Page 59 of No Time Off

I reached out, my hands flying across the keyboard, to connect with Elvis and Xavier. I sent a quick encrypted text explaining the situation. When I looked up, I saw Noa had come to stand behind me. He looked remarkably calm, considering what we’d just been through.

“What are you doing?” he asked me.

“Not gaming, unfortunately,” I said, trying to keep it light. “Just trying to get us out of this mess.”

“Can you?” he asked. “Get us out this mess?”

“I’m sure going to try.”

He shrugged and returned to his seat. My gaze met Petra’s across the table, and she gave me a slight nod.

I returned to the matter at hand, realizing time was ticking. I didn’t know what was happening to Slash in that compound or where Manny had gone. I had no idea what was going on back at the farmhouse since we’d left, and I didn’t have a clue how long it would be until the bad guys came back to recheck this boat. But there was one thing I did know: Slash needed my help, and he was going to get it. It was just a matter of time until I figured out how.

Outside, the ocean lapped softly against the hull, while inside the cabin walls, Slash’s predicament weighed heavy on my mind. I needed to lock in and focus on what I could control, not what I couldn’t.

It’s what Slash always said to me: Stay with the mission. Worrying doesn’t solve anything. Planning does.

It was clear I had a lot of work to do if I wanted to save my husband, the Cook Islands, and my honeymoon, and in that order.

TWENTY-NINE

Slash

Ifelt every muscle in my body as I sat on the floor of the dark, empty room.

Calling it a room was generous. It was more like a narrow closet that was positioned across from the conference room and adjacent to the office with the parrot where I’d been caught. Manny’s schematics of the compound had listed it as a storage room, but it was a closet. No windows, no ventilation system, and no light. I could stand in the middle and touch the side walls with both hands. I’d noted the cypher lock on the door when they brought me down and threw me inside after they had spent some time roughing me up a bit. They likely secured valuables of some kind in here.

It was barely big enough to fit a man, but here I was.

Not surprisingly, my captors hadn’t bought my story about getting lost and wandering into the compound by accident. I didn’t have anything on me other than the small lockpick kit and the small knife I always carried in my boot. The lockpicks hadn’t helped my story. They had immediately divested me of those and pulled off my shirt, which was a bit odd, but it was what it was. Probably they wanted to scare me or to make me think torture was imminent.

It had been an extremely fortunate stroke of luck they decided to question me right in the office where they’d captured me—where I’d planted both my phone and one of the recording devices. If Manny had escaped and Lexi was still listening, they would at least have an idea of what was happening with me inside the compound. Once Lexi got the recording off to Frankie to translate, of course. The language barrier slowed everyone down. Eventually, I hoped they’d be able to get the information we needed to tie the coup to the Chinese.

For my initial interrogation, I’d been tossed in a chair with my hands tied behind my back. For at least an hour, they asked me questions in heavily accented English. I consistently stuck to my story of being lost and not knowing where I was. It cost me several blows to the face, jaw, and abdomen, but all in all, I’d had worse. These guys were mostly muscle, not particularly inventive or trained in how to really cause pain. As they weren’t sure who I was or what I was doing here, they seemed conflicted on how much harm they could actually cause me. I used that to my advantage.

My captors hadn’t called the Cook Islands police when they found me—no surprise or need, I presumed—and instead had thrown me into the storage closet and left. They hadn’t figured out who I was yet, but it wouldn’t be long until that changed. A lot of people had seen me save the prime minister from the assassination attempt, so I had to assume it was only a matter of time.

I rolled my neck and shoulders, trying to prevent them from knotting up. My muscles ached from the interrogation and the way my arms had been twisted and tied behind the chair. My jaw throbbed where a guard’s fist had made contact a time or two. Thankfully and unexpectedly, they had untied me when they placed me here, so that gave my arms and shoulders a slight physical break. I had a hunch it was to see what I might do. I was confident that there was a guard stationed right outside my door. Even so, he was being very quiet. I repeatedly listened but heard nothing. My mouth was swollen, but nothing was broken, and the pain would lessen with time. I’d just have to ask Lexi to be careful the next time she kissed me.

I had tried the door, but it was locked, of course, and explored every inch of the tiny closet. I’d found exactly nothing. So, I sat on the floor, meditated, and rested my body for whatever was to come next.

* * *

Lexi

I hunchedover my laptop at the round dining room table in the yacht’s main area off the galley. I’d exchanged numerous emails with Candace, Elvis, Xavier, and Angel, updating everyone on what had happened, or at least what little I knew regarding Slash.

The prime minister’s kids had disappeared into one of the yacht’s two bedrooms to watch television—I could hear the laugh track of the cartoons—and the prime minister and her husband were talking in a nearby room. One of her security personnel sat in a chair near the stairs that led up to the deck, keeping a discreet eye on us. I wasn’t too worried about our immediate safety, as I could hear the footsteps of the other guard above and the soft murmur of their voices.

But time was stealing away, and I knew it.

I heard the motor of the skiff as it came alongside and then the security guys helping someone aboard. We all turned to look at the cabin entryway. A moment later, Manny appeared and clambered down the stairs.

“Manny,” I exclaimed, jumping up from the table. “Are you okay?” His cotton shirt was wet from the passing storm. His hair was tousled, and he wore a grim look on his face.

“I’m fine,” he said, pushing his dark hair back from his face. “I’m just wet and concerned. Here’s Slash’s laptop. I tried to keep it as dry as possible. I hope it still works.”

“Thanks, Manny,” I said, ushering him toward the table, where he sat down. “What happened? I couldn’t hear clearly. There was yelling and screeching, and something about a parrot before the network suddenly went down. You said Slash was captured.” I hoped with all my heart he’d say it had all been a mistake.

---