“Let’s go,” she says quietly.
We gather our things. Marisol is already organizing the volunteers, making sure everyone has a safe ride. Thorne hovers near the exit, scanning the parking area through the half-open door.
Outside, the rain has eased to a steady drizzle. Keon has the SUV idling near the entrance, headlights cutting through the wet darkness. The parking lot is still flooded somewhat, with water pooling ankle-deep across most of the pavement, but Keon has positioned the vehicle right at the curb where the drainage is better.
Amara steps out into the drizzle first. The water barely touches her sandals thanks to where Keon’s parked. She climbs into the back seat, and then scoots over so that I can follow her inside.
Thorne meanwhile wades into the ankle-deep water on the far side of the SUV to settle into the front passenger seat.
The drive back is tense. Not between us, but between the SUV and the road.
Water pools in low sections of pavement. The power is still out, so there are no working street lamps to light the way, and Keon is relying solely on high beams. He navigates with the kind of precision that reminds me why I hired him in the first place. Former Royal Bahamas Defence Force. The man can drive through anything.
We pull into the resort, and he suddenly stops the SUV.
Keon cuts the engine. Points through the windshield. “Main access is blocked. Downed tree took out part of the entrance gate. Power lines came down with it.”
I lean forward, squinting through the rain-streaked glass. He’s right. A massive palm tree sprawls across the road, its trunk snapped halfway up. Black cables snake through the branches.
Fuck.
Amara leans forward, too, her hand bracing against the back of Keon’s seat. “How long until they clear it?”
“Crews won’t reach it until morning,” Keon says. “Maybe longer if the weather turns again. Power company has to secure the lines first before anyone can move the tree.”
I lean back. “Amara’s villa is at the main resort...”
“Yes,” she says quietly. Then, after a beat: “I’ll just run around it. It’s not that far.”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. I force myself to moderate. “Too dangerous. Look at those downed power lines on either side of the tree, and the wall. You’ll have to go over them. Those power lines could go live at any moment if the grid kicks back on. One wrong step and you’re electrocuted.”
She opens her mouth to argue.
“The resort’s private villas are accessible via the coastal road,” I continue.
She frowns. “Where you’re staying?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Higher elevation, better drainage. Five-minute drive. Then just a short jog through the rain to my villa.”
Keon meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “It’s the safest option, Ms. Khan. I wouldn’t recommend attempting to navigate that mess on foot. Not in the dark with electrical hazards.”
“Maybe I’ll just jog back down to the main resort once we’re there,” she insists.
“You could,” I agree. “Or just use the on-site guest cottage. It’s separate from my villa. You’ll have privacy.”
She’s quiet for a beat. Then, “Okay. Maybe.”
Keon takes the coastal road. As predicted, the drainage here is much better, and we arrive without incident at The Westlight, my private villa located on the resort’s property.
We pull up to the covered entrance. The rain is starting to pick up again.
Perfect timing.
“Go,” Keon says. “I’ll handle the bags.”
I’m out of the SUV first, rounding to Amara’s side. She’s already stepping down, but I offer my hand anyway. She takes it.
The contact is electric.
