Quinn gulps and places her hand to her chest. “And what, you guys are with the FBI and just happened to take a vested interest in a sex worker because she’s the target of the top guy on your most-wanted list? Is that what this boils down to?” She scoffs and shakes her head, a bit of her fire returning. “Listen, I appreciate the help, but maybe it’s best if we involve the local police now. I’m feeling a bit like a worm on a hook here.”
“We have connections to the FBI, but we are not a government entity,” Jim says. “And your assumption is correct. We have used you as bait to lure him out, but your safety is more important than his eventual capture. I realize it’s asking a lot, but you’ll need to trust us.” Jim looks at me. “Both of us. Your life very literally depends on it.”
We hang on this moment, holding our breath as she determines whether we do this the easy way or the hard way. Personally, I wouldn’t mind the hard way.
“No,” she says with a gentle shake of her head. “I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable taking off with two strange men to avoid being attacked by a third strange man. You can see how this makes no sense, right?”
“Told you,” I mutter to Jim.
“Besides, I still have money to make. Does your island even have Wi-Fi?”
I pull up a chair and take a seat by the window. Lightning splits the sky in half as Jim and Quinn continue to argue. He begs her to reconsider, and she refuses to budge. After ten minutes of spirited debate, I’ve had enough.
“C’mon, lass. I’m taking you home.” I rise from the chair and head for the front door.
Jim grabs my arm, stopping me before I can step onto the porch. “You can’t be serious. Aven, you pinged his location. He’s somewhere in town, and knowing him, he has been since we blacked out his system a few weeks ago. He’s pissed.”
I shrug him off and keep going. “Not my problem.”
I shove my hands in my pockets and hurry down the steps. When my feet meet sand, I turn left and step into the rain. It’s tapered to a trickle now, but more is on the way, judging by those dark clouds.
The door slams behind me as someone steps onto the porch, but I don’t turn to see who it is. I already know it’s Quinn, and I already know what she’ll say as soon as she reaches me.
I hope Jim has the boat ready to go.
Chapter Three
Quinn
Alack of information is a debilitating thing. These men seem to have the answers to questions I haven’t even thought to ask, and that’s the only reason I’m now seated on a tiny boat as we bounce over waves. The rain forms needles that jab my skin, and I rub my arms to chase away the sting.
Ultimately, the money got me here. Jim offered to pay a hefty bonus for my cooperation. That—on top of the money I’ll make once they catch the asshole—almost made this impossible to pass up.
Though, hearing that my stalker is actually at my doorstep certainly assisted my decision. A touch.
Jim notices the way I’m rubbing my arms, and he begins pulling off his suit jacket. He spares Aven a scolding glance before dropping the silk-lined garment over my shoulders. Aven looks out at the ocean and pulls his black leather jacket a little tighter against his chest.
“Isn’t the abandoned amusement park out this way?” I yell over the buzz of the small boat’s engine.
Jim nods and looks out at the ocean. “She isn’t so abandoned anymore! I bought the whole lot and fixed her up! Wait till you see her!”
Despite my fucked-up circumstances, a thread of excitement winds through me. My mother brought me to Laughter Park several times when I was little. She saved for an entire year just to afford a birthday trip for her girl that final night. She disappeared during the fireworks show, almost as if she meant to leave me with one good memory before my world was ripped apart.
It worked. I can’t think of that last day without smiling a little.
Almost as if it were orchestrated, the bright lights of the Ferris wheel twinkle to life in the distance. Like colorful diamonds, the bulbs glisten through the rain and never-ending darkness. More lights come into view as we draw closer, but instead of heading toward the bright twinkles and strobes, the boat’s driver—a bald guy with a thick mustache and an equally thick Texas accent—turns the bow toward a darker area off to the right side of the island. We eventually pull up to a low-lit dock that must serve as the service entrance.
The bald man hurries to hop off the boat and tie it to the dock before the wake can rock us backward again. Unfortunately, he miscalculates pretty seriously and ends up slipping between the boat and the narrow pier. He lands in the waves with a shout.
“Well, that won’t do,” Jim says as he jumps to his feet. “Aven, can he swim?”
Aven spares the floundering man a glance. “Today is a good day to learn if not.”
My eyes widen, and I dare to look into the water. I’m relieved when I see the man’s mustache bobbing closer to the ladder. He isn’t a very strong swimmer, but at least he isn’t drowning. I’m not sure how I’d explain that trauma dump to my therapist.
Oh, some strange men showed up to save me from a stalker, and then their friend drowned because he missed the dock, so now I need to up my meds, thanks.
With a groan, Aven gets to his feet to tie down the boat before we drift away. He strolls to the ignition, sets it in gear, and eases the nose forward until it kisses the dock. When he goes to jump onto the dock, he does so with the grace of a gazelle, unlike his wet friend.