“Well, fuck,” I said and slapped my hand over my mouth. “Apologies… except what the actual fuck?” I wanted to laugh and sob at the same time. “Of all the stupidest, idiotic, ridiculous?—”
“I hate to interrupt this display of your vocabulary glory, but I must wash and sterilize these.” With a tight smile, Hunter crumpled the dirty dressing in his hands. “You should rest. I’ll check on you when you’ve run out of fucks and adjectives.” And he walked out.
ChapterThree
Isank onto the bed and lay there dumbfounded. “I’m stuck here,” I mumbled.
For how long? Certainly, we couldn’t be that far from other islands for someone not to come by (I ignored the fact that Bambi and I had sailed for days without seeing an inch of dry land or any other boats). We would be okay as long as we had enough supplies to last until rescue came. Hunter lived here, he must have what we needed to survive. Surely anybody who lived on a remote island had the tools and the know-how to fix a boat. Only an idiot came to live on an island unprepared. Of course, some idiots sailed with a drunk captain, not knowing a damn thing about navigation or boats…
Perhaps Hunter and I could build a raft! I smacked my head and then wished I hadn’t, I must have another bruise. All the HGTV shows I’d watched with my dad were no help; all they talked about was how to flip and not flop with a fixer-upper, how to change a faucet, and other crap that was useless in my situation. My head pounded.
Fucking fuck.
Well, it could have been worse. I could have washed up on a deserted island, died a slow, painful death from an infection, or been eaten by a wild pack of squirrels. That said, lucky me, at least Hunter was here. He knew how to handle life on Gilligan’s Island, right?
He’d said this was his home, which seemed odd for a man in his mid-thirties to live alone in the middle of nowhere. Maybe Hunter was on the run, and this was his hiding place! He could be dangerous or mad or?—
If I didn’t stop this train of thought, I’d give myself a heart attack. My mom warned me to stay away from men with large tattoos, and she also said I could learn a lot about a person by what was in their house.
Sitting up, I scrutinized the hut. It wasn’t a luxurious bungalow, but the area was clean with a rustic, tropical-hut look. No heads in jars. No weapons on the walls. No obvious red flags. Yet. If I wanted to find out what kind of man Hunter really was, I’d start with the journal. Just three feet away. Yes, I knew it was wrong to read someone else’s diary but in the current situation this was necessary. I wouldn’t read much. Just enough to understand if he had lotion in a basket.
Listening for footsteps to ensure Hunter wasn’t coming back, I planted my feet on the floor and stood. Too quickly. A lightheadedness fogged my mind and my head swam. I grabbed the back of the chair to stabilize myself, and hey, my jeans shorts lay on the cushion, dry and folded. Breathing through my nose I counted to ten and then with slow movements, I carefully put them on.
A green lizard skedaddled across the table and over the journal. Reaching out, I flipped a few pages. The sheets included dates, weather descriptions, tide times, and tidal ranges written in neat, boxy penmanship. The last recorded date was May twenty-first, the day I discovered Bambi had nicked my GPS and satellite phone. My earlier anger yielded to sorrow. She paid for her mistake with her life.
The humid breeze carried the sound of waves and a rattle of pots. I looked out the window at a porch with a drooping hammock. Rows of swaying palm trees, low ferns, and magenta-red blooming bushes separated the hut from the beach. The soft undulation of the ocean and views of emerald water filtered through the palm grove.
The journal told me nothing about who this man was or why he lived here. There must be something to it, or he was simply a recluse. Of course, I’d seen YouTube videos of people in their late twenties selling their homes, quitting their jobs, and going on sailing trips for years. There was not much difference between living alone on a boat or on a remote island. I shouldn’t be too quick to judge Hunter, but that didn’t stop me from poking around more.
Moving at a tortoise’s pace, I staggered to the closest four-shelf bookcase. A topographic map, presumably of this island, hung on the wall above it. At the torn bottom right corner, the map had a stamp, “Teaku.” The name didn’t ring a bell. The scale was missing, so it was hard to say how big the C-shaped island was, but I’d seen enough maps to know this one was close to five or so square miles. Green dominated most of it (jungle), some light brown with steep terrain to the west and north (hills), two blue spots (small lakes), and a flat line on the south side (beach). Tiny holes dotted the map as if someone had previously stuck pins there, or it was used for mini-dart practice, like Tina and I used Phill’s photos.
Unsatisfied with my location assessment, I lowered myself to the floor and examined the bookshelves packed with paperbacks with diverse titles likeFiji Week-by-Week Gardener’s Handbook,The Selected Poetry of Lord Byron, and D’Aulaires’Book of Greek Myths.
The next row that caught my eye was a series of Julia Quinn novels. I huffed in surprised. Hunter was a romantic. Could a romantic also be a serial killer? Perhaps a woman lived here too. But the room was bare of photos or feminine, homey touches besides the fresh flowers by the bed.
From there my gaze dropped to the lowest shelf holding a stack ofSpies and Sciencemagazines. I picked up the top copy with a sun-bleached cover and flipped through it. It was a British publication with articles like “WWII Spies,” “Shaken, Not Stirred,” “Holmes New Discoveries.” Security systems and spy gear advertisements were plastered over nearly every page and looked comical in our modern day of technology. Toward the back the magazine had crosswords, puzzles, and encrypted messages. Judging by the penciled-in scribbles, someone had tried unsuccessfully to solve them. I smiled to myself. My father would’ve loved something like this. He’d been a diehard superheroes and spies fan.
With my energy level depleted, I returned the magazine to the stack and sprawled out on the floor, staring at the map on the wall. A few days ago, I’d been on my voyage, following my father’s mapped-out islands, spreading his ashes. Now, I was lost on a remote island with a stranger. Admittedly a good looking one (minus the beard). But a beautiful man could still be dangerous. In more ways than one. When Bambi had steered us off course was anyone’s guess. It could have been the first day we left the last stop, or it could have been just a day before our arrival to the Cook Islands.
The porch’s wooden planks squeaked, and a split second later, Hunter walked into the room. From my current point of view, he seemed even taller and broader.
“Are you okay?” He knelt near me, his eyes wide.And wow. What incredible eyes he had. The color of a crystal-clear mountain lake, ringed by long dark lashes. “What happened?”
I couldn’t exactly tell him I’d been snooping around his room and got tired. Instead, I said, “I need to use the bathroom. I got out of bed but didn’t make it.” He creased his brows, and his gaze darted to my jean shorts, then back to my face.
For real?
“I didn’t pee myself.” I rolled my eyes. “I just didn’t make it to the door.” Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind finding a bathroom. “Is there a toilet nearby?”
“It’s not far, but given your condition, it may feel like it is.”
My desperation to get outdoors outweighed my weakness, so I sat up on my elbows, and reached out with my right hand. Ignoring it, Hunter bent forward and wrapped his arm around my torso. His face was inches from mine, and I didn’t dare blink. No doubt I had a deer-in-the-headlights look because what the hell was he doing?
Perhaps sensing my uncertainty, Hunter paused. “I don’t think you have any internal injuries, but it’s safer to help the injured get up this way. I don’t want to pull you by your arms. It might cause you more pain.” His breath brushed softly against the side of my face. “Lean on me as much as you need but look forward. We’re going to stand up now. Ready?”
Something about the way he explained his actions—though he could have first clarified his intentions—calmed me, and I moved my arm over his shoulder.
“Okay, I’m ready,” I said, my focus aimed on the blue water ahead.
