Page 156 of Ruthless Creatures
And the single word scrawled in David’s handwriting on the bottom edge.
Panama.
He didn’t have to write more. He knew I’d know where to go with only that.
I pack a bag, call my parents and convince them to stay with a friend until they hear back from me, and drop Mojo off at Sloane’s.
When she asks me where I’m going, I tell her the truth: on my honeymoon.
Then I take a cab to the airport and buy a ticket, first class.
That trust account Kage set up for me is going to come in mighty handy.
THIRTY-NINE
NAT
The Villa Camilla Hotel in Panama is nestled between a silver-strand beach and a tropical forest on the Azuero Peninsula on the Pacific coast. With only seven rooms, it’s a small but fabulously beautiful hotel.
When I arrive, it’s early afternoon, ninety degrees, and oppressively humid. I’m wilting in boots, a turtleneck sweater, and my heavy winter coat.
The attractive concierge greets me with a friendly smile. “Welcome to Villa Camilla, señorita. Are you checking in?”
Sweating, exhausted from twelve hours of flying with a connection through LAX, I drop my overnight bag to the red Spanish tiles and lean on the edge of the carved mahogany counter that separates us. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Would you like a tour of the property or one of the rooms? We do have two lovely suites available, both with ocean views.”
“Actually, I was wondering if you have any messages for me.”
“I can certainly check. What’s the name of the guest who left the message?”
“David Smith. But he’s not a guest.”
She arches her brows.
“It’s complicated. We were supposed to come here on our honeymoon, but… the wedding didn’t happen.”
The concierge puckers her mouth into a concerned O shape. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It was a good thing. Turns out, he was already married.”
She blinks.“Dios mio.”
“Right? Asshole. Anyway, I’m pretty sure he left a message for me here. My name’s Natalie Peterson. Would you mind checking?”
“Of course.” She starts typing on her keyboard. “When would he have left the message?”
“This would’ve been just over five years ago.”
Her fingers fall still. She glances up at me.
“I know. It’s a long story.”
I can’t tell if the look on her face is curiosity or if she’s about to call security. In either case, she starts typing again, then shakes her head.
“I have nothing in the system for Natalie Peterson.”
Oh shit.“Is there like a physical place you’d keep messages or anything? A mailbox? A file?”
