Get weapons. Secure the place. Call Erik. How did he get on the island without us knowing? Probably the same way we got on. How does he know we’re here? He’s a hired gun. Someone has him coming after her. But why?
I set the bike against the wall in the hallway between the two bedrooms and enter my room. The gear Jack packed for us is in carrying cases and duffels on the floor along one wall. I unzip one bag. Locate my Glock. Check the chamber. Load it.
“What happened?”
“What do you mean?” She’s standing in the doorway, hands twisting around each other like she’s warming them.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
“I rode my bike to the market, like I said. Just down the street. Where they’re selling coconuts and papaya. And as I was leaving, I saw him. He was talking to another man near the small building that’s on that road.”
“You’re positive it was him?”
“He was wearing a white tank. You know, what they call a wife beater. His tattoo. Over his shoulder. On the boat, when he took me, he walked around with his shirt off almost all the time. I’ll never forget his tattoos.”
“Lots of people have tattoos.”
“It was him.”
“Did he turn around?”
“No.”
I stare at her, studying her. She’s too scared to be telling me anything other than the truth. Christ. If he’d turned around, I’d be chasing a dot right now. Anything could’ve happened.
“Okay. This is what you’re going to do.” Her gaze locks on my gun as I tuck it inside my waistband. She’s frightened. Focusing on a gun won’t calm her. “You’re going to sit down on the bed and breathe. Do you do yoga?” I can’t decipher from her glazed look if that’s a yes or a no. “Stretch. Breathe. Do whatever you do to calm down. I’m going downstairs and taking care of a few things. I just need you to know you’re safe. We don’t even know for sure he was here for you.” That statement sounds as false to my ears as it probably does to hers.
“You’re leaving?”
“I’m not leaving the house, okay? I’ll be downstairs.”
This villa has an alarm system. If glass breaks, it sends a silent alert to the alarm company, who sends the police. I check all the locks, including the sliding doors, and set the alarm. I flip several of the plantation shutters to block incoming views, careful to avoid looking suspiciously closed off.
This place isn’t a safe house. It’s simply safer than her apartment would have been. And it’s located away from the more popular resorts on a high-net-worth street.
If he saw her, he’s not chasing her. Either he felt he would make a scene during broad daylight if he did so, or he didn’t see her.
I dial Erik. He answers on the first ring.
“Anton Solonov is here. Or at least, Sloane believes she saw him.”
“Provocative.” The sound of keys tapping fills the line.
“Does this mean he flew private? He hasn’t popped up on any of your surveillance networks, right?”
“No. But he could’ve come in by boat, too. That’s what Sloane said, right? How he left?”
“How would he know we’re here? Who could he be working for?”
“I’m not sure. The guy’s circulating with a Red Notice on him. He’s got to be good at it to go years without getting caught. It’s good we’ve got those cameras up on the Origins property. If he goes there, we might gain some insight.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
There’s more key tapping. Erik has no more answers than I do.
“After you get what you need, plan on leaving. Whoever is after her has resources, and they don’t seem to be backing down.”
She said he was in a wife beater talking to a guy. Based on my experience, that doesn’t sound like he was working, unless he’s doing a little undercover work and thought dressing down would get more people to open up to him. But there’s a significant segment on this island who would be less likely to talk to him dressed like that. “Is there a chance he lives here? Like, we’re assuming he came here to get her, but is this where he hangs his hat when he’s not working?”