by Robin Huber
Callie steps behind him, tying her gray silk robe. “Derek, what’s going on?”
“Callie, this is Kellan.” He waves his hand at her. “Kellan, this is my wife, Callie.”
“Kellan? What are you doing here? Where’s Makayla?”
“Makayla’s fine,” I say, questioning my decision to leave her, now that I know Derek is okay. “She’s safe. I left her in good hands.”
She takes a deep breath, accepting my answer, but gives me a scrutinizing look. It’s unnerving, but comforting to know that she cares about Makayla as much as I do. “Well, come on, I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
Derek shakes his head and gives me a big bear hug. “You look good, brother.”
I grab his shoulder and smile. “So do you.”
He leads me to a lavish kitchen and we stand around an oversized stone island while Callie makes a pot of coffee. The brownstone is impressive. Dark carved wood accents, high arched windows, and gleaming hardwood floors contrast the modern elements of the kitchen, which could double for a five-star restaurant with all of its high-end appliances. Derek’s done well for himself. But I never expected anything less.
“So, Makayla is really okay?” Callie asks, pulling a couple of mugs down from the cabinet. “I mean, after everything that happened, she’s okay?”
“Yes. She’s very strong. She’s an extraordinary woman,” I say, unable to hide the reverence in my voice.
“Sounds like you’ve gotten to know her well,” she says, smiling softly.
“Yes,” I say, thinking of my life before all this. Before I found Makayla, before I got to know her, before I fell in love with her. I spent ten years in the Marines and for a long time, it was the biggest part of me. Until my life intersected with hers. I’ve known her less than two months, but she feels like the biggest part of me now. Maybe even bigger than the part I try to keep hidden. The part that reminds me I was abandoned by my parents, that my own mother hated me, that I have no skills or experiences that qualify me to have kids of my own.
Maybe even bigger than that.
Maybe.
“We can never express our gratitude for what you did,” Callie says, reaching for my neck. She hugs me tightly and then releases me, and busies herself with a cup of coffee.
“So, what do you have on Spencer?” I ask Derek, taking the cup from her.
“There are more offshore accounts, all in Central America, all encrypted...unallocated funds moving in and out of them almost impossible to tie back to actual transactions.”
“So how are you going to tie them to Salgado?”
“I said almost impossible.” He pours himself a cup of coffee. “I hired a team of analysts—a third party—to decrypt the accounts.”
“Did they?”
“Sixteen of them, all belonging to members of Salgado’s cartel, not including the one that Makayla stumbled upon, which belongs to Santiago Quintero.”
“Belonged,” I correct. “He’s dead.”
Callie’s eyes flash up to mine. “Good.”
“Do you think it’s enough to go to the police?”
“I think it’s enough to support Makayla’s claim of kidnapping and get the DA to indict Marc with charges he can’t buy his way out of. Whether or not it’s enough to convict him, I don’t know.”
“So, where is all this proof?” I ask, putting my cup down on the counter.
“My office. I’ve saved everything I’ve documented on a flash drive. It’s locked up in my desk.”
“Well, let’s go get it.” I want to get out of here and back to Makayla.
“Right now?”
“Derek, it’s been two months. How much more time do you need?”
“He’s right,” Callie says to him. “It’s time to bring Makayla home.”
The thought weighs on my heart, because I don’t know where that leaves me. Makayla and I still have a lot to work out. I have a lot to work out.
“Okay,” he agrees. “I’ll get dressed.”
Callie puts her coffee down on the counter and proclaims, “I’m coming too.”
* * *
Grant navigates through the parking garage under Syntec Industries in the heart of Manhattan’s Financial District, rounding each floor, until we’re on the executive level.
“You can park in my spot,” Derek says, pointing to an empty space. “Wait here, Callie, I’ll be right back.” He exits the car and heads for the stairs.
It’s still early, but fancy cars are already beginning to fill the parking spaces around us.
“I’m surprised that you both came,” Callie says, glancing between me and Grant. “Wouldn’t it have been wise for one of you to stay behind with Adam? I mean, isn’t that why Derek hired you? Because the island isn’t safe?”
“I thought Derek was in trouble,” I answer. “I didn’t know if I’d need backup.”
“The island is safe,” Grant adds, keeping his eyes forward. “We’ve only had one run-in the whole time we’ve been there.”
“What kind of run-in?” Callie’s voice pitches.
“Nothing that you should be concerned about,” I assure her, but I’m not entirely sure myself. Gus was positive that the traffickers follow a certain pattern, one that wouldn’t bring them back to the island for months. But the longer I’m away, the more my worry grows.
“Was Makayla there?”
“Yes,” I say, trying not to let the emotion show on my face when I think of the man who held a gun to her head. “Everyone was fine. We handled the situation. Like I said, there’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Then why are you in such a rush to get back?” she challenges.
Derek opens the door and gets in before I have to answer. “Marc just arrived,” he says, pointing to a silver Aston Martin a few spots away from us.
I look up and see a dark-haired man in a gray suit checking his reflection in the window of his two-hundred-thousand dollar car. “That’s Marc Spencer?” I ask, feeling my blood flow hot through my veins.
“Yes.”
I glare at the man responsible for handing Makayla over to those savages like she was worthless, and my chest begins to heave in and out.
“Kellan, don’t,” Grant says, but his voice is a resounding echo in my ears, muted by the anger that’s suddenly surging through me. I think of what they did to her, the things they said to her, Quintero climbing on top of her, and I’m filled with rage that I can’t control.
I open my door, but before I make it two feet, Grant stands in front of me and puts his hand on my chest. “Think about Makayla.”
“I am,” I grit.
“Look, I don’t know what it is between you two, and I might not like it, but I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. And beating the shit out of that asshole over there is only going to put her in harm’s way.”
I inhale a deep breath. “You’re right.”
“Derek?”
I look up and see Marc peering into the SUV.
Fuck.
Derek gets out when Marc approaches us. “Marc.”
He looks at me and Grant and asks, “Who are you?”
“They’re with me,” Derek answers.
“You require bodyguards now?” he asks suspiciously.
“They’re my friends. They’re just visiting.”
Marc extends his hand to Grant. “Marc Spencer.”
Grant shakes his hand and after a beat says, “Grant McAlister.”
Marc gages him for a few seconds, then he extends his hand to me. But I refuse to shake his hand.
“Sorry, I have a cold.”
“Well, I’m sorry you have a cold too. Do you also have a name?”
The anger runs hot through my veins and pulses behind my ears. “Kellan James.”
Marc looks at Derek’s hand, which is fisted tightly around a small flash drive. “What’s that in your hand, Derek?”
“Oh, just something I needed to grab from my office.”
“You know you can’
t take files from work offsite.”
“These are personal.”
“Derek, I want you to listen to me closely. There’s a lot of scrutiny around Syntec right now, in case you haven’t noticed. You need to be very, very careful. You’ve always been a trusted colleague. Don’t do anything stupid. For your own good.” He looks over at Callie, who’s sitting in the SUV, watching us through the open door. “And for hers.”
I stand between Derek and Marc when I see Derek’s chest bouncing up and down. I know how he feels. “I think it’s time for us to go.”
“That’s probably best,” Marc says.
Grant grabs Derek’s shoulder and pulls him back to the SUV. “Let’s go.”
We all get in and Grant quickly exits the parking garage.
“You can’t stay here now,” I say to Derek. “He knows you’re involved...or informed at the very least. You’re a threat. Just like Makayla. And we know how he handled that.”
“Where do you expect us to go?” Callie asks. “We live here.”
“The island. You can come back with us.”
Derek gives me a conflicted look.
“I can’t go back there worrying that you might be in some kind of trouble here. I can’t pick between you and Makayla again,” I admit.
“You’re right. The island is the safest place for us now.”
Callie looks at him with wide eyes. “You’re joking.”
“We need to separate ourselves from the city, Callie. I’m not going to put you in danger.”
She shakes her head and stares out of the window. “Fine. But if we’re going to be traipsing around some deserted island in the middle of nowhere, how do you expect to build a case against Marc?”
“It’s not deserted and it’s not in the middle of nowhere. Costa Rica has one of the fastest growing technology markets in the world and the island is just a boat or helicopter ride away from the mainland. I can use a satellite phone and I can get a satellite internet connection, so I’ll still have access to all my contacts. And I have the evidence against Marc right here.” He holds up the small USB drive.
“At least I’ll get to see Makayla,” she says quietly.
Derek rubs her knee. “It’s a win-win.”
She looks at him and sighs. “When do we leave?”
“First thing tomorrow,” I answer, and she gives me an incredulous look. “That should give you enough time to make arrangements. And collect Makayla’s things. She needs her ID, her passport...and anything else you can think of.”
She and Derek both nod.
“Okay,” Derek says determinedly. “That should be enough time to get everything in order.” He gives Callie a reassuring smile when we pull up in front of their brownstone.
I watch them hurry up the steps and disappear behind the door.
“Well,” Grant says, dropping his head back against the headrest, “this is the end of the road for me.”
“You’re leaving?”
He looks over at me and nods. “It’s probably best that I don’t go back.” He gets out of the SUV, but pauses before he closes the door. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I was an asshole.” He shuts the door and I watch him disappear down the sidewalk.
* * *
“I am sorry,” the receptionist behind the sea charter desk says in a Spanish accent. “All of the seaplane and helicopter charters have been grounded until after the storm moves on. But I can help you find somewhere to stay in Limón or Puerto Viejo, if you’d like.”
It was nearly impossible getting a flight into Costa Rica because of the hurricane. It took all day. Now we’re finally here and we can’t get off the mainland.
There has to be a way.
“Maybe we should stay here until after the storm passes,” Derek suggests.
“Be my guest. But you’re on your own. I’ll find a way there.” I hurry to the nearest ATM and withdraw as much money as I can, and return to the counter. “Por favor. There has to be something. A boat, anything. Just give me the name of a pilot or a captain.” I pull out several bills and hand them to her.
She looks down at the cash in her hands. “I do know one person who might be able to help you. His name is Solomon.” She hands me a business card. “He privately charters a seaplane. He has helped others in your predicament before,” she says, eyeing the remaining cash in my hands. “It might be worth a try.”
“Gracias.”
She gives me a small smile. “De nada.”
“We’ll come with you,” Derek says, glancing at Callie, who nods affirmatively. “We should stay together.”
“Let’s go.”
We get a taxi and head to the location on the card. An hour later, we arrive in front of an unmarked building that’s attached to a long dock with a seaplane floating at the end of it. We get out and we’re greeted by a large man with a dark beard and bloodshot eyes. “Can I help you?” he asks in an American accent.
“Are you Solomon?”
“I am.”
“I was told that you might be able to help us,” I say, handing him the card in my hand. “We need to get to La Isla Azul. It’s urgent. We have to get there today, before the storm.”
“La Isla Azul is directly in the path of the storm. Why on earth would you want to go there?”
I blink at him with a hundred different reasons flying through my head.
“Our friend,” Callie says, stepping beside me. “She’s there. Will you please help us?”
“I don’t know. You’re asking me to risk my plane, my life, your lives. It really isn’t safe. How about we wait a day and see how the weather fares?”
“We can’t wait a day,” I say urgently.
“My husband.” Callie pushes Derek in front of her. “He’ll pay you, whatever the price.”
“Yes. Whatever the price,” Derek says.
Solomon scratches his chin. “My normal rate is two thousand an hour. Triple that and you’ve got yourselves a deal.”
Derek shakes his hand and Solomon smiles wide. “Can I give you a hand with your bags?”
We follow Solomon to the end of the dock and board the small seaplane.
“Everybody get buckled, it might be a bumpy flight,” Solomon says, steering the plane away from the dock.
I lay my head back and get ready for takeoff. I can’t stop worrying about Makayla. My heart pounds in my chest, but we’re in the air before I can think about it for too long. We bounce in our seats as the plane leaves the surface of the ocean and angles up into the sky.
“Hold on, folks,” Solomon says as we climb higher. “We’re almost out of the woods.” He pulls on the throttle until the plane finally levels out. “Ah...there we are.” He smiles over his wide shoulder at us. I can only see glimpses of the ocean through patchy holes in the blanket of clouds below us. I close my eyes, hoping to sleep away my anxiety until we land.
I wake to Callie screaming. The plane is bouncing all over the place through dark clouds that cover the windows.
“Hold on to your hats,” Solomon says, gripping the throttle. “We’re almost there.”
The plane drops and Callie clings to Derek and screams again. We level out and drop again, level out and drop, over and over again until we’re finally through a thick wall of clouds.
“Sorry about that,” Solomon says, peering through the windshield. “Take a look. There’s your island,” he says pointing in the distance to the green mountains that jut out of the ocean.
“Wow,” Callie gasps, taking in the views of the island from above as we get closer. “It looks like paradise.”
“It is,” I say quietly.
The plane angles down closer to the island and I direct Solomon where to land. We’re closing in on the beach in front of the house when I see them all watching us land—Mia, Adam, Dr. H, Jason.
Where’s Makayla? My heart pounds in my chest as the plane skids across the water and coasts toward the beach, stopping just short of the shore.
I jump out with my duff
le bag slung over my shoulder and wade through the shallow water. “Where’s Makayla?” I ask, dropping my bag on the sand.
“She’s not here,” Mia cries.
“What do you mean she’s not here? Where is she?” My heart takes off in a wild sprint.
“She took off in one of the Jeeps without telling anyone,” Adam says. “We were just going to go look for her.”
I eye the keys in his hand. “Give me the keys. I’ll find her.”
He hands them to me and grabs my shoulder. “She was really worried about you. We all were.”
I give him a quick nod, then I run to the nearby Jeep.
“The storm is starting to roll in, Kellan. Find her and get back here,” Dr. H shouts at me over the gravel grinding under the tires as I tear away.
I head south, scanning everything I see as I fly down the muddy road. I make it to the south end of the island in record time, tires spinning in the mud as I navigate under the trees to the only place I can think she’d go. I pull up to the little house and spot the Jeep immediately.
Thank God.
I climb out and run through the house, calling her name. “Makayla.” My voice echoes off the walls. “Makayla,” I shout again.
I shove my hands in my hair and spin around, and see the sliding glass doors standing open. I run outside, shouting her name, but she doesn’t answer. I run down the path that leads to the lagoon, my eyes darting everywhere, but there’s no sign of her. The wind gusts through the palm trees, throwing palm fronds on the ground around me, and I can see the rain coming down in sheets over the ocean. A few drops hit my face as I run out onto the soft sand, scanning the beach and the horizon, but I still don’t see her. Panic surges through me as I look back at the house and then out at the ocean again. I cup my hands around my mouth and shout her name as loud as I can, “Makayla.”
I see a glimpse of something in the water, bobbing around in the choppy waves.
Makayla?
She sinks below the surface.
“Makayla!” I run into the surf, pushing past the relentless waves, fighting the current in slow motion. “Makayla,” I shout again, but I don’t see her. I call her name again and she resurfaces. “Makayla!”