate staying in places like this, it’s fitting for a gal from Thomasville, Georgia, hoping to make it as an actress.

For whatever reason, I’m exhausted. And it’s not just because of the trip to Walmart with the generous bartender to shop for my fictitious mother.

Thanks to being in the same state as Mick Weston, I can’t sleep.

Ridiculous,I think as I pull items out of the bags, most of which I’ll leave here, and sort through what I can take. “Pack light,” Juan said. Which is code for “It’ll be tossed, and I’ll scuttle the boat if the Coast Guard stops us.”

Immediately my thoughts are back onhim.

It would be just my luck if Mick Weston boarded us. Except I already know he’s in Tampa Bay. Even if he hadn’t told me, I’d have learned it thanks to the media frenzy surrounding Al-Jadi’s capture.

A plane crash. That’s how they reported it to begin with. Then as updates came in, it became apparent that it was so much bigger than an ordinary crash. As far as news cycles go, it doesn’t get bigger than a terror attack. Throw in a good-looking Coast Guardsman, an injured US Air Marshal, and a private security firm that refuses to be named, and the media is salivating for more information.

They don’t know the half of how Mick ended up on that plane.

I rip the tag off a hideous sweater and scowl at the warped mirror on the wall before heading into the bathroom. Careful not to wreck my nails, I pry the lid off the toilet and reach inside to pull out the Ziplock bag I left taped to the side. I shake it off, use the towel to dry it, and unzip the bag to haul out my bank card, phone, and passport.

Goodbye, Samantha Duke; hello, Sally Jones.

With a quick glance in the mirror, I wash my hands then remove all the makeup on my face, starting with the eyelashes I glued on this morning. The wig can stay on for now, but I tie it back with a band. After peeling the skintight dress off, I change into cheap, shapeless jeans and a T-shirt with the wordsMiami Viceemblazoned on them and pull out cheap sunglasses and a baseball cap.

I have three full hours before I need to be at the bay. Juan only ferries passengers at night, but I have one final stop before I can leave for Cuba by way of the Bahamas. I grab a bag of peanuts, swallow a motion sickness pill, and pop the tab of a can of warm Coke. I’m not about to venture out in a boat with an empty stomach, nor am I willing to risk eating anything Juan might have.

Hard to trust someone who’s just as likely to sell you for body parts as they are to get you safely to another country.

I jam the peanuts into my mouth, take a long, sickly sweet drink, and open the concealed bottom of my suitcase. I thumb through the cash, lacking the usual thrill I feel when handling this amount of money.

He’s to blame. The Coast Guardsman. He’s the reason I didn’t enjoy spending a single dollar of it. Fifty thousand dollars should have bought a lot of happiness, and I’m still at a loss as to why I haven’t been able to enjoy it.

I take out the ten thousand Juan wants then reattach the false bottom, packing lightweight cheap clothes, toiletries, and sneakers on top of it. He’ll look. I know he will. He’ll check for weapons. My only bargaining chip is his greed. If he gets me to Cuba safely, I’ll give him another ten thousand.