With no makeup and girl-next-door braids, the brunette attempts to pass herself off as a high-schooler, but I’m guessing she’s closer to my age.
A puzzle to solve?My God, Watson, the game is afoot.
“Well, have a good night.” My face indifferent, my heart chomping at the bit, I follow the line of people across a wooden bridge.
When the moon slides out from behind a cloud, I locate my camera and capture the silver mist on the dune grasses.
“Imagine yourself on this stretch of land in seventeen-seventeen.” The tour guide points toward the lighthouse and lowers his voice to a hoarse whisper. “Long ago, fires served to light the way at night. It was easy to trick boats into thinking they had reached a town and not a rocky death.”
While he mentions the number of ships lost and recites the grisly details, I swivel around in a circle. My heart races until I spot the two missing girls by the shoreline.
Chill the fuck out, dude. This isn’t Manhattan.My shoulder angel sounds an awful lot like my older brother.
To prove I’m not imagining things, I drop away from the pack, place my camera to my eye, and snap a silhouette of the two females under the full moon. Because they sense my presence or perhaps hear the nonstop click of my shutter, they swivel on their heels and lift their lanterns in my direction.
As the one called Sky raises her chin, my chest tightens with an unfamiliar and uncomfortable heat. Not having spoken more than a couple words to the nervous woman, I flick off the emotion as one might a pesky fly. Generally, my tastes run toward the sophisticated. However, at this moment, I can’t remember one art gallery or quirky off-Broadway play, let alone the dates who dragged me to them.
In sneakers, Sky’s stride reminds me of my military days. A bulge under her left arm tells me she’s carrying. If I’m correct, she’s no doubt hidden multiple weapons on her person.
Not wanting to appear like a stalker, I wave, face the other way, and catch up with the group. The moment I turn, the girls are gone.
Perhaps they got bored, but deep in my gut, I know something is wrong. Who the hell comes to a beach tour armed?
Shit, I should mind my own business but a damsel in distress is my Achilles heel. You might as well demand I stop breathing. Raising my lamp, I trace the path to the rock they were standing on, and in the thick, swirling fog, make my way toward the shore.
“Douse your light.” Lit up like a ghost, the brunette packing heat leans over, switches my LEDs off, and casts us in darkness.
The oily essence of a well-maintained weapon mixes with the salty breeze as metal taps my shoulder. “Are you Tommy’s man?”
“Excuse me?” Clearly, she’s mistaken me for the person she’s been waiting for, someone dangerous.
“Shit. Forget I asked.” Although the mix-up is hers, she lowers her barrel from the back of my neck and down my side.
When it hits my wound, I hiss. “A little less pressure, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Why are you following us?” She pokes harder, making me wonder if she’s worth the effort until I notice her younger shadow’s gone missing.
“I thought you might need help finding your sister.”
“Who says she’s lost?” Hand less steady, her mouth drops open as her eyes dart about the sand.
In the glow of the moon, I capture her gaze and keep my voice calm. “Either lost or she’s hiding. Which is it?”
“Neither. Go away.” In contradiction to her tone, her tongue flicks between her lips, the black centers of her eyes widen, and she tucks an errant lock of hair behind her ear.
With these obvious signs of her attraction, I calculate the risk, and lower my arms. “You’re not calling out, not turning on a light. Are you hunting her? Is she your prisoner?”
“For chrissakes, she’s my sister. Don’t make a scene, you’ll scare her. Now go, I don’t need your help.”
God, I love a puzzle. It’s almost better than sex. “Let me assist. I’ll put my flashlight on dim, and we can both search.”
The mystery woman bites the tip of her tongue and as she nods, her cellphone vibrates. Thinking fast, I bump her hand, and the device drops to the ground.
“I’m so sorry.” After I squat to pick it up, I make a production of brushing off the sand which gives my phone’s app plenty of time to make a copy.
I’m an expert at this move, but the fact she misses my sleight of hand surprises me. Clearly, she’s more worried than she lets on.
“Charlie? It’s me. Come out.” The gorgeous siren disappears into the mist and much like Odysseus must’ve felt, I follow.
