Page 2 of Taurus
He sighs into the phone, telling me everything I need to know without saying a word.
"I have my guy looking, but no news yet," he says.
The urge to chuck my phone over the side of the ferry and into the ocean is tempting but ultimately not helpful. It’s not like I have any money to buy a new one. This last thought still hits like a punch to the gut, no matter that it’s been two weeks since Trevor ran off with everything.
“Have you made it to the cottage?” Declan asks.
The ferry horn sounds off at this moment, drowning out my response.
Declan’s wife’s family owns a vacation cottage in question. She offered it up to help “figure out my next steps.” Whatever that means. How spending some time on a small island off the coast will help me figure out my life, I will never know. And yet, here I am, on the ferry, heading there right now. I guess when you’re a guy with no options, you don’t get to be choosey.
“I should let you go,” I say, watching the other passengers start heading back to their parked cars. “Thank Franny for me.”
“Don’t worry, Jace. We will find Trevor.”
I thank him and say my goodbyes, but I’m not holding out hope. Trevor may have been the asshole that ran off with my money, but I was the guy that turned a blind eye to his increasing gambling problem. The spontaneous trips to Vegas to driving down to Atlantic City whenever he had a free twenty-four hours to kill. But somehow, I never thought that he would risk everything we built.
I get on my bike and wait for the progression of cars to drive off the ferry. A sign hangs over the ramp we all drive over to get to the island. It reads—Welcome to Rock Turtle Bay Island!
When Franny called me with the address of her family's cottage, she mentioned that one of her friends that lives on the mainland would be heading over to the island to meet me and give me the keys. Apparently, she and her husband take care of many of the vacation properties on the island.
As I drive through the small town, it looks picturesque as Franny and Declan described to me, like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
A few of the islanders look my way as my engine roars loudly down the main street in town. I’m sure my bike and leather jacket are giving them plenty of ideas of who I am, and I guess they are partly right, but I’m not just the wild bad boy they might think I am. I also got my MBA at Wharton.
When I pull down the drive to the small beachfront cottage, I see a woman leaning against her minivan on the phone and a little girl playing with a golden retriever puppy in the yard. They all stop as I pull up and cut the engine.
The little dog's tail wags enthusiastically at the sight of me as though we are old friends.
“Carrie, why don’t you take Samson down by the beach while I show Mr. Pierson inside,” the woman says.
The little one runs off around the cottage calling for Samson to follow. He looks from her to me and back again before darting off after her.
“Mr. Pierson, I’m Lydia.” The woman holds out her hand to me.
I push off the bike and shake her hand. “Thanks for taking the time to come over and drop off the keys.”
“Not a problem.” She smiles kindly. “I was already going to be on the island for one of the other properties that we manage. Why don’t I give you a quick tour? That way you can settle in.”
Lydia hands over the keys and takes me through the cottage, room by room, and gives me a rundown of everything I might need to know. We head out the sliding glass doors to the patio that overlooks the water.
“Mommy!”
We both turn and see Carrie running up from the beach towards us with her puppy in her arms.
“Carrie, what happened? Why is Samson wet?”
“She fell in saving him,” Carrie says between deep breaths. Samson is trying to struggle out of her arms, but she won't let him go.
“Who?” Lydia asks.
I don’t bother waiting for her answer. My feet are moving before my brain can even register the request. Even from this distance, I can see a body thrashing in the waves down in the water.
It probably only takes me a few seconds to reach the beach, but it feels like a lifetime as I watch each wave toss the unconscious woman against the rocks.
2
JACE
