had
brought some of her clothes when they kidnapped her, but she hadn’t
known they were going to a tropical climate -- and the house didn’t
have air conditioning. It wasn’t really necessary as the
temperature was typically in the low eighties. Still most of the
clothes that were suitable for New York City and a book tour were
totally out of the question. Fortunately, she was an avid jogger
and had packed her running clothes. Even though the shorts fit
properly, her long legs made it appear that far more of her was
exposed than she was comfortable with. She had to admit that it
didn’t bother her under normal circumstances, but the effect Nate
had on her was telling.
Without a word, he poured a cup of coffee for
her. She accepted the large mug when he offered it and took a long
sip. “When are you finally going to get around to telling me what
the hell is going on?”
“When you need to know,” he said.
Tonya resisted the urge to smack him. Hard.
He’d said the same thing over and over again for the past five
days. “Are you kidding me? You drag me off to the South Pacific as
if I have nothing better to do with my time than play Girl Friday
to you. I do have a life you know. I have a company to run and
contracts to fulfill. I’m supposed to be on a book tour. I don’t
understand why we can’t just call the police and get these people
arrested.”
“You have no idea what we’re dealing with
here.”
“That’s right I don’t. Whose fault is that?”
she snapped.
“I know. I know. I’m sorry, but it can’t be
helped. For right now the less you know the better off we all
are.”
“That’s nonsense. Ignorance never helped
anything. What about my mama? What about Callie? What about my book
sales? Not to mention that somewhere in this long, strange trip I
lost my goddamned jelly beans.”
“Dear God, Onion, you’re still hooked on
those things? I swear your love for licorice gave me a freaking
fetish. Every time I taste the stuff I get a hard on.” He shook his
head and laughed. “As for your sales, something tells me that if
anything they will improve.” He motioned her over to look at the
stack of newspapers he’d been perusing when she walked in.
“I absolutely cannot believe you don’t have
the internet here. I haven’t read a real newspaper in ages.”
“No internet. No cable. That kind of stuff is
traceable. If we use any of it, we might as well build a yellow
brick road for them to follow.”
Tonya sighed at the reminder of why she was
here, then began to read the paper on the counter. “The Author
Vanishes,” the story caption on the dated New York Times screamed. The story was well inside the newspaper, but above the
fold and likely to receive quite a bit of coverage. And she knew
that sensational stories were often featured more prominently on
the website. Tonya leaned down to read the story with increasing
horror. “Oh, my God they think I’m doing it for the publicity. Or
because I was pissed off at my mother. How did they know about
that?”
“What were you pissed at Anita about?” he
asked.
“Reuben,” she said succinctly. “And I wasn’t
angry. I was annoyed.”
“Still? Jesus, Tonya it’s been what, twenty
years?”
“Yes,” Tonya gritted out. She didn’t know why
she was disappointed that he wasn’t taking her side either. Nate
had never let her get away with a pity party.
“Damn, Onion, you do hold a grudge don’t you?
Guess I’ll have to spend the rest of my life sleeping with one eye
open.” He shrugged with a smirk. “Nothing new there.”
“Don’t worry; I was already beyond pissed
with you. Trust me; this little trip to paradise isn’t helping.
They’re speculating that I’ve pulled an Agatha Christie.”
“An Agatha Christie?” he asked, frowning.
“Yeah. Back in the 1920s she disappeared
after her husband asked for a divorce. She was eventually
discovered, but never explained what happened.” She covered her
face with her
Sinéad Moriarty
Cheryel Hutton
T. S. Joyce
Jordan Silver
Jane Robinson
Mia Moore
Allison Lane
Will Collins
Mark Tompkins
Maya Banks