Page 46 of Wild Idol (Tyson Wild Thriller #82)

A fter a few days on Xaqualta, the AC felt cold in the hotel.

Almost too cold. Phones ringing, the sounds of traffic, the over-hyped commercials on television.

It was all too much. Sensory overload. It was overwhelming.

I couldn’t imagine what the others were going through, having been on that island for months or years.

Don’t get me wrong. I was glad to be back to civilization, but it was an adjustment.

In the morning, we grabbed breakfast in the hotel restaurant. We chowed down on ham and cheese omelettes, bacon, hash browns, and the works. It was good, but it wasn’t like the island. It wasn’t as fresh. It lacked the artistic flare of Xaqualta.

If I missed aspects of the island, I knew others did as well.

We introduced Tom to the survivors and told them they were in good hands. Tom went over the reintegration plan and assured them they’d be taken care of during the adjustment phase. They wouldn’t have to worry about finances during the process. JD and I would assist.

Sunshine had contacted her parents and told them she was coming home. They hadn’t seen her in over a year. She and Whisper had been friends before joining Solomon. They were both from San Francisco.

“I guess this is goodbye,” she said as the time drew near for us to leave. JD and I had to get back to Coconut Key.

Sunshine looked up at me with those big blue eyes, still full of conflict. “I guess I should thank you for getting us off the island. There’s part of me that wishes you had never come there in the first place. It was perfect for a while.”

“It only seemed perfect,” I said.

Sunshine frowned. “I know. I’m still in denial.”

“It was always going to end.”

“Doesn’t everything?” She lifted on her tiptoes and gave me a kiss and a big hug. She held on tight for a few moments.

I almost didn’t want to let go.

“I think I’m gonna miss you,” she said.

“I’m a phone call away if you need anything.”

“Something tells me I’ll be calling. I guess I’m gonna have to get used to telephones and social media again. ”

“Just because you’re back in civilization doesn’t mean you have to fall back into the same routines.”

“True,” she said.

“What are you going to do?”

“I guess I’m going to look for a job once I get situated. I still believe in the idea of disconnecting and living in a self-sustaining way. I can’t afford my own island, but maybe I can scrape and save and get a piece of land somewhere. Start my own community,” she said with a wink.

“Just don’t become a creepy cult leader who traffics heroin.”

“I think I’ll avoid that part.”

We checked out of the hotel, caught a cab to the FBO, and waited for our plane to arrive. JD had chartered a direct flight to Coconut Key.

Ivy caught a ride with us.

Erickson and Faulkner had found her father, the real Mr. Wellington, hogtied and gagged in a closet in his home.

He had been there the entire time and was on the brink of death, suffering massive dehydration.

His kidneys and other organs were on the verge of failure.

It was a miracle he was still alive. He had been taken to the hospital, where he was currently in an intensive care unit.

Mr. Wellington had a long road ahead of him.

His muscles had wasted away, and he had pressure sores from being in one position for so long.

He had lost consciousness and was dealing with a slew of issues.

With any luck, Ivy would find some resolution. At this point, his survival and long-term prognosis were up in the air .

We had one other major problem—getting the artifact back into the country and through customs. Without documentation, it would likely be treated as contraband.

We could get charged with smuggling, possession of stolen property and trafficking cultural artifacts.

It’s not like we were acting on official business.

The idol would likely be seized, and we’d have a lot of explaining to do.

Of course, Jack had a plan.

But Jack’s plans can sometimes be a little optimistic.

We sank into the comfy leather seats of the Slipstream G-750 and feasted on a gourmet meal. We may have indulged in a few cocktails.

Jack’s attorney met us at the FBO when we touched down in Coconut Key.

He had contacted one of Jack’s buddies in the CBP and given him a heads-up that we were bringing in a recovered artifact tied to a criminal case.

The attorney handled all the paperwork, and we kept our dumb mouths shut.

The attorney made a good argument for having the artifact transferred to the sheriff’s department.

It wasn’t flagged in any federal or international databases.

We conveniently left out the part that Ivy stole it. Though she never actually admitted to doing so.

Before we parted ways, Ivy said, “I guess you guys got a little more than you bargained for coming down to Xaqualta.”

“Just a little.”

“I know things got a little crazy. I appreciate what you did. I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder for you when, you know…” Sh e didn’t have to say it. “I should have opened my eyes sooner. The farther I get away from the situation, the more I realize just how messed up it was.”

“Sometimes the fog of war makes it difficult to see what’s happening when you’re in the thick of it.”

She smiled. “I can confirm.”

Ivy gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then did the same with JD. She caught a cab straight to the hospital to meet up with her sister. Her relationship with her father was complex. I hoped she’d get to the truth of it.

I wanted to go home, take a shower, have a few cocktails, and unwind. But the sheriff was on our asses to close out the Sable Fox case. Some new information had come to light. After we caught a ride back to the marina and ditched our bags, we headed over to Sable Fox’s estate.