Page 70 of Blue Arrow Island
Marcus is none of those. I fall into step beside him.
“Tell me where you found it,” he says.
“You’re carrying it just to get to me.”
He arches a brow. “I’m carrying it because it belongs to someone who means a lot to me and I want to keep it safe.”
Everything stops, including my breathing.Someone who means a lot to him.The knife belongs to a woman. That’s why he’s so worked up about it. She’s not here anymore, and he wants to find her.
I feel an intense jealousy for someone I don’t even know. Could it be residual aromium? I’ve never experienced this, and I don’t like it.
I step aside, letting him push the cart into the kitchen. When I follow him, the kitchen workers are all looking at him, frozen.
“Vadim.” Marcus nods at the head chef.
His gaze shifts to mine for a brief second, and then he leaves. My pulse is still erratic, which makes me want to cap my other knee. I can’t afford this weakness.
“Getting the boss to make your deliveries?” Vadim cracks, smiling widely.
The mood in the room relaxes now that Marcus is gone, and everyone returns to work.
Vadim is the man I first met on the beach the day I got here—the one who tried to save me by taking me with him. He’s even bigger than Marcus at six-six, his shoulders wide and his legs like tree trunks.
But Vadim would rather have a whisk in his hand than a spear. He has dark skin and warm caramel eyes, and he’s usually smiling. The apron he wears looks child-sized on him. He alwayswears a bandanna around his long braids, and today it’s a red one.
“The cart got stuck outside the door,” I say defensively.
A woman named Meg helps me unload sweet potatoes into a pile on a counter. Vadim walks over to us, wiping his hands on a towel.
“Those will do nicely,” he murmurs.
“What are you doing with them?” I ask.
“They’ll go into a stew that’s a lot like chili.” Vadim’s eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. “Vegetarian, but loaded with smoky spices, ripe tomatoes, peppers and onions and sweet potatoes. It’s thick and hearty.”
“Sounds delicious.”
Tomatoes shouldn’t thrive here, but thanks to the modifications made, the vines are heavy with deep-red, softball-sized fruits pretty much every day. They’re a staple on the menu.
Once the potatoes are all unloaded, I close my eyes and take a deep breath in and out, enjoying the smell of baking bread. The ovens are wood-fired, and they’re outside the kitchen, but the scent carries.
“Are we getting bread with lunch?” I ask Vadim.
“Indeed. Bread, fish and papaya with a honey glaze.”
“Can’t wait.” I give him a quick grin. “I’ll be back with lettuce and spinach.”
“Don’t let your cart get stuck again,” he says with a deep, rich laugh.
He thinks I did it on purpose, which is so much worse. I’m not a woman who wants to be rescued by a man. Especially not Marcus. He’s attractive—I’m not oblivious to that. But if he didn’t want something from me, I’d just be another woman here, who didn’t even warrant a second glance.
It’s obvious his heart—tiny and shriveled as it must be—is spoken for. Someone in this camp has to know who that knife belongs to, and I’m going to find out.
22
Your primary weapon is your mind. Fear is normal, but panic is deadly. Stay calm, think tactically and remember your training.
- Excerpt from a police training manual written by Ben Hollis
