Hunter returned dressed in a shirt and cargo shorts. I sprung to him, wanting to jump, hug, and kiss him, but I thought better of it. I didn’t want to bump his hand accidentally.
We watched the figure descend into a lowered dinghy, and soon, it zipped toward us. Hunter snarled a grunt of disapproval.
I pinned Hunter with my stare. “Do you know him?”
“Yes.” His brows were drawn tight together. “It’s Tom.”
“And we like Tom. Right?” I kept my eyes trained on Hunter, reading his stony expression. “Talk to me, Hunter.”
“Let’s pack and leave with him as quickly as possible,” he said in a low voice, as if the man—Tom—could hear us. “Do not mention what we found.”
What did Hunter take me for? A goddamned ditzy woman who would run up to the first individual she saw and say, “Hey, guess what we found? Lots and lots of gold and treasure that is worth over two hundred million dollars.”
“Of course I won’t mention anything,” I said, not hiding my irritation at his comment. If we had time, I would chastise him and make him apologize, but the dinghy hit the shallower waters. Tom grounded on the beach. The motor killed off.
The man was tall and broad-chested, his blond dreadlocks twisted into a bun on the top of his head, making him look even taller than he was. He wore a white shirt with ripped-off sleeves and lightweight pants. He was around Hunter’s age. And despite his bright smile, there was darkness in his attractive, tan face.
“Hunter, my mate, finally I found you,” Tom called out, jumping into the sand and trudging toward us. He had an accent, maybe British or Australian. “I started to get worried that you bailed on me with my money.” Polarized sunglasses covered his eyes but didn’t hide his leer at me. He stretched out his arm to me. His fingernails were painted black, his hand covered with tattoos. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Tom.”
He seemed like the wrong person to owe money to. I threw a questioning glance at Hunter, then focused back on Tom.
“I’m Sydney.” I hesitated at first but then shook Tom’s rough, wet (or sweaty) hand. I should have addednice to meet you, but it felt like a lie and died in my dry mouth.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said.
Tom took his sunglasses off and hooked them behind his neck. “You know how hard it was to find this place? The lady at the Roster Bar sent me to an apartment in Avarua, but they told me Edward hadn’t paid rent in months. I asked around more, and it turned out you lived on a boat, and the old man had some secret island.” I recognized the similarity in his and Bambi’s accents. He was Australian. I wished it was her talking to us now and not this troublesome-looking man.
“Sydney and I have been stuck here for weeks,” Hunter said, his tone neutral. “We would appreciate it if you gave us a ride to Rarotonga right now.”
Tom placed his hands on his hips and gazed around as if to appraise the location or to see if more people were with us. “So, this is where Edward lived? Looks nice. By the way, sorry about his passing,” he said matter-of-factly, like he was letting us know not to forget to drag garbage to the curb. His green eyes squinted into the distance at Hunter’s broken boat. He sucked in air through his teeth. “Fuck me, look at that hole. When did it happen?”
“About a month ago,” I said, shifting on my feet.
“Do you mind helping us? I need to see a doctor.” Hunter lifted his damaged hand.
Tom hooded. “Damn, man, that’s nasty. Did you do that to him?” He looked at me. “He didn’t get you off, and you smashed his hand.” Tom laughed at his own joke. What a douche.
Clenching my teeth, I grinned, my skin hurting with tension. “Yep, don’t mess with me.”
“Do you mind taking us now?” Hunter said. “My hand fucking hurts.”
“I gotcha, mate, but give me a minute. I just got here. I want to check the place out first.” Tom wiggled his eyebrows, stepped around us, and followed the path toward the hut. If he went inside, he would see the journals sprawled on the table and a pot with coins and gemstones on the floor. But if Tom first visited the kitchen, I could use that moment to say I had to change clothes and hide everything out of his sight.
My stomach sank like a rock when Tom went up the stairs and disappeared inside.
“Wait by the dinghy,” Hunter said and trailed after our no-longer-welcomed visitor.
I glanced over my shoulder at the small boat on the sand. An impulsive idea of taking it to the anchored sailboat and leaving cut through my mind. Treasure be damned. The problem was, I couldn’t leave Hunter. We were in this together now, whether I liked it or not. The second problem was I didn’t know how to sail. I should have asked Bambi to teach me the first day we set off. It was a pity that I had a way to get off theisland, yet I was trapped. Only now, besides snakes, we had to deal with a dodgy man.
I regarded the orange flare pistol I held. It looked like a toy gun, but loaded, it wasn’t a toy. Squatting, I laid it on the ground at the base of the palm tree and covered the plastic with dry leaves and twigs. Just in case.
Dusting the sand off my hands, I marched to the hut. I was a grown woman who deserved to know what kind of trouble Hunter and I were in and not be told to sit and wait by the boat. When I reached the door, Hunter and Tom stopped talking and turned their attention to me.
“I thought I asked you to stay on the beach,” Hunter said, his posture stiff as if he’d swallowed a sword.
“I came to get my stuff.” I arched an eyebrow and moved to the shelf with a drawer where I kept the very few things of mine. Which was my T-shirt and nothing else.
“Sydney, how did you meet my friend?” Tom moved around the room, picking at random items on the shelves. How much should I share with him? Honesty was the best approach. Fewer lies to remember.
