“I’m not talking about condoms, but your father should have worn one,” Hunter said, placing his hand on my knee to stop it bouncing. “I’m talking about the Trojan horse.”
“Uh, that story,” Tom said, offering me a cup full to the brim with coffee.
I eyed the mug, inhaling the sweet aroma, my mouth salivating. When I met Tom’s eyes, he gave me a quizzical stare.
“Please don’t tell me you think I have poisoned it.”
I shrugged. “Hunter has a point.”
Tom clicked his tongue. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said as he set the cup on the table, untwisted the thermos cap, and poured the remaining contents into it. Then he lifted his hand in a cheers and drank it all down. He made a mocking, satisfied sound. “Now drink and eat.”
I choked out thanks and picked up the mug. No sugar, no milk, no problem because it was a good, strong coffee, and I missed it so much. Hunter and I ate in the layers of silence, not looking at each other. I hated that I enjoyed the sweet and salty taste of the breakfast that Tom had brought.
Tom leaned on a tree that held one corner of the stretched canopy, then glanced at Jack and nodded, signaling something that they must have agreed. An awful feeling replaced my bone marrow, and my body turned heavy as a rock. This couldn’t be anything good for us. Tom had returned more prepared than we were. Jack folded the knife he used to carve his name into the picnic table and walked away in the direction of the porch.
The racket of drawers slamming and furniture moving reached us. Hunter soared to his feet. “What the hell, Tom?”
Garry stepped closer to us, meaty paw resting on his gun tucked in the belt of his pants. He reeked of cigarettes, mildew, and a hint of yesterday’s binge drinking. I crinkled my nose at the stink.
“Why so jumpy?” Tom raised his eyebrows. “Nothing to worry about if you have nothing to hide, right? Sit down and finish your coffee.”
I tugged on Hunter’s hand. “Let him look for whatever they think is there.”
The coins and stones from the pot were now hidden in the sand under the steps. Burying it near the house was a good spot for grab-and-go when we were on our way to take the dinghy when we would escape during our Plan B. The plan that Hunter and I needed to find the right time to execute.
Jack trod to Tom and whispered something to him, showing him the kitchen knife I hid in the hut when I first turned up here.
Hunter twisted to look at me. “Where did he find the knife?”
“Under the mattress,” I said over the rim of my cup. “I intended to use it on you.” He drew back with a shocked expression. “What? You can’t blame me. I didn’t know you that well at first.”
“Fair.”
Tom’s eyes cut to something on the beach, and then he cast them down to the cold, sharp metal in Jack’s hands.
“Garry, watch these two,” Tom said.
He and Jack walked away, so we couldn’t hear their conversation. They glanced at us several times. My gut feeling was that whatever they talked about wouldn’t play out in our favor. Then, to my surprise, Tom shoved Jack, sending his skinny ass over the teakettle into the low ferns.
“What do you think is going on over there?” I asked Hunter and crumbled the wrapper.
“There seems to be a power struggle between those two.” Hunter peered over his shoulder, swallowing the last of his coffee. “It looks like they’re disagreeing on something. Garry, should you be taking part in that conversation?”
Tension simmered around Garry. His jaw tensed, and his nose flared as he scrutinized Tom and Jack, who were having what appeared to be an urgent conversation. But just as he was told, he didn’t move and stayed like a well-trained guard dog. A breeze cut through, bringing the stench of mildew off his clothing.
If we were in a movie and Hunter were Jason Statham—only much better looking, with hair, and taller—he would knock all these thugs out, and we would run away. But this wasn’t a movie. Hunter’s hand was sore. And there were three of them with guns against one without a weapon. I wasn’t a fighter, so I didn’t count myself.
“Okay. Let’s get to business,” Tom said, tightening his dreadlocks into a bun as he approached us. He pulled out the journals and notebooks he stole from us and dropped them with a thump on the table. “Now tell me where the fucking gold is.”
“There isn’t any here,” Hunter said flatly, as if it weren’t a lie at all.
With an amused expression, Jack, arms crossed over his chest, propped his narrow shoulder against a post. “And I’m telling you, you’re both liars.”
“There is gold, but it isn’t here,” Hunter said, his voice urgent but absent of panic. Hunter pointed out to the beach. “It’s in the ocean. Let’s get on my boat, and we can continue to search. Edward and I were getting close to finding it. You have as much information as we did, so I’m sure you were close, too.”
Tom released a harsh laugh. “I searched high and low where Edward told us and came up empty. I spent over eighty thousand fucking dollars looking for it just this year.” His fingers curled around the gun’s handle. “For the last time. Tell me where it is, or someone gets hurt,” Tom said in a low, menacing voice. The chill in his tone made my hair stand at its roots.
Hunter faced me and his eyes bore into mine. He gave a subtle nod, just enough for me to notice. I wondered if any of them would notice the wild jounce of my skin near my windpipe. This was it. We were taking them to the trap now. I took a breath for what felt like the first time.
