exits in a thick grove of trees that
completely obscures it from the air but I have no idea where we are
in relationship to his house and the conference building, or more
importantly; the airport hangar.
“The island is about twenty square miles and
we are on the southeast corner. The airport and my house are about
five miles north of here,” he says pointing over my shoulder. He
pulls a lock out of his pocket and slips it through the latch on
the door, and gives it a squeeze until it makes an audible
click.
“What’s the likelihood that they’ll find
their way out?”
“Slim, but if they do take all the right
turns this will stall them even longer,” he says removing his
jacket and placing it over my shoulders when he sees me shiver.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Starving.” The sun is just starting to go
down and I haven’t eaten a thing since this morning.
“Don’t expect gourmet, but I did stash some
things over here that will hold us over until we can get off the
island. He walks over to one of the largest trees and pulls a small
pocket knife from his jeans wedging it in a barely noticeable crack
at the base of the trunk. A second later, a chunk of bark falls
away leaving an opening large enough for him to stick his hand
through. One by one, he pulls out baggies of food items that could
arguably be considered gourmet. He looks pleased when I practically
devour a cranberry turkey sandwich than ask for seconds. We eat in
what I consider awkward silence, but when I look up at him, he’s
studying me with a casual smirk that says he’s not at all
uncomfortable.
“You had this planned out all along—why?” I
blurt out.
“It’s complicated and I’m still trying to
figure it all out myself,” he replies, leaving me with more
unanswered questions.
“Zane, you need to start being honest with
me or we’ll never leave this island together. So tell me what your
father wanted, and why were you willing to risk everything to help
me.”
“Some things are better left unanswered,” he
says very matter-of-factly, and my temper flares.
Ants. Fire ants…biting ants. Terrible
itch. Uncontrollable need to scratch, I suggest mentally, as I
lean back against the tree, folding my hands in my lap, waiting for
the idea to take hold. His resistance to the suggestion is much
stronger than the guards but eventually his brows furrow and he
shifts uncomfortably, eyeing me with trepidation before excusing
himself behind a tree. Several minutes pass before he’s able to
appear in front of me again, and when I smile up at him, biting my
lower lip, his face sours with anger.
“YOU!” he hisses. “You’re doing this—aren’t
you? The guards, the dinner last night—it was you making us do
those things.” The look on his face is like that of someone who
realizes they’ve been the subject of a terrible prank.
“Some things are better left unanswered,” I
say smartly, smiling even wider.
“Cat, stop. I’m calling a truce—I’ll tell
you everything you want to know,” he pleads before quickly ducking
behind the tree for another round of scratching. The sound of him
begging is therapeutic and I postpone releasing the thought for
several more minutes, until his language turns foul. He returns,
tucking his shirt in his pants, but the traces of humiliation are
still plastered on his face. “Let’s go,” he says grimly, not making
eye contact with me, as he shoves our trash back in the hollow tree
trunk and takes off at a pace impossible for me to keep up with,
without jogging.
***
I allow Zane thirty minutes of courtesy
silence before I determine that his pouting time is up. As nasty as
it is for me to take over his subconscious mind it’s nothing
compared to the agony he’s caused so many people. He’s a good ten
yards ahead of me and hasn’t bothered to even turn around since the
ant incident and if it weren’t for all of my burning questions, I
would have preferred the silence, allowing me to fully focus
completely obscures it from the air but I have no idea where we are
in relationship to his house and the conference building, or more
importantly; the airport hangar.
“The island is about twenty square miles and
we are on the southeast corner. The airport and my house are about
five miles north of here,” he says pointing over my shoulder. He
pulls a lock out of his pocket and slips it through the latch on
the door, and gives it a squeeze until it makes an audible
click.
“What’s the likelihood that they’ll find
their way out?”
“Slim, but if they do take all the right
turns this will stall them even longer,” he says removing his
jacket and placing it over my shoulders when he sees me shiver.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Starving.” The sun is just starting to go
down and I haven’t eaten a thing since this morning.
“Don’t expect gourmet, but I did stash some
things over here that will hold us over until we can get off the
island. He walks over to one of the largest trees and pulls a small
pocket knife from his jeans wedging it in a barely noticeable crack
at the base of the trunk. A second later, a chunk of bark falls
away leaving an opening large enough for him to stick his hand
through. One by one, he pulls out baggies of food items that could
arguably be considered gourmet. He looks pleased when I practically
devour a cranberry turkey sandwich than ask for seconds. We eat in
what I consider awkward silence, but when I look up at him, he’s
studying me with a casual smirk that says he’s not at all
uncomfortable.
“You had this planned out all along—why?” I
blurt out.
“It’s complicated and I’m still trying to
figure it all out myself,” he replies, leaving me with more
unanswered questions.
“Zane, you need to start being honest with
me or we’ll never leave this island together. So tell me what your
father wanted, and why were you willing to risk everything to help
me.”
“Some things are better left unanswered,” he
says very matter-of-factly, and my temper flares.
Ants. Fire ants…biting ants. Terrible
itch. Uncontrollable need to scratch, I suggest mentally, as I
lean back against the tree, folding my hands in my lap, waiting for
the idea to take hold. His resistance to the suggestion is much
stronger than the guards but eventually his brows furrow and he
shifts uncomfortably, eyeing me with trepidation before excusing
himself behind a tree. Several minutes pass before he’s able to
appear in front of me again, and when I smile up at him, biting my
lower lip, his face sours with anger.
“YOU!” he hisses. “You’re doing this—aren’t
you? The guards, the dinner last night—it was you making us do
those things.” The look on his face is like that of someone who
realizes they’ve been the subject of a terrible prank.
“Some things are better left unanswered,” I
say smartly, smiling even wider.
“Cat, stop. I’m calling a truce—I’ll tell
you everything you want to know,” he pleads before quickly ducking
behind the tree for another round of scratching. The sound of him
begging is therapeutic and I postpone releasing the thought for
several more minutes, until his language turns foul. He returns,
tucking his shirt in his pants, but the traces of humiliation are
still plastered on his face. “Let’s go,” he says grimly, not making
eye contact with me, as he shoves our trash back in the hollow tree
trunk and takes off at a pace impossible for me to keep up with,
without jogging.
***
I allow Zane thirty minutes of courtesy
silence before I determine that his pouting time is up. As nasty as
it is for me to take over his subconscious mind it’s nothing
compared to the agony he’s caused so many people. He’s a good ten
yards ahead of me and hasn’t bothered to even turn around since the
ant incident and if it weren’t for all of my burning questions, I
would have preferred the silence, allowing me to fully focus
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