Page 23 of The Bombshell and the Bodyguard
“Well, you weren’ttame.I was positively scandalized by some of the stories Hap told about you.”
Wilder didn’t respond, averting his eyes and training them on the windshield, watching the car’s progress through the city streets where we passed a massive shopping mall and a tall, narrow monument surrounded by a park before moving into another dense business zone.
We stopped at a sketchy-looking used car dealership on the outer edges of the city. Wilder got out, instructing me to wait in the cab with the bags and speak to no one while he negotiated a “deal.”
Ten minutes later he was paying the cabbie then helping me to climb into the front seat of a tired-looking older model SUV.
“You didn’t tell me we’d be traveling in such luxury,” I joked.
He shot me a grin. “No one’s gonna take a second look at us traveling in this, which is good. Unfortunately, things are gonna get a bit worse before they get better.”
“What does that mean?”
Chapter Eight
Off the Grid
Jessica
I discovered the answer on the five-hour drive that followed.
Our mysterious journey took us south out of the sprawling concrete jungle and across the countryside. Based on the people I saw walking on the roadside, riding bicycles, and driving in other cars, we were in an Asian country.
We traveled through tiny villages, which was nice, and on a winding mountain road which was not so nice.
It appeared to be a single lane in some spots—until other vehicles rounded the corner from the opposite direction and somehow passed by while we seemed to dangle from the edge of a cliff.
I found myself literally leaning toward the mountain, fearing my body weight alone would be enough to make us topple off the edge and crash into the ravine below.
“Thisis your idea of keeping me safe?” I asked during one particularly terrifying blind turn.
Wilder’s white teeth flashed. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. I’ve driven this road dozens of times. And the other drivers are native to the area.”
“How do you know?”
“No one comes here who isn’t a local—except for me.”
Our cross-country trek ended at a small village perched on a beautiful remote stretch of coastline. Wilder drove down its main road then parked the SUV behind a row of low-slung buildings with thatched roofs.
“Are we there? Is this where we’re staying?” I had zero doubtno onewould ever look for me in a place like this. I wondered if it even appeared on the map.
“Just another pitstop,” Wilder said. “I’m going to sell the SUV for parts. Just wait here—keep your sunglasses and scarf on. I’ll be right back.”
Within fifteen minutes, Wilder returned to the vehicle and began pulling the bags out of the back. “Okay, let’s go. We’re going to walk to the beach—it’s close—just past these huts.”
The beach was long and wide and very natural—not a lifeguard tower or bathhouse in sight.
Not far offshore, several small fishing boats were anchored alongside a surprisingly new-and-expensive-looking Sunseeker Predator yacht. I had been on boats like it before.
Small but luxurious, they typically had a large sunbathing area, a living area, and a dining area with wet bar, grill, and refrigerator on the upper deck.
Below deck would typically be a galley kitchen, a small breakfast seating area, a guest bathroom, and three private cabins, including a master bedroom with a much larger, posher bathroom en suite.
Wilder and I carried our bags right up to the edge of the water and watched as a local man swam out to one of the small boats. He unmoored it and motored it right up into the shallows so we could board.
“Did you buy this, too, or did you rent it?” I asked Wilder as we shuttled out to the beautiful yacht.
“Already owned it. Got it a couple years ago,” Wilder explained.
