Rogue Wave, Isabel Jolie [ink ebook reader .TXT] 📗

you don’t, you’ll always be looking over your shoulder.”

“See, here’s the trouble, Zane. Even if I do wire the money, I’d have to look over my shoulder. As it stands, all that information has already gone out to the New York Times. There’s a journalist there who’s been covering ocean crimes for a decade now. It’s done. Whether you kill me or not, I’ve shared everything I know.”

“You’re bullshitting me.”

“No. I’m not.”

“You just fucking told me—”

“I was scared.” An island safety patrol pickup truck with lights on top of the cab pulled up behind my cart. I nodded to Logan, the driver and the island’s police chief, and the strobe lights flicked on. “I’m not now.”

Zane’s hand gripped the butt of his pistol. I feared he’d use it, and held my palm up, instructing Logan to remain in the relative safety of the vehicle. A U.S. Coast Guard boat pulled into the marina at a speed that ignored all no-wake guidelines. Zane turned his back on the uniformed officer, his focus intent on the incoming boat.

“You’re coming with me.” He motioned for me to move.

“Why? Is that how you want to go out? With a hostage? You’re smart enough to know no one ever wins with the hostage strategy.”

“What do they know? What are they after?” His right hand gripped the butt of the pistol, but his focus centered on the marina. A police boat with flashing lights sped through the harbor entrance.

“I’m not sure. What account did you give me to transfer money into?”

Hatred spewed. “You motherfucker.”

“I would’ve left you alone. But you came after my family.”

He raised the pistol as his face contorted. The pickup truck door opened, and the officer raised his pistol into the air.

“Put the gun down. On your hands and knees.”

“Game’s over, Zane.”

Chapter 33

Luna

Sasquatch, one of Alice’s tabby cats, curled up on my lap the moment I perched on the papasan. To accommodate the large orange tabby cat with golden eyes, I had to sit farther back in the chair and eventually crossed my legs to create a comfy spot. Her purr grew into a soothing, rumbling engine. Alice draped a wool knit afghan around my shoulders and set a steaming cup of tea and a worn paperback romance on the side table. She set Jasmine up similarly on the futon against the wall.

A long-haired gray cat circled Jasmine’s lap before cuddling up next to her. “Fresco will keep you company.” She cupped Jasmine’s chin and said something more, something I didn’t understand.

I sat in a trance, lulled by Sasquatch, as Alice flitted about from the glass case filled with bowls and jars, out to the back yard, and then back in. She filled a small cotton pouch with white powder, then brushed her hands off on the front of her dress. The white powder floated through the air.

“You two are in good care. I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To see to things. Stay here today. If you get hungry, you help yourself to anything you want in the fridge.”

I would have asked more, but the door closed.

The whites of Jasmine’s eyes glowed in Alice’s dimly lit den. Here on the marsh, trees surrounded her cottage, and a golden glow transcended through the back windows, and inside the house, shadows gathered along the walls.

“Is Alice?” Jasmine paused and stroked the long-haired beast in her lap. “Is she?”

“What?”

“Voo. Doo?”

I rested my head on the back of the cushiony chair and laughed. In Haiti, voodoo priests were held in high regard. I wasn’t sure if the same would be true in Somalia, or even if her understanding of the English word was the same, but based on her spooked expression, I imagined she had a fairly accurate understanding of the word.

“No. I don’t think Alice does voodoo.”

“Is she…witch?”

I had to think about that question before answering. Sasquatch’s claws dug into my skin as he stretched. “Witch sounds bad. Alice is good.” I tried to keep my words basic. “Alice is spiritual.”

Jasmine licked her bottom lip but gave no sign as to whether she understood that word.

“Alice loves nature. Alice loves the Earth.” I stopped judging people for their chosen religious beliefs long ago. If Alice wanted to build an altar in her back yard to be closer to her chosen god, who was I to judge? If she wanted to go outside and pray and chant, which was what I suspected she had gone to do, why stop her?

Fresco climbed up Jasmine and put his nose to hers. She giggled as his whiskers tickled her. He settled back down on her lap.

I picked up my book, and Jasmine did the same.

“I like Alice,” Jasmine told me, pronouncing each word with care.

“Me too. You don’t have to share all of a person’s beliefs to like them.”

I pretended to read and look natural and unworried, knowing Jasmine watched closely. Tate wanted me to look out for her, and I could do that. Even though my insides roiled intensely to the point of nausea, I could act like all was well, for Jasmine. I refused to pick up my phone or text Tate to check in. He had things he wanted to get done in the business center, and I didn’t want to interfere. But I wished he would text something…any kind of an update.

An awkward routine settled between Jasmine and me. I would stare out the window, feel her gaze, and I would quickly look down to my book and pretend interest, flipping pages to enhance my performance. She practiced her writing in a workbook, creating a flurry of eraser dust as she wrote, erased, and rewrote letters. My ringtone, a shrill cry of a seagull, shattered the silence. Sasquatch jumped off my lap, his tail twitching his discontent. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

“Probably a telemarketer,” I said, answering her silent question. She squinted in confusion.

“Hello?”

“Luna? It’s Gabe. I can’t reach Tate. Have you seen him?”

“No. We’re at Alice’s.”

“I know. I