Gone Tropical by Robena Grant Page A

I was missing after he found out I’d checked out of the hotel. Otherwise how would Jake know you? They’re just trying to find out if I’m up here. And, there’s no way Jake could be in Cairns, he’d have barely made it to Townsville.”
    “He left Sarge’s mobile phone number and said you can contact them if you want.”
    Amy huffed, like she needed them. But she scribbled the number into her address book. “I’m not calling him. But just in case.” She repeated the numbers and shoved the mini-book back into her backpack.
    “Are you going up to Cooktown today?” Diana asked.
    “No, but I won’t leave without telling you. Talk to you tomorrow.” She hung up the phone and looked around at the steamy parking lot. Nothing suspicious.
    Back upstairs, she turned on the air conditioner and lay down on the bed. Her eyelids closed for a few seconds and her body felt heavy, weighted down. Memories of Firth floated in and out of her thoughts. He’d always been calm. She’d never been afraid of him physically and doubted she was now. When she’d trailed him through Europe she hadn’t been afraid, so why all of this nervousness? It had to be the unknown element, the creepy guy. Who was he, and what did he want? She shuddered. Firth was a sociopath, not a psychopath. He wouldn’t harm her, would he?
    ****
    Jake stood outside, on the motel room terrace, hoping the fresh air would calm his growing frustration. Sarge was sprawled across the nearest bed on his stomach, searching through the telephone book.
    “Got anymore leads?”
    “I think we’re almost done,” Sarge said.
    They’d failed to find Amy Helm listed as a guest in any of Cairns finest hotels. She was in a strange city, playing detective, alone. Jake gazed into the room and waited for the next number to call. For sixty-five dollars Australian per night, he supposed you couldn’t really complain. They had a small view of the beach, a terrace with a big shady tree blocking them from the street, a clean shower, and two large comfortable beds.
    “Here’s another of those luxury resorts,” Sarge said. “It’s our last chance.”
    “Okay.” It was early evening, still hot and sticky, but the sky was suffused with the peachy glow of sunset, it would be nice to sit out here with a cocktail…with a woman and a cocktail. “Shoot.”
    He punched the numbers into Sarge’s government-issue mobile, and hit send. It was another dead end. He went inside. “You know, screw it. I’m calling that Diana chick again.”
    “I dunno mate,” Sarge said, and rubbed at his jaw. “You left our number. The ball’s in her court now.”
    Jake flopped down on the second bed and pulled the pillows behind his back. “Want to go stake out some fancy hotels? See if we can spot Firth and his lady friend, or Amy Helm?”
    “Sure, I’m half-starved. Do you think she’s registered under a false name? Paid in cash?”
    “Can you do that over here?”
    “If you pay in full at check-in, maybe, but I think they still need some form of identification, license, passport, something.”
    “Then I guess that’s what she did. I’ll buy you a steak dinner. Put on your decent gear.”
    Sarge smoothed his Hawaiian shirt. “This is it,” he said with a cockeyed grin.
    Jake knew that. He wasn’t sure he could get that relaxed himself. He glanced at his beige shorts, and reached for a clean white shirt. With one arm in the sleeve-hole he turned. “You got another one of those numbers?” he asked, and jerked his head toward the shirt.
    “Thought you’d never ask.” Sarge’s booming laugh bounced off the walls. “I reckon Firth and Meg will go straight to Meg’s folks. I think we’ve got the element of surprise. I say we head over there tomorrow.”
    Jake nodded, remembering old man Helm’s warning to stay out of trouble. He had no jurisdiction here. He couldn’t apprehend a criminal in a foreign country. His job was to find the guy, and keep Amy safe. And keep the old