Page 33 of Rio (Knight Empire #3)

RIO

I’m on a mission to find Raquel and ask her what the hell she’s playing at.

How could she do that to me, after everything? Not only do I have to deal with the shitstorm of this injunction, served by Raquel herself, I’ve also got my old man breathing down my neck.

He’s ordered me to make sure the resort opens on time. It can’t. I can’t and won’t ignore an injunction. I see what Raquel means now. We, the Knights, make deals in the finest establishments. We give contracts and put things in place, but there’s an element of manipulation that takes place.

But when it comes to the law? I adhere to it, most of the time. Sounds like the old man doesn’t.

Now the whole situation is fucked. This was supposed to be simple. A clear-cut PR stunt to smooth things over. I didn’t think Delport had done anything shady because everything I’ve seen so far—everything in that folder, a copy of which I gave Raquel—suggested that the evidence is solid.

But I’ve seen and heard enough of other things to not sleep easy. Tomas makes subtle gripes under his breath and keeps going on about me needing to see the coastline with my own eyes, but I’ve been busy trying to charm the officials.

Or maybe, the old man’s been keeping me too busy to have the time to go and investigate. The community meeting was exhausting, but I need to take a look.

Before that, I need to talk to Raquel.

I call her. No answer. Just like the last three times I tried. I’m sitting in the hotel restaurant having my breakfast; some fruit and yoghurt and grapefruit juice after a grueling workout in the gym, followed by a few lengths in the pool.

I call her again. Still no answer. I consider heading over to her guesthouse, but decide to drive straight to where EcoGuardians are based. When I knock on the door, Vilma answers.

She smiles. I smile back. The lagoon night seems eons away. She tells me that Alma’s not here, because it’s the weekend.

“I’m not after Alma. I need to speak to Raquel.”

“Raquel?”

“She’s not here.” That voice comes from behind me. I turn around, startled to find Alma standing behind me. She’s holding two helium balloons and a stack of decorations, and she looks surprised to see me.

“I came to pick up something,” she says carefully. “What are you doing here?”

“I was after Raquel.”

“Why?” Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “I hope you’re not thinking you can convince her to withdraw the injunction, Mr. Knight.”

That’s what she thinks of me? I smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.

I don’t interfere with legal affairs. I just want to talk to her.

” The way she’s looking at me, I feel like I need to make a case for my honesty and intentions.

“Though the injunction causes a serious problem for us. It means a serious loss of income for—”

Alma cuts me off. “There’s a reason for that.”

Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. “Where is she?” I ask. “I’ve called her a few times but she’s not answering.

Alma’s expression shifts and she looks suddenly worried. “She was going to head further along the coastline.”

“Why?”

“To get more ...” The old woman stops talking.

To get more evidence? If so, it tells me she doesn’t have a watertight case. She filed too early. Probably because this woman told her to. “How far up the coastline? Do you know?”

“She was heading over to the Caye Encanto, the small caye east of the main developments.”

I wonder what possessed her to go there now.

But I know why. At least, I have an idea.

I might have come on too strong yesterday.

She knows my moods, just like I’m getting to know hers.

I swipe a hand over my brow. She went digging for more evidence, to make sure she had enough, because I threw a tantrum.

She probably thinks I’ll go running to the old man and there’ll be serious pushback.

“She was going to take one of the small boats,” the old woman says.

“Small boats?”

“I told her not to go, but she said she’d be quick.”

“I heard on the radio that there are reports of a storm coming,” Vilma announces. She glances up at the sky. We all do. It’s darkening fast.

“When did you hear that?” her boss asks.

“Just a few minutes ago. I was going to close and head home.”

I glance at my watch, heart thundering. Fuck.

Raquel is out there, in a boat, looking for evidence that I probably pushed her into getting.

She could be in serious, life-threatening danger.

Out alone in the sea, in a small boat, with a storm coming.

Everything around me falls away, and my thoughts narrow and fix on Raquel.

Rules and consequences vanish. I’m going after her, because if something happens to her, I won’t be able to take it.

I make to move. “I’m going after her.”

“Please hurry.” The old woman doesn’t try to stop me. “Everything can change in an instant.”

I make to leave.

“Wait!” She calls out, then disappears, reappearing a few seconds later with a large satchel she shoves at me. “You will need this.” She hands me a small bag.

“Of supplies you might need.”

I grab the bag. “Thank you.” Then jump into my Jeep, type the location into the maps app on my phone and drive like a fiend.

My journey starts of easy enough, despite the relentless rain and strong gusts of wind.

But then I hit a narrow dirt road that winds through the jungle.

It’s dark here, and the road isn’t so clearly delineated.

Rain lashes down but I have a little cover under the thick foliage.

Above me, palm fronds bend and thrash in the wind.

To my right is the ocean. Surf hurtles against the rocks, a salty spray making my windscreen even blurrier.

All I think about is Raquel, being out in this.

What was she thinking?

What did I drive her to?

It’s all overgrown jungle, and what can barely be called a road. There’s no signage. No markers. I keep going in the direction the map last pointed before my connection cuts out.

“Fuck.”

The storm fully unleashes. Wind tearing through the trees like an invisible deathly predator ripping its prey.

Rain slices sideways. The jungle feels oppressive.

A dark and wet prison that’s impossible to escape from.

Something catches my eye. A boat violently bobs up and down.

It’s the only sign of life out here. I swerve off the road, the Jeep’s tires skidding in the mud.

I pull off to the side, kill the engine and open the door, but the storm smacks me full on, making me buckle up.

Somehow I manage to push forward and get out, pushing through the tangled mess of roots and wet brush, my boots slipping and sliding in the mud as I fight my way toward the shore.

The sea is no longer a glistening blue. It’s angry, and violent, churning black and violet as it crashes against the coastline like a frenzied beast. The boat is empty, but rocking wildly, the rope tied to a mangrove branch. That must be the boat Raquel came in.

I look around, desperately scanning the waterline, the trees, the stretch of wild land. Rain hits my face, hard and heavy as golf balls. My eyes sting, my hair and face, are drenched, my clothes are soaked through. I struggle to move forward in the muddy, slushy mess.

“Raquel!” I call, but the wind shrieks, and the rain buckets down. “Raquel!”

What if she slipped and hit her head on a rock? What if she got pulled under? What if she drowned?

For a moment fear paralyses me. I lose the ability to think. But then I see her face, hear her laughter, and I refuse to accept these scenarios.

This woman is determined. She’s pigheaded and stubborn. She’s likely chasing more evidence because she’s worried. Is it because of me? Panic courses through my veins. “Raquel!” I yell, scanning the coastline. I scan for any sign of movement. For Raquel.

Still nothing.

An angry gust of wind almost knocks me sideways. I still, bracing myself, under the deluge of the downpour, under the weight of the wind, planting my feet as wide as I can. The wind tears through the trees, screaming like a wraith.

Where the hell is she? I look out at the sea again, my eyes sweeping the coastline, then the tree line. That’s when I see it. A small hut, tucked to the side of some trees, barely visible through the downpour.

With newfound strength, I rush toward it, reaching the door and pushing it open. “Raquel?”

There she is. Cold and shivering, huddled on the floor, arms around her knees. She looks up. She’s wearing nothing but a soaked skimpy little strappy top and denim shorts.

And she’s cold.

But she’s alive.

“What the hell?” I bark. “Are you out of your mind going out alone like this?” But it’s relief, masked with anger.

Fuck. I’m so happy that she’s alive.

***

RAQUEL

The door blows open, and I see him.

The flickering flame from the hurricane lamp I managed to light illuminates him. It’s just as well, otherwise I would have been terrified in the dark, not knowing who it was.

Rio Knight, stands there, hulking at the door, face twisted, looking mad as hell, glaring down at me where I’m huddled up on the floor, trying to block out the noise of the storm.

He yells something at me, while the wind whistles and billows around him and the rain lashes down in sheets.

I got soaked, but this man is getting drenched.

His shirt clings to him in a way that sets my heart aflutter.

Open at the collar, it’s plastered to his chest, and his longish hair flops forward, falling in wet curtains over his eyes.

He swipes his hands through it, slicking it back, and briefly resembling some storm-drenched, furious Jesus figure.

I stand up slowly. “I was working,” I reply, defensively. He walks inside, shuts the door behind him, and the sound dims.

“Your phone doesn’t work and your boat,” he snarls, “I assume that’s your boat, looks like it’s going to let loose any second. Have you seen the sea?”

“I have.”

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”