Page 3 of Wild Temple (Tyson Wild Thriller #84)

R unning an op without Isabella was just weird. It had been so long since I’d done it, I felt lost. She had always been there for support. A safety blanket of sorts. Someone who always had your back when the shit got heavy.

The island was paradise—lush, green jungle surrounded by teal water. But it wasn’t all postcards and sunshine. There were real dangers on the island, of which I’d encounter many.

“I hope you enjoyed your flight, Mr. Wild,” Mika said, knowing the answer.

“I did, indeed,” I replied with a smile .

We exchanged numbers as we taxied in. With a click, I released my seatbelt and grabbed my bags from the overhead.

When I stepped off the plane, the humidity hit like a wet sock.

Par for the course in Southeast Asia. It was about 82 degrees, so not an oven, but that midday sun could get intense—especially out in the jungle, hiking through mountainous terrain.

A handler picked me up in a golf cart and shuttled me to customs. There was a private room in the FBO. It wasn’t like the chaos of the commercial terminals. After a brief inspection and a few words, I stepped into the arrivals lounge, where cold beverages and comfy chairs waited.

A jolly dark-haired man held a sign that read: WILD .

I acknowledged him with a nod.

Talia had arranged everything.

He smiled. “My friend, come with me,” he said as he approached. “I take you to Jatala. I know the city #1 best. Rafi take care of you.”

By that time, the slightly pudgy guy had taken my bags. He escorted me through the lounge and down the sidewalk to his light blue van. It was the only reputable company on the island with accurate meters.

He grabbed my door, then popped the back hatch and tossed the bags inside. The hatch slammed with a thunk, and Rafi hustled around and slipped behind the wheel. With a twist, he fired up the engine and pulled away from the curb.

The car was clean, and the AC blew cold .

Rafi’s eyes found me in the rearview. “What brings you to Tanjung Sur? Business or pleasure?”

“Business,” I replied.

He smiled. “If you’re looking for pleasure, Rafi knows where to find it.”

I had no doubt Rafi got kickbacks from certain establishments.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

Rafi handed me his card. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. I can take you to beautiful white sand beaches. I can show you stunning waterfalls. I can lead you to beautiful women. You call Rafi anytime. Day or night. Anything you need.”

“Anything?” I asked, just to egg him on.

“Anything.”

Rafi was one of those guys. He never stopped hustling and had an angle on everything. Not necessarily a bad guy, but he’d sell his own mother for a buck. Let’s say his recommendations didn’t inspire a lot of confidence.

I slipped his card into my pocket. A guy like Rafi might come in handy.

I pulled out my phone and launched a picture of Isabella. It wasn’t exactly recent, but it was the best I had.

Isabella didn’t like to be photographed, even though she was stunning.

It was more of an operational security type thing.

For those reasons, you’ll understand why I can’t speak in great detail about her appearance.

By and large, Isabella was a ghost, and she preferred to stay that way.

She went to great lengths to scrub her background, and she had the resources to do it.

An Internet search for her name provided no results.

She had no social media presence. No Instabook or Facegram.

I scrolled through the pics and displayed Isabella’s image. "Do you recognize this girl?”

It was probably a bad idea to show Rafi the image. He took his eyes off the road for a moment and damn near plowed into several cyclists on mopeds as he veered into oncoming traffic.

His eyes bulged from their sockets. "She's good-looking. I'd like to know her.” He smiled. “If you’re looking for girls like that, I know where to take you.”

"I'm not looking for girls like that. I'm looking for her .”

Horns honked, and Rafi’s eyes found the road again. He brought the car back in line.

"No,” Rafi said. “I would remember if I saw someone like that.”

I dug into my pocket and handed him a card. "If you stumble across her, get in contact.”

Rafi’s eyes found me in the rearview mirror. "Is she a girlfriend?”

"No. Just a friend.”

"Sometimes girls run off. They find Mr. Right. Or Mr. Wrong. Or Mr. Right Now.” He paused. "Maybe you want her to be more than just a friend. ”

"She's just a friend," I reiterated. "An important friend.”

"Rafi can help you find new friends. Just as important. Maybe even more so.”

I chuckled and shook my head. This guy didn't let up.

It was about 12 miles from the regional airport to Jatala proper.

12 miles of faded asphalt and serpentine corners that snaked through the jungle.

Alongside the ocean, the scenic route offered breathtaking views.

To my left, a sea of sapphire crashing against majestic shores.

To my right, a triple canopy jungle so thick and dense you might get lost after a few steps and never find your way out.

A parade of tourists was shuttled from the airport into town daily.

Jatala had doubled in scale over the last few years, and so had the prices.

YouTubers had exposed the treasured hideaway.

Now, influencers flocked to the island to get their pictures taken in front of waterfalls, on white sand beaches, or with a wild animal in the jungle.

It was all about the photo op. A carefully curated lifestyle that didn't actually exist.

There were more scooters than cars around here. It was a cheap and easy way to get around.

Rafi took me on a tour through town to run up the meter. We cruised down Sunset Row. He pointed out bars and restaurants that were good and warned of others that were trash. I took his recommendations with a grain of salt.

"When you go, tell them Rafi sent you. You will be treated like a king.”

He was definitely getting kickbacks .

We finally pulled into the Bamboo Lofts, where Isabella had stayed.

It was a hip and trendy place for digital nomads.

Relatively affordable, with private rooms. If the budget was out of reach, you could live hostel style with a group room and a private bathroom.

That wasn't my speed—certainly not on a mission like this.

I paid Rafi in cash.

"You call if you need anything. Anytime, day or night," he reiterated. "I take you everywhere you want to go and nowhere you don't.”

I got the impression there were a lot of places to avoid around here. I hopped out, and Rafi grabbed my bags.

I lugged them into the main lobby and took a look around, hoping to see Isabella, praying this was all some sort of mistake.