Page 33 of Wild Temple (Tyson Wild Thriller #84)

C aspian agreed to the location. He didn’t put up a fight or suggest alternates.

That made me nervous.

He wasn’t stupid. But maybe Rex was right. He was so used to getting his way that he got lazy.

I called Talia and had her track his phone. “Keep me updated when he moves.”

“Sorry. He’s already off the grid,” she said.

I filled her in on our plan, which meant we’d be off the grid soon, too—completely out of touch and with no support.

“Any word on Isabella?”

“Caspian says he doesn’t have her,” I replied. “But I don’t believe a word out of that guy’s mouth.”

“I know I don’t need to say it, but stay sharp out there.”

“We will. ”

“When can I expect you back on the grid?”

“If all goes well, we’ll have Hannah back by noon tomorrow. You’ll be my first call.”

“Looking forward to it. Good luck!”

I ended the call and slipped my phone back into my pocket.

The Jeep bounced down the highway, the knobby tires tearing up the asphalt. The sun beamed down, cooking us. On any other day, it would feel like a road trip to the beach. But this drive was somber.

Rex took us to his buddy’s place, tucked away in the jungle on the way to the Twin Sisters.

You didn't find Duke’s if you didn’t know where to look. And you shouldn't be looking if Duke didn't want you to find him.

After traveling down several narrow dirt roads, Rex turned onto another short dirt road, then pulled off and parked by a towering palm tree with a D carved into the trunk.

We hopped out of the Jeep and followed Rex. Just off the road, hidden in the underbrush and covered with camo netting, was a drab green truck with a rattle can camouflage paint job. No doubt the truck belonged to Duke.

We followed Rex down the trail, pushing through leaves and branches that grabbed and clawed at us.

If you knew where to look, you could follow the path.

Otherwise, it wasn't that well-worn. The dense foliage sheltered us from the harsh sunlight.

It was hot and sticky, and mosquitoes were hungry.

It would only get worse later, and I didn't have any bug spray .

"Are you sure you know where we’re going?" Brooke asked.

"We're almost there," Rex said.

I kept my head on a swivel, not knowing what we were getting ourselves into.

A few paces down the trail, a wooden sign, hammered to a tree, read: No Trespassing. This means you, dipshit!

It was hand-painted and written in multiple languages.

I had no doubt Duke was serious about the sign.

We continued following Rex for another 10 or 15 yards when he held up his hand and made a fist. We stopped instantly, remaining still in the jungle. The sounds of critters rustled through the underbrush, and birds squawked in the trees.

Rex pointed to a tripwire across the trail. It was connected to a claymore. A CLAYMORE!!!

Duke was hella serious about the no trespassing sign.

Rex took a cautious step over the tripwire, and we followed with care. One misstep and you'd have a really bad day.

We continued down the trail, and I kept a watchful eye for booby traps.

We made it another 10 or 20 yards, then Rex balled his fist again. He froze and pointed to a clump of leaves and palm fronds that covered the trail, along with some loose dirt and gravel. It concealed a punji pit with sharpened bamboo spikes just waiting to stab through your heel.

This place was no joke .

We continued on to a clearing, having made it past all the booby traps.

Across the meadow, nestled in the hills among a shroud of foliage, was a hand-built hut made from poured concrete, teak, reclaimed wood, and pilfered steel.

It had a pitched, A-frame roof with solar panels.

A water collection system fed into storage barrels.

The place had a large front veranda with a daybed and mosquito netting.

Duke had a nice garden in the meadow, growing just about everything anyone would need to survive off-grid in a tropical paradise like this. It looked well tended to.

There was no cell service out here and no neighbors for miles.

I scanned the area and didn't see any signs of life.

Then, a shrub came alive.

It stood tall and lowered its weapon. Duke had spotted us long before we arrived in the meadow. He wore a homemade ghillie suit and had blended in with the scenery, damn near invisible. "Shit, Rex! You trying to get yourself killed?”

"Not today."

"You should have told me you were coming.”

“If you ever picked up the phone, you might actually get your messages."

"Who needs messages?" he said as he approached. Duke was a walking shrub. "Who the hell are these people?"

Rex introduced us. "They’ve got a little trouble with Caspian. "

A sly grin tugged Duke's face. "Shit. Anybody who's got a problem with Caspian is on my good side."

"Well, I got a problem with him, too.”

Duke gave him a worried look. "What the hell did you do?"

Rex told him.

Duke grimaced. "Yes, I believe that would put you on his shit list." Duke just shook his head. "Want a beer? It's ice cold.”

He didn't have to sell it too hard.

Duke led us across the meadow and peeled out of the makeshift ghillie suit when we reached the porch.

He wore a sleeveless T-shirt and cargo shorts underneath it all and had worked up a hell of a sweat with all that extra garb on.

His face was still streaked with green and black greasepaint.

I think he forgot he had it on because he didn't bother to wash it off right away.

He escorted us inside. It was a nice place with hardwood floors, tasteful decor, and homey touches. Lean and minimalist, but cozy.

His young, hot girlfriend lounged on the couch naked, watching TV from the satellite feed.

She covered herself with her hands and scowled at Duke as we stepped into the living room.

We tried to avert our eyes.

"You tell me when we have company," she hissed.

"Didn’t you hear us talking outside? ”

She climbed off the couch, hurried out of the room, and slipped into their bedroom.

Duke laughed. "Don't mind her. She's an exhibitionist. She did that on purpose. Hell, if I looked like that, I’d never put on clothes.”

Duke was definitely living the good life.

We followed him into the kitchen, and he grabbed a few beers from the refrigerator, then passed them out. Sweat misted the amber bottles. We popped the tops with a hiss and clinked bottles.

"To new friends and wild adventures," Duke said.

We all took a swig of the cold beer. It hit the spot.

One was the limit.

We needed to stay sharp. We had a long afternoon and evening ahead of us.

Duke cut straight to the chase. "Well, I guess this isn’t a social call. What can I do for you?"