Page 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Violet

“Dammit.”

I mean, kudos to him; that was probably the coolest brush-off I’d ever gotten from a skip.

But I had to scramble to find my own cab, then try to direct the driver with my tentative grasp of the native language and his—slightly better—English.

If he thought it was weird that I was essentially telling him to follow some other car, he showed no signs. Though maybe groups of people did that all the time while on vacation when they didn’t all fit in the same vehicle.

Even with only a small head start, we managed to lose his car somewhere along the way.

That said, logic told me that even if this guy had access to his fortune that his file said the government never found, the chances of him taking a ride-share on some never-ending drive seemed unlikely.

So I asked the driver where someone might be heading after Cuenca.

We settled on Guayaquil.

But unlike Wick, I didn’t exactly have bottomless funds to work with. So I needed the driver to drop me off at the nearest bus stop that went to Guayaquil.

Where I sat and waited a few hours until the next bus showed up.

As much as my scratchy eyes wanted me to spend that time resting, I perused the maps and guidebooks I’d picked up in town while shadowing Wick instead, wanting to get to know the lay of the land. And possibly try to anticipate my skip’s next move.

I had a good gut when it came to tracking. Maybe that was from experience or something more innate. But I usually didn’t have to kick around in the wrong places for long before I found who I was looking for.

That said, that was in the States. Where I could guess the most likely places someone hiding from the law might go. Even if it was in a different city or state from mine.

This was a whole new country.

And I had no idea what Wick was trying to do here. Disappear? Fine some nice house somewhere and drop off the face of the earth? Use Ecuador as a jumping-off point to some other country?

If he was going to stay, what was he looking for? Rural or city life?

Sure, I’d made snap judgments given Wick’s white-collar crimes, figuring he would be too persnickety to ever rough it, that he would need to live in a city where all his creature comforts were easy to come by.

Now that I’d actually met the guy, though, I wasn’t so sure.

The real Wick Hughs was rougher around the edges than I’d been anticipating. I could easily picture him in the jungle somewhere, fighting off… snakes and black caiman. Or with his pant legs rolled up, standing in the river with a spear, ready to catch dinner. Or with his shirt off, muscles tensing as he…

“Enough of that,” I grumbled to myself, shaking off those thoughts.

Clearly, I was getting a little delusional from lack of coffee. And I wasn’t even going to think about my grumbling stomach.

No matter how hot the trail might be for Wick, I had to make it a priority to stop in the next town and get something in my damn stomach.

In the early morning hours, the bus finally rumbled up the road, filling me with the promise of a few hours of sleep.

Only to discover just how loud and bumpy the ride would be, leaving me bracing myself and wincing as we chugged along the road.

By the time the bus dropped us off in Guayaquil, I was bone-deep tired, feeling kind of travel grubby, starving, and fending off an awful caffeine-withdrawal headache.

What I really needed was a hotel room for the night, a shower, some food, sleep, and coffee. Not necessarily in that order.

But, well, I was still me.

Always on.

Always working.

So I scanned the crowds, looking for a tall guy in a white straw hat. And I opened up my phone. Wincing at my low battery, I flashed Wick’s image around at everyone and anyone who would look.

Yes, rest and food were important. But maybe not as important as making sure a trail didn’t go cold.

All I got were head shakes until, suddenly, a man lit up, excited to tell me that he had seen Wick.

When he’d dropped him off at the airport.

“Dammit.”

Not another plane.

The same guy was all too happy to drive me to the damn airport as well. For an inflated fee. But, hey, the guy did me a solid, so I wasn’t complaining.

He’d even told me where he thought Wick was heading.

The Galapagos Islands.

Why? I had no idea.

Maybe he thought he’d lost me and could go sightseeing or something.

It didn’t really matter.

Hell, it might even be for the best. I mean, what better place to kidnap a guy and stick him on a boat or private plane, right? If I had enough service to contact my father about the whole situation, that is.

Besides, an airport meant more than just a flight, right? It meant food and water and, I prayed, coffee. Maybe a nap if we didn’t hit much turbulence.

Luckily, my bag was still packed from my last flight, so it was relatively easy to get through security after I got my ticket at the counter for the next flight out.

I actually felt my eyes get a little watery as I made my way into the departure lounge and smelled the blessedly welcome scents of fresh, strong coffee and food.

My stomach let out another grumble as my gaze scanned the options.

But as I did so, I saw a familiar white straw hat. And a man towering over everyone else in the seating area.

I exhaled hard out of my nose, not sure I wanted to risk him seeing me standing at one of the lines. Then turning and running.

Thoughts of coffee abandoned, I moved up behind him and dropped down in the empty seat at his side.

“Hey, duchess,” he said in a casual way that said he’d already clocked me. Possibly even before I’d seen him.

But he hadn’t run.

Maybe I would be able to get something to eat before the flight then.

“You’re looking rough,” he said, his green eyes roaming over me.

“Thanks.”

“Hungry, huh?” he asked when my stomach let out a not-so-subtle objection to its emptiness. “Too bad you don’t have time to get anything before we board,” he said.

Sure enough, even as he got to his feet, the announcement went out for our flight.

Sure, I might get my skip.

Or I just might starve to death first.

Or, you know, murder him because I was all sorts of moody without any coffee in my system.

It was a shame those “wanted dead or alive” days were behind us. He’d be a lot easier to drag back to the U.S. if he was dead.

As he moved past, I smelled something sweet wafting out of his bag. A blueberry muffin, maybe?

My stomach growled again as I fell into step behind him, fighting back the adolescent urge to push or trip him.

If I was lucky, he would get stung or bitten by something on the island, incapacitating him, and making my job easier. This following him like a little lost puppy dog was getting old fast.

I dropped down in my aisle seat after scanning the plane, looking for Wick.

As the plane started to roll down the runway, I got this wobbly feeling in my gut, worried he’d somehow managed to sneak back off, despite boarding ahead of me.

I was about to get out of my seat when I saw the seatbelt light go off.

Until something dropped down on my lap.

I jolted as I looked down at the brown bag with the crunched-down top around something that smelled a hell of a lot like a blueberry muffin.

“Can practically hear your stomach growling several rows back,” Wick said, making me look over and up to see him looking down at me. “Eat up, duchess. You’re gonna need your strength if you’re gonna keep up with me.”

With that, he was gone.

I wanted to toss the food back to him out of spite. But, well, I was too hungry to turn down something to eat.

I unrolled the top of the bag, reached inside, and drew out the biggest muffin I’d ever seen in my life—all golden deliciousness, big blueberries, and that little crust of sugar on top.

I just barely managed not to moan out loud as I put the first bite into my mouth. I did close my eyes and press my head back into the rest, just savoring that perfect bite.

Though I totally devoured the rest of it in a half-starved fury.

After the muffin and a small bottle of water from the flight attendant, I felt halfway human again.

Unfortunately, the flight was a lot shorter than I’d anticipated, so a nap was completely out of the question.

Less than two hours from takeoff, we were landing on one of the Galápagos Islands.

Honestly, despite the whole situation, I was kind of excited to see the island.

When I’d been in elementary school, while the other girls were going through a dolphin or manatee obsession phase, I had to be weird and have that same level of interest in lizards.

And the Galápagos Islands were home to many a strange lizard species.

I mean, I very vividly remembered a subspecies called Christmas Iguanas that were native to one of the islands and had bright red and green coloring.

I’d pretty much grown out of my love of reptiles by the time I was ten. And had never actually even touched one, to be perfectly honest. But that little girl in me was still excited to maybe get to see a couple lizards in their natural habitat.

So, imagine my disappointment when we exited the little island airport to a view of, well, a whole lot of nothing.

Just a little bit of green grass and cactus mixed in with lots of dead brown. A few white wind turbines. And, way off in the distance, the blue of the ocean.

“Not up to snuff, duchess?” Wick asked, stopping next to me on one of the many sidewalks crisscrossing the area right outside of the airport.

“There’s nothing here. Not really anything even to see.”

“Because this is just step one.”

“Step one?” I asked, unable to keep the whine out of my voice. I was at that stage of tired where my limbs all felt heavy. And my hair hurt. Yeah, I knew that wasn’t possible, technically. But it did, dammit.

“Yep,” Wick said, annoyingly at ease and rested.

“What’s the next step then?”

“Oh, now why would I spoil the fun of you finding out for yourself?”

With that, he walked off, following one of the crowds of people.

I eyed the groups.

Some wore the kind of backpacking supplies that made me think they were hoofing it. The others had the tucked-in shirt, wide-eyed looks of tourists looking to be shown around.

I followed them but kept an eye on the other group for Wick.

I mean, it wasn’t like he could disappear on me. We were stranded on an island.

As it turned out, this island wasn’t where anyone intended to actually visit. We all had to take a bus toward the Itabaca Channel. From there, we would each buy a ticket on a barge that would take us across to one of the other islands.

I had to admit, even out of the streaky window of the bus, I could tell that the other islands were everything the guidebooks promised.

The water shifted from a deep sapphire to a vibrant turquoise around the islands that rose out of the Pacific like scattered emeralds. Their volcanic peaks cut through the horizon, with their black lava cliffs and untouched vegetation butting up to golden sand beaches.

If I had enough charge left on my phone, I would have been taking dozens of pictures to show off when I went back home.

Most of my jobs didn’t take me anywhere all that interesting. Unless seedy bars and strip clubs counted.

They didn’t.

As it was, all I could do was commit it all to memory and hope maybe someone would let me use their power bank so I could charge up and at least get one or two pictures.

When the bus stopped, I realized the “barge” wasn’t exactly a barge. Hell, it wasn’t even a ferry.

Our transport to any of the other islands was… speedboats. Large ones, but still.

I waited in line, gaze scanning the horizon, keeping an eye out for Wick.

Had he beaten me?

No.

There was no way.

He’d been on foot.

Right?

But as I kept waiting and waiting, seeing the group of backpackers finally making their way to the speedboats, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Could he somehow have gotten ahead of me?

Or, worse yet, turned back around as soon as I was gone and hopped on a plane back to the mainland?

I mean… I hadn’t heard a plane take off. And it wasn’t exactly a busy airport.

Chances were, he was already on a speedboat or he was behind me and about to get on one.

Decision made, I got my ticket and climbed on one of the pristine white boats that would take our small group from Isla Baltra the short distance to Isla Santa Cruz.

My stomach sloshed as the boat lurched forward.

“Oh, God,” I groaned, dropping down into one of the few seats, trying to deep-breathe through the swirling in my head and belly.

I reached again for my handbook, needing a distraction as the boat moved faster, flipping past the bits about the rainforest, focusing back on the islands instead.

“Thank God,” I murmured to myself when I learned that several of the islands—including Santa Cruz, where we were heading—were inhabited. There would be hotels, resorts, food, water, maybe a way to charge my damn phone.

As we got closer, I could see some of the luxury “glamping” tents dotting the landscape.

There were docks, canoes, other people.

I guess I’d been expecting something a lot more… I don’t know… isolated. But the guidebook did say that some islands were inhabited, while others weren’t. So most tourists rented a room at one of the resorts or luxury tents on islands like Santa Cruz, San Cristóbal, Isabela, or Floreana. Then they spent some of their time taking guided tours—or renting their own private speedboats—to check out the more remote and uninhabited islands.

I felt a strange little twinge of regret and longing in my belly, suddenly wishing I wasn’t chasing a skip, but rather taking a girl’s trip with my friends instead. Long, lazy days at the beach, sipping mixed drinks. Swimming in the ocean. Taking boats to the islands to check out the lizards, Blue Footed Boobies, penguins, and… everything else this place had to offer.

I could come back, I reminded myself.

Once Wick was back in custody, and I had a freshly printed check for an absurd amount of money in my hand, I could go back to Navesink Bank, I could gather my friends, and we could plan a trip.

True, we all had our own lives now that often took us away from home. No one was guiltier of that than me. So if I was the one to make the plans, I was sure everyone would show up.

Well, the ones who hadn’t already shacked up, that is.

The speedboat pulled up to a dock on the island a few minutes later.

I wanted to take it all in.

Instead, I looked around for Wick.

Honestly, I didn’t expect to see him.

But there, standing at the helm of a speedboat while a man on the dock started to untie the rope connecting it, was Wick in his damn white straw hat and sunglasses.

I didn’t stop to think.

I just turned and ran.

My feet hammered across the dock, my thighs burning in objection.

If the man who’d untied Wick’s boat was concerned about me, he didn’t show any signs as I rushed past him just as Wick turned over the engine with an ear-splitting roar.

The timing was perfect.

Because as the boat roared to life, there was no way for Wick to hear me. Or feel me climbing over the back of the boat and dropping down onto the deck.

I’d just barely landed when the boat took off, making my stomach bottom out and my heart fly up into my throat.

My arms and legs shot out, bracing against the sides of the boat as I tried to reason with the panic that swelled inside of me.

I’d been on boats before.

A massive cruise ship that was like an island to itself on vacation with my parents as a kid; a deck boat, drunk with my cousins as a young adult; even, once, a private yacht as I dragged the spoiled heiress off with me.

But speedboats were a whole new beast when spurred on at full tilt, it seemed.

For starters, they certainly lived up to their name.

My whole body felt like it was vibrating as the boat cut through the serene water.

The boat from Isla Baltra to Santa Cruz had moved at a leisurely pace, the owners likely not wanting to be responsible for cleaning up vomit from tourists whose stomachs couldn’t handle the speed.

My own stomach felt a little worryingly wobbly, making me regret the delicious blueberry muffin I’d devoured back on the plane as it seemed to be inching its way back up my throat.

“Oh, God,” I groaned. The boat took a hairpin turn, making me need to focus on breathing in and out through my nose while also trying to choke the bile back down as it inched up to the back of my throat.

Just when I thought I might genuinely be sick all over the pristine white deck, the boat shook as it glided up out of the water.

Onto the shore, I imagined.

Though why there wasn’t a dock was beyond me.

Before I could wrap my head around that, though, the engine cut, leaving my ears feeling like they were buzzing.

“You can come out now, duchess.”

My head whipped over, finding Wick towering over me, head cocked to the side, the barest hint of a smile pulling up the corner of his lips.

“You’re looking a little green.”

“Just a little?”

I knew I needed to get up.

But I couldn’t seem to make myself move as my stomach flip-flopped ominously, still not convinced we were on solid ground.

“Don’t do that,” I groaned as Wick jumped off the boat, making it rock lightly side to side, making my stomach contents surge up again.

I couldn’t say how long I lay there like that, staring up at the cotton candy clouds and endless blue sky, taking slow, deep breaths as I tried to reason with my sloshing stomach.

I didn’t even care that Wick had known I’d stowed away on his boat. Or that he was off doing God-knew-what. Maybe even disappearing on another boat off to some other island.

If I moved, I knew I would be sick.

So I stayed exactly where I was, waiting for my system to settle.

Maybe it took ten minutes. Or an hour. I had no idea.

But, eventually, my stomach calmed down enough for me to fold up and look around.

I’d been expecting more of the sandy beaches and lush greens.

Instead, this island almost seemed to be mostly more arid, like a desert.

That certainly boded well for me when it came to seeing some fun lizards. And, I guess, spotting Wick even a mile off.

Even as I thought that, though, my head swiveled, making me see an entirely different landscape laid out before me.

Towering giant daisy trees shaded the area in mystery, creating a lush, dense forest.

“Wow.”

Tentatively, I climbed out of the boat, wondering as I stepped onto the sandy ground, if the boat was far enough in to prevent it from washing away.

Even if there were a dock, I honestly didn’t know how to tie down a boat.

And freaking Wick was nowhere to be found.

Well, at least I could comfort myself with the fact that he couldn’t get away from me on this island. Not without the speedboat.

So long as I stayed near it, I would be close to him.

Decision made, I reached back into the boat to grab one of the bottles of water stashed inside, then made my way to a spot a few yards away, sitting down on the ground and looking up at the warm sun.

Seabirds soared overhead and somewhere off in the distance, something was moving in and out of the water. Dolphins, maybe?

It wasn’t long before the steady ebb and flow of the water on the shore had my eyes feeling heavier than ever.

As I lay back, using my duffle as a pillow, I didn’t expect to fall asleep.

But that’s exactly what happened.

I woke up hours later, the sun already mostly set.

And the boat gone.