his second mug of coffee.
I push the notebook across the counter. “Okay. I’ll get dressed, too.”
Flint and Cash are outside when I come downstairs wearing a clean new dress, and there’s a third man with them. He’s tall, black, and grins with a carefree joy that lights up the room. Not what I’d expect from such a mountain of a man, but it makes me smile back and feel awfully glad he’s on our team.
Flint introduces him as Davis and tells me he’s the one who was driving the Jeep yesterday. He also says Davis just confirmed the men I drew were the same goons in the SUV. They were also in the white van at the coffee shop, shadowing Ray.
I don’t remember a white van, but don’t ask because Cash wants me to describe the bomb they’d tossed in the boat with me.
I try, but I end up drawing it instead since that’s easier.
One good look and Davis says it had to be a marine explosive charge, something underwater demo teams routinely use for sabotage. Usually remotely controlled.
Flint and Cash agree. The trio go back and forth, talking and brainstorming like they’re planning the defense of the whole island.
I feel oddly left out.
But I shouldn’t.
This is all about me, but ironically I don’t know the first thing about saving my skin. I barely managed to spare my own cat from being turned into meowy confetti. If we’d jumped off that skiff a second later, I’d be bite-sized shark snacks along with poor Savanny.
I try to listen while they talk about marine explosives, how they’re used to sink ships, and where they need to hunt down more info. They touch on crime groups, rivals, piracy, guns, drugs, and other nefarious things.
It concerns me deeply, but I can’t focus, can’t pay attention.
It’s like I’ve reached my limit for bad news and I just don’t want any more.
God. What if I’m more like my mother than I thought? Living behind the curtains. Head in the sand.
Is that why it took so long to get my memory back?
I stand up, cross the lanai, and walk to the beach, trying to accept the grim fact that this is my life.
All the things I remember.
All the things I don’t want to.
All the things I wish I freaking had.
It makes me feel like a different person than I did yesterday, and it’s jarring.
Staring at the sunlight dancing off the ocean, at the gentle waves, I try to find the calm they usually bring.
Savanny brushes against my leg and mews softly. The sick, tipsy sensation in my head doubles.
My focus drifts down to him with a melancholy smile.
I love this cat, but why did I want him in the first place? An illegal animal?
Maybe I felt like I was above the law and the rules didn’t apply to me. Why? Because I come from a rich family? Because it was what my parents taught?
I sigh, kneeling down, and gently fold the little furball in a hug. It’s fine having money, but to think it gives you special rights, special privileges, just doesn’t seem right.
No, it can’t be the trauma that stalled my memory for so long.
It’s the person I was, especially before art school.
I was hardly Ray’s opposite, even if I can’t remember being cruel like him. My sins were indifference and entitlement.
I was the girl who stamped her feet when she didn’t get her way. Always asking our father for more.
And when I had it, when I’d gotten a contraband cheetah-cat because Dad was good enough to indulge my childhood fantasy, I was scared someone would take it all away. I wanted to protect my ill-gotten gains, no different than Ray, probably.
“Hey, you okay?”
I pinch my eyes shut at the sound of his voice. The man I’ve pulled into the mud with me, partly thanks to my own selfishness, my delay sprouting a conscience.
Flint’s shadow falls over me.
I turn around. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now. It’s nothing about the accident or King Heron. It’s just...personal crap. This morning sapped my energy,” I say, lowering my face.
“You deserve a break.” He studies me, then gives a slight nod. “Davis and Cash left. They’ll check on the latest intel. So far everything you said just confirms what we already feared—those men belong to a cartel. It’s a criminal outfit that’s been in the islands for at least twenty years, run by a man named Cornaro.”
The name means nothing to