Page 5 of Wild Temple
I dug into my pocket and handed him a card. "If you stumble across her, get in contact.”
Rafi’s eyes found me in the rearview mirror. "Is she a girlfriend?”
"No. Just a friend.”
"Sometimes girls run off. They find Mr. Right. Or Mr. Wrong. Or Mr. Right Now.” He paused. "Maybe you want her to be more than just a friend.”
"She's just a friend," I reiterated. "An important friend.”
"Rafi can help you find new friends. Just as important. Maybe even more so.”
I chuckled and shook my head. This guy didn't let up.
It was about 12 miles from the regional airport to Jatala proper. 12 miles of faded asphalt and serpentine corners that snaked through the jungle. Alongside the ocean, the scenic route offered breathtaking views. To my left, a sea of sapphire crashing against majestic shores. To my right, a triple canopy jungle so thick and dense you might get lost after a few steps and never find your way out.
A parade of tourists was shuttled from the airport into town daily. Jatala had doubled in scale over the last few years, and so had the prices. YouTubers had exposed the treasured hideaway. Now, influencers flocked to the island to get their pictures taken in front of waterfalls, on white sand beaches, or with a wild animal in the jungle. It was all about the photo op. A carefully curated lifestyle that didn't actually exist.
There were more scooters than cars around here. It was a cheap and easy way to get around.
Rafi took me on a tour through town to run up the meter. We cruised down Sunset Row. He pointed out bars and restaurants that were good and warned of others that were trash. I took his recommendations with a grain of salt.
"When you go, tell them Rafi sent you. You will be treated like a king.”
He was definitely getting kickbacks.
We finally pulled into the Bamboo Lofts, where Isabella had stayed. It was a hip and trendy place for digital nomads. Relatively affordable, with private rooms. If the budget was out of reach, you could live hostel style with a group room and a private bathroom. That wasn't my speed—certainly not on a mission like this.
I paid Rafi in cash.
"You call if you need anything. Anytime, day or night," he reiterated. "I take you everywhere you want to go and nowhere you don't.”
I got the impression there were a lot of places to avoid around here. I hopped out, and Rafi grabbed my bags.
I lugged them into the main lobby and took a look around, hoping to see Isabella, praying this was all some sort of mistake.
4
The smell of fresh coffee filled the air. The lounge was full of 20-somethings sipping coffee, banging away on laptops. There were plenty of cozy couches, chairs, desks, and high-top tables. A coffee bar and a cafe kept you fueled up.
More of the same outside if you preferred the heat. Tight bodies and perky assets frolicked in the pool while others soaked up the sun on lounge chairs.
I checked in at the front desk and displayed a picture of Isabella on my phone. “Do you recognize her?”
The cute brunette behind the counter studied the image. Her gold name tag readMaya.“Yes. I believe she is a guest at the hotel.”
A hint of optimism filled me. “When was the last time you saw her?”
A frown pursed her lips, and she shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s been a while. Maybe a week. She had made reservations fora month. It’s not uncommon for people to check in, use the accommodations as a home base, then go off on side quests to explore the island. There is a lot to see and do here,” she said with a smile.
“What’s her room number?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t give out that kind of guest information.”
I flashed my badge. It didn’t carry any weight in this part of the world, but sometimes people respect authority. “She’s a dear friend. I think she’s missing. I haven’t been able to get in touch with her.”
A sympathetic frown tugged her face. She glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. In a hushed tone, she said, “I can put you in room #306. That’s right next to hers. It’s a connecting room.” It was a clever way to tell me without telling me.
An appreciative smile curled my lips. “Thank you.”
