Page 53 of Beach Reads
“I could go with her tomorrow,” Tango offers, but Echo shuts him up with a look. The mood around the campfire is tense, the beer-drunk frivolity suddenly gone.
“Check the caves,” Foxtrot says, frowning down at the knife across his knees.Schniiiick, goes his stone across the blade.Schniiiiick.“Around the shoreline. Lots of places to hide there.”
Echo grunts. He’s still staring at me, eyes hard.
“Dawes knows we’re here,” he says slowly, like he’s thinking out loud. I shovel another sporkful of chicken mush into my mouth, chewing to hide any reaction. “And he’s not interested yet. She’s not tempting enough on her own.”
My throat works as I swallow, mush clinging to my vocal chords. Just as well, really, because the not-so-hidden dumbass in me wants to laugh and point to my tent and say: “Ha! How’s that for temptation?”
Instead I thump my own chest, trying not to cough, then shoot Foxtrot a wobbly smile. “Delicious,” I assure the big brute.
“I’d come for her,” Tango declares, slinging an arm over the back of my camp chair. I laugh nervously and shift forward an inch. “Dawes is missing out.”
Echo looks ready to slit the redhead’s throat in his sleep. When he leans forward, firelight flashes against the lenses of his glasses, and he looks like a big, mustachioed bug. “No one gives a shit whatyouwould do, Tango. You think if you took off anyone would follow? You think this girl would give you the time of day if she had any other choice?”
Tango reels back, his spork clattering against the side of his bowl. Even in the dark, his blush is fierce.
Ouch.It’s all true, but still… ouch.
I wince, staring into the fire. A log collapses in a shower of sparks.
Awkward silence rings through the base camp. Echo may be their de facto leader, but these men hold no love for him in their hearts, that much is clear. He rules by fear and fear alone.
“I’ll sleep on it,” Echo says, suddenly relaxed and all smiles. The flip in his mood makes me shiver, and I’m not the only one. The other agents shift in their chairs, all watching him closely. “Tomorrow, we’ll get him. I can feel it.”
River
Iwait with my shoulders bunched around my ears, too goddamn tense to do anything else until Betty slips back inside the tent, safe and whole. The others drift around camp, not even trying to move quietly and disguise their activities.
Someone washes up in the kitchen area; two others drink and chat by the fire. A fourth mercenary has collapsed in his own tent, already snoring, and the fifth is watering a nearby palm tree.
I put my finger to my lips again, and Betty nods quickly. She points at the handheld lantern on her makeshift nightstand, and I nod and sit beside her cot, arranging the blanket to hang down and hide my shadow.
A match flares. Old school, then.
Dim light spreads through the tent, washing over her sparse belongings like a sunrise.
A second snore fills the air. Then a third. One by one, the men fall asleep—all apart from the kid left to keep watch by the fire. The one with a crush on my girl. He’s muttering to himself, boot heel kicking against the dirt. He won’t be any trouble tonight—too busy nursing his wounded pride.
After enough time has passed, Betty huffs out the lantern.
Still, I wait for another hour at least, until a fifth, reedy snore joins the chorus. Then I stand, knees cracking, and shake out my arms. Betty’s stretched out on her cot, wide awake in thegloom. She watches me, with that blonde ponytail splayed over the pillow.
I jerk my chin at the back of the tent—at the slit in the canvas I entered through earlier. Betty presses her lips together and swings her legs off the cot, wincing as it creaks. Nearby, waves brush against the sand.
Our hands tangle together, palms slick from the heat, and I pull my girl out through the tent into the warm night air.
* * *
One month ago
The coffee shop is empty. They’ve closed up for the evening, chairs stacked on top of tables, floors damp and shiny from the mop. Betty’s colleague left two minutes ago, tugging a denim jacket over her polo shirt and calling out her goodbyes as she clattered onto the street.
Betty’s still in there. Alone. Leaning against the brick building opposite, I tell myself every good reason I should turn and walk away.
Like: I might scare her.
She might have somewhere to rush off to. Someoneto rush off to.
