The realization that she had given up on Reeve threatened to bring the curtain down on her again, but she pushed it away. “No!” she said, her voice garbled by her clenched teeth.
“Cassidy?” a voice called.
Cassidy turned to find the source, her eyes searching the darkening street, finding only small, squatty homes tucked into the jungle. Was she hearing things now? She realized that she had no idea where she was, and blinked, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Where was the main road? She stood near a small market, the kind attached to someone’s home and that were so common in rural parts of Latin America. A jeep stood parked outside.
Halfway into the diver’s side seat of the jeep stood Mel.
A rush of relief so powerful overcame her that her collarbones contracted, sending a powerful ache through her chest. Her legs hurried forward to where he met her halfway in the muddy street.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” he said, his cornflower-blue eyes looking her up and down, as if the answer to his question could be found there.
“I’m looking for my hotel,” she answered.
Mel looked around, incredulous. “Here?”
“I . . . got lost,” she said, though as soon as she did, wished she could take it back. She never got lost. Ever since she was young, she had always known which way to go.
“What hotel?” he asked, slipping her backpack off her shoulders and carrying it to the jeep.
“Casa Pacifica,” she said, surprised the name hadn’t deserted her. “Can you take me?”
“Of course,” he said. “Hop in.”
Cassidy slid into the passenger seat, buckled the chunky, old-school seat belt, and then felt silly when she noticed that Mel didn’t use his. Mel pulled the jeep in a U-turn, its knobby tires leaving perfect zigzags in the thick mud. He reached into the backseat and put something cold into her hands: a bottle of chilled water. Cassidy gave him a look of gratitude, and he winked.
“I didn’t know you were back,” he said, pressing the off button on his phone, which was held by two prongs mounted on the dashboard.
A flicker of guilt sank into her gut. “Yeah, I . . . got in this morning.” She glanced at him. “I looked for you,” she added, as if sharing this would make up for her lack of communication.
“I was out of town, checking out some property,” he said, then flashed her a smile. They passed a group of tourists and a fancy-looking restaurant.
“So how’d it go?” he asked. “When you texted me, you were heading out to where Reeve’s phone was found,” he said. “Did you find anything?” he asked, his eyes squinting in that way people do when expecting difficult news.
Suddenly, the idea of explaining everything overwhelmed her. “No,” she managed, which of course wasn’t true. Yet it was. She still did not know what had happened to Reeve, though she knew enough to make a good guess.
Cassidy cracked the lid of her bottle of water and took a sip. It tasted like heaven. She watched the verdant green leaves and canopy flash by and thought back to the car chase through the streets of San Juan and the intruders aboard the Trinity. Unable to push the exhaustion out of her voice, she replied: “Uh, it’s been kind of a long day.”
“How was the rest of the trip?” he probed. “Good waves?”
“Yeah,” Cassidy said. She wondered when her ability to carry on a conversation would return. Maybe after drinking this water.
“Well,” he said, giving her a long, careful look. “I’m glad you’re back safe.”
Cassidy gazed out of the open doorway, the breeze on her legs feeling incredible. A little like flying, she thought. Mel downshifted the gears, and the jeep descended a winding road. “Bruce took good care of me,” she said—then realized her mistake. “I mean us,” she corrected quickly, though it made her feel weird. “And the food was amazing. Everything was really great.”
They were nearing the center of town now, and occasionally she received glimpses of the ocean. “Wow,” she said at one spot. The sun melted a red stain into the sea, the sky above changing by the second: first pink, then orange, and now stripes of white and yellow over a backdrop of a bright magenta.
“There’s a rumor that Bruce isn’t all that he seems, so I’m glad to hear it’s not true,” Mel said as they approached an intersection.
Cassidy had a mouthful of cold water, so made sure to swallow slowly before looking at him. “What do you mean?”
Mel sighed. “Nah, forget it. He’s a good guy. I never believed it anyways.”
“Okay, really,” she said, turning in her seat a little. “Now you have to tell me.”
Mel paused, looking both ways at an intersection before crossing, the jeep accelerating. She could smell the sea now, mingling with the aroma of grilling food over cooking fires at the beachside restaurants.
“I’m a bartender, so, you know, people tell me all kinds of garbage.” He chuckled a little. “But I heard that he supplements his income with smuggling. You know, that boat of his.”
Cassidy caught his casual look, and sat back, thinking: Bruce, a smuggler? “Like, drugs?”
Mel shrugged. “I guess. I have no idea.”
“Stop,” Cassidy said. “Stop the car.”
Mel looked alarmed and eased the jeep off to the side of the road. They were in a busy section of the town, with pedestrians moving along the broken sidewalk in a steady stream. It felt claustrophobic, like there wasn’t enough
