Chapter 17 #2
He’d first tried to give her his shoes, too, but they were too big. But no way would she let Chris know she was in a little pain because he’d scoop her into his arms and carry her without a second thought. She already felt bad that he was wearing shoes without socks—the blisters would suck.
“Wet socks,” both Chris and Roman blurted at the same time, which was basically the last comment she had expected to hear.
Wet socks. And now Rory understood why they’d both insisted on setting their socks and shoes out to dry for a bit before they started walking earlier.
“Great minds, brother,” Chris said to Roman.
“Okay, please tell us, why wet socks?” Of all things you could have picked.
“BUD/S,” Roman noted as if that was reason enough.
Chris slowed his pace, eyes moving to Rory’s feet.
“One sec. Are you in pain?” He stopped and knelt to examine her feet.
“Shit, you’re in pain, aren’t you?” His hand raced from her calf muscle down, and his touch had her remembering his hands roaming her body the other night.
She couldn’t seem to stop her naughty thoughts, but since they’d been walking all day without any sign of imminent danger, well, why the hell not let herself fantasize?
Chris made a few adjustments and added some more padding with leaves, and Roman did the same for Harper.
“You could have told us,” Roman said in a grumpy-sounding voice. “You don’t need to act tough.”
“Roger that,” Harper shot back in a feisty tone, her hands continuing to brace his shoulders for balance as Roman fixed her shoes.
“Thank you,” Rory said softly when Chris rose to stand before her, their eyes meeting in what felt like the perfect-kiss moment, but they had company, so he cleared his throat and turned away.
“So, wet socks,” Harper said once they were walking again.
“Squishy,” Chris tossed out.
“Soggy,” Roman added.
“And annoying as hell,” Chris continued. “We were always wet at BUD/S. And wearing wet socks while running drills was a damn nightmare, so we’ll walk a mile out of our way to this day if it means avoiding water and getting our boots and socks wet.”
“You’re not serious?” Rory asked, and Roman looked back and nodded it was true.
“Well, I learn something new every day about you boys. And so many things make sense now.” Harper’s tone was light and cheerful, despite the gravity of their situation.
“About those pirates you mentioned,” Chris began a few minutes later, “were you being serious?”
Rory thought back to her research on Mona Island.
“Back in the day, pirates used to hide on the island to repair their ships, re-energize, and used the site to attack and plunder Spanish galleons.” She lifted her foot to step over a thick, fallen tree, and Chris extended his hand to help ensure she didn’t trip.
So chivalrous. He tipped his head and gave her a bow as if he’d heard her thoughts.
“The infamous Captain Kidd was hired to hunt pirates and wound up becoming one himself. He was here once as well.” She sorted through her mental notes.
“With the rough seas, high swells, and strong current, a lot of ships crashed into the cliffs when they traveled through Mona Passage, and pirates took advantage.”
“But this was in the past, right?” Chris asked.
“Smugglers still use this island. Trafficking everything from antiquities to drugs and guns.”
“Smugglers.” Chris’s thoughts were wandering, his curiosity piqued with that bit of knowledge, she could tell.
“An uninhabited island makes it the perfect location to transfer products.” This would have been the perfect opening for her to explain why in the heck they’d been kidnapped, but didn’t they need to be sitting for that? Maybe nourished, too?
“I don’t know why you sound so surprised by this,” Harper commented, her words most likely meant for Chris. “With everything you’ve seen in your work . . .”
“True,” Chris answered, shooting a quick look at Rory. Curiosity burning in his eyes.
“You think your people can find us? Track us?” Rory asked a few minutes later.
“Absolutely,” Harper remarked with zero doubt in her voice. “Jessica will track us down. Find out who took us out of the hotel.”
And why? She was waiting for the why. “How do you think the men got us out of the hotel?” Rory had run through a few ideas in her head, but she was curious to hear what they thought.
“My guess is the smoke set off the fire alarms. The bad guys came dressed as firefighters and carried us right out to an ambulance, and then they put us in a fake ambo and took off without anyone being the wiser,” Harper quickly explained.
“Jessica will look at all the surveillance footage from in and near the hotel to put eyes on us and the vehicle that took us.” She slowed to walk in stride with Rory, whacking a branch out of her path in the process.
“And Asher happens to be a hell of a tracker. We’re in good hands. Don’t worry.”
“Yeah, but here? Is anyone that good?” she countered, not wanting to be a pessimist, but they were on an uninhabited island with no cell reception.
“We find the unfindable,” Chris said, an easy confidence in his tone.
It felt like years since Chris had told her about his mom’s voicemail. There’d been no time to discuss how he was feeling about it. And she assumed it was the last thing on his mind now, but at some point, maybe when they were safe and off the island, he’d share more.
“It’s what we do, kind of like what you used to do, right?” Chris’s question interrupted her thoughts.
“I, uh, suppose.” She gulped. “But I guess I’m not too worried.” And that was the truth. They all had the necessary skill sets that, when combined, would make one hell of a team. “I’m so sorry I pulled you all into my mess.”
“Still don’t know if this is because of you,” Chris reminded her, but nope, that ship of disbelief that this wasn’t about her had sailed.
Rory attempted a smile when Chris glimpsed at her. “How long have you been working for the Agency?”
“Good one,” Harper said without missing a beat. “Finn and Roman told me you think we’re with The Company, but we’re not. I was once upon a time ago, but we’re not with the CIA.”
“The CIA likes to color outside the lines,” Chris said in an easy tone, “but we’re more of an abstract, ‘throw your paint on the canvas, and see what happens’ kind of team.”
“Your Pollack-to-a-Picasso analogy makes me wonder if you still have some of the drugs they pumped into us coursing through your system.” Harper squinted at Chris like she thought he was nuts.
Rory stopped and set a hand to a tree to rest for a moment, even though they’d taken a tiny break back by the waterfall.
Hunger pain was crushing her energy level.
“You don’t actually think I believe you’re only private military contractors, do you?
” she asked after Chris handed her one of the two water bottles.
She took a conservative sip and gave it back to him.
“You all went after Santiago in El Salvador. Santiago’s a smuggler.
The Agency received the tip on his location in August. Why’d the CIA sit on the intel for nearly two months?
And what I’m really curious about is why they sent you? ”
Chris looked to Roman. And Roman looked to Harper. Dominoes of shock falling one by one.
Chris and Roman were aware she’d overheard some of their conversation in the garage last Sunday, but they’d find out soon enough how much more she actually knew about men like Santiago.
“And how do you know this?” Roman’s dark eyes remained steady and focused on hers until she shifted her focus back to Chris.
“Because I’m the one who tipped off the CIA. Tied up all the intel needed to take him down with a neat little bow.” Rory held a palm up before questions were hurtled her way. “But I promise, I’ll get into that later.”
Chris blinked a few times, surprise crossing his face. “I, um.” He pinched at the skin of his throat, searching for words, maybe.
“Is this going to be a ‘you won’t tell us what you know unless we fess up to what we know’ kind of thing?” Harper asked, a frown on her face that Rory hoped was more curiosity than disapproval.
“No, I wouldn’t do that.” But it’d be nice to know the truth about them.
Chris stepped in front of Rory, eyebrows pinched with concern. “Those guys on that boat, they work with Santiago? Is that what you’re thinking?”
“I don’t know, to be honest,” she said, her shoulders falling. “But there’s so much to . . .” Rory closed her eyes when the memory that’d been taunting her finally formed into a full-on picture in her mind.
The dead man with the snake tattoo . . . she remembered why he looked familiar.
But no, that didn’t make sense.
“The guy on the yacht,” she whispered upon opening her eyes, “he’s the man who paid off the guys who kidnapped Andrew and me nine years ago.”