Nothing. I wouldn’t have slept well at night that was for sure.
“I wouldn’t have used a flare pistol to bring his attention to us.”
Hunter shook his head, then looked at his swollen hand. “It wasn’t you. He was on his way to the island. If not today, he would have come another day.”
I nodded slowly, because Hunter was right, it wasn’t my doing that brought Tom here. And now he had more reasons to come back. If he was on his way to Rarotonga, that meant we had at least eight hours before he returned.
“I’m going to make us something to eat,” I said, and left the hut.
I snatched the spear I had thrown earlier and went to the beach, planning to let out the frustration on the fish. I walked to the dock where a lot of fish liked to congregate, hoping it would be easier to stab one.
What else didn’t Hunter tell me about his life? Were there more people he owed money to? Dismay pooled in my gut at the thought I’d let myself fall in love with another man who lied about debt. Why did Hunter need such a large sum of money? The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and just like Edward, he could have poured all the money into the treasure search. Or worse, gambled it away.
“You’re so stupid,” I muttered.
It took all my strength not to return to the hut and yell at Hunter. It wasn’t the best time for that. Tom was coming back and not alone. Hunter needed to get better so he could help me make a plan—any plan—defensive, offensive, or escape.
One saving grace was that the journals contained no information about what we found, but just a lot of tables with numbers and letters, pointless charts, erroneous markings on the sketched map, riddles, and numerous ideas about where the treasure could be hidden on the island and in the water. The black stones overrun by snakes camouflaged trunks with doubloons and cut gems, but the bat cave, crammed with loot, was out in the open. Sort of. They had to find it first.
I waded into the water waist-deep and lifted the spear over my shoulder, watching fish meandering near me, ignoring their looming danger. My eyes darted from one fish to another, unsure which one I should try to catch. The shaft wasn’t light, and its weight pulled on my muscles. If I waited any longer, I would drop it. With a quick move, my arm went down, my body bent forward, my chest hit the water. A wave smacked me in the face.
“Fuck.”
I straightened and wiped saltwater out of my eyes. The prong missed the fish and stabbed the sand. I tried again. And again. Several times more. Yet no fish, just a pulled muscle in my shoulder blade. The irritation at Hunter now was replaced with annoyance at my inability to catch our fucking dinner. We needed protein. Eggs would work, but I wanted fish. Or chicken. I squinted at the beach, where a brown hen pecked at something near the lower underbrush between palm trees. Nope. I cringed. For some reason, I drew the line at killing a bird. Fish was okay, but not chicken. Go figure.
Closing my eyes, I went back to the time when I watched Hunter fishing here. He walked into the water slowly, and after he took his position, he became statue-like, patiently following the prey only with his eyes. With a quick jerk of his arm, he sent the spear into the water. Hunter didn’t bend. He also mentioned that refraction caused fish to appear in a different location than they actually were.
Drawing out my arm slowly halfway, I scanned the water for my target, my fingers firmly gripping the shaft. My eyes stalked a slow, large fish. Heart rate quickened. Breathing slowed. I broadened out my arm and readied for the attack.
“Aim lower,” I whispered Hunter’s advice. “Strike just under where you think the fish is.”
I discharged the pole in a quick move, letting it completely out of my fingers. The sharp metal tips pierced the fish.
“Oh my God!” I shrieked with excitement but then scrambled to grab the pole before I lost our dinner to the ocean. I wished someone besides the chicken on the beach had seen me doing this. Maybe it was beginner’s luck, but I didn’t care, and the proud feeling inside my chest swelled to the size of a hot air balloon. I caught the fish. With a spear.
I grinned, briefly forgetting about Tom and the trouble coming our way, and lifted my proud catch out of the water. “I’m badass,” I said to the fish. “And you are my dinner.” Shoot. Perhaps it was time to get out of here before sharks smelled the blood, andIturned intotheirdinner.
I popped into the hut to share my achievement with Hunter, but he was asleep. If he hadn’t been sick earlier, I would have woken him up so we could debate what to do about the earlier visitor and his unavoidable return. But Hunter needed rest to get better, so I let him sleep.
The fire I’d started earlier in the pit became the perfect grilling coals. I gutted and cleaned the fish, stuffed it with lemon and orange slices, and placed it, wrapped in banana leaves, over the coils. I couldn’t stop smiling as I collected mangos and avocados, then peeled and diced them. The fishing triumph boosted my mood, and nothing felt impossible now. If I could catch dinner on my first try (well, not try, but on the first day), there was nothing stopping me from standing up against Tom and whoever he brought with him. Unless he showed up alone but with a gun. Or worse. Not alone, but still with guns. With Hunter’s current condition, it was one and a half against them (however many that would be).
I flipped the fish over. The smell of cooked meat with citrus waffled in the air, and my mouth watered. Money wasn’t worth more than a life, so letting them take all the loot would be easier. We could show them only the bat cave and say the coin was from there. But what guarantee did we have they would leave us alone and alive? What if they demanded more until we gave it all up? We should give up everything right away to make them happy. My chest ached. Loss of the treasure meant Hunter wouldn’t be able to claim the discovery. I removed the fish from the grate, my earlier pride and excitement perished.
My thoughts on escaping the island or fighting off Tom raced like loony animals, one madder than the previous one. The first week I arrived here, I hid a knife under the mattress, and now I needed to hide others in the bushes around this place. Hunter also had a Swiss Army knife. It was small, but I was willing to use anything in self-defense. I shouldn’t have ignored Tina’s invitation to join her Krav Maga class.
In the hut, I ran my palm over Hunter’s face, gently waking him up, his skin cool to my touch. At least he wasn’t burning up with a fever. “Hunter, I caught fish.”
He opened his eyes and grunted, sitting up. “I had no doubt you would,” he said, his voice thick with grogginess.
My hand went around his back, helping him lean against the headboard. “Let me help you.”
“No, it’s fine. I want to eat at the table.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I think whatever you gave me earlier is working. I feel better.” He swung his legs off the bed, breathed in, and got up.
It was weird to see the table empty of the papers and journals—a silent reminder of a vital topic Hunter and I had to discuss. Tom left about two hours ago, so we had about six or more hours.
