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“I didn’t request them.” Vaughn stares at me.
I need a moment. “You didn’t mention the camp accidents, Charlie’s injuries, the need for reinforcements?”
“I didn’t have a chance. Mac started by announcing the additional passengers. And he didn’t refer to them as scientists or engineers or experts A, B, or C. He said he was bringing two of his men.”
“Two of his men? As in security?” Now I am intrigued.
“That’s what it sounded like. Which, given the circumstances, is helpful. Except, of course, I gotta find lodging for two extra people, and it’s not like there’s a rental market on a deserted atoll. Only thing I can think of is me moving into my office and giving them my cabin. Fuck it all.”
I blink my eyes, trying to process this development. “Hang on, lodging inconveniences aside, what does it mean that MacManus was already bringing security personnel? Did he mention this yesterday when he first planned on arriving?”
Vaughn shakes his head.
“So sometime between yesterday morning and this morning, he hired two guards. The biggest events in between being the discovery of the burial mound and Charlie’s midnight misadventure.”
“I’d informed Mac about the discovery of the recent human remains. He didn’t seem especially worried, at least not on a personal level. Future of the project.” Vaughn shrugged. “Not gonna lie, the fact Ronin estimates the grave to be of modern origin was received as good news. As much as unearthing a dead body can be considered good news.”
I understand what he’s saying. An ancient burial would result in an almost immediate work stop as well as jeopardize MacManus’s development plans. Finding some poor recently missing woman, however… Bad for her, not so relevant to the MacManuses of the world.
“You don’t think the security personnel have anything to do with the grave, then. But maybe after Charlie disappeared? Do we even know why Charlie went out to the gravesite in the middle of the night, in the midst of a hurricane?”
“Curiosity.” Vaughn’s flat tone indicates he believes that answer as much as I do.
“Do you consider Charlie a danger?” I ask curiously.
“Given that, currently, he can barely stand upright…”
“Have you ever noticed his accent coming and going? Like maybe he’s faking it?”
“Charlie?” Vaughn frowns at me, clearly surprised by my question. “His résumé says he’s from Australia. When I first met him, he certainly sounded like he was from down under. Not sure I ever thought of it much after that. Does he have the heaviest accent? No. But he hasn’t lived at home in decades. If he sometimes sounds more Yank than Aussie, well, he’s been hanging out with the riffraff for a while now.”
“Maybe.” I don’t mention the other details from last night. I want to talk to Charlie first. I want to know exactly what he meant by “her,” not to mention what he was really doing at the burial site.
“But either way,” Vaughn is saying now, “Mac arranged for security personnel before I told him about last night.”
“Before you told him. But what about someone else? As the architect, Aolani must be comfortable contacting him directly. Or maybe Ronin?”
“They didn’t. I asked.”
“Oh.” Now I’m a little stumped, too. “Is there something else going on?” I venture at last. “Something that happened in MacManus’s world, versus our little slice of paradise?”
Vaughn tilts his head to the side. “Possible,” he allows. “Mac didn’t mention anything. But… possible. I can ask him more when he arrives. Speaking of which.” Vaughn rises to standing. “I gotta move into my office. You”—he smiles pointedly—“get to change over my cabin for two new visitors. And the entire crew”—he heads toward the dinner bell—“gets to play pick-up sticks.”
He rings the bell, summoning the rest of the inmates. Midnight drama over; we’re officially back to work.
Before MacManus arrives in a matter of hours.
With Lea.
And my true mission begins.
I HIT THE bathhouse to pick up clean linens for Vaughn’s cabin. There, I confront the growing pile of laundry that apparently hasn’t done itself while I’ve been running around the atoll. Whether I’m here under false pretenses or not, washing is my responsibility, so I get the first load of whites chugging away.
Then, armed with a pile of sheets and towels, I follow the leaf-strewn path to Vaughn’s dark-green cabin all the way at the end. It’s larger than the others, with an expansive front porch and an absolutely stunning two-hundred-and-seventy-degree view of the ocean, framed by drooping palm fronds. Definitely the boss’s house.
I knock first, not sure if Vaughn has had time to clear out yet. When no one responds, I let myself in, already curious.
The interior is similar to mine, whitewashed exposed framing with a churning ceiling fan and gray-painted floor. The window trim is a cheery aqua color, while a small, parlor-size table with seating for two sits by the window, perfect for a morning cup of coffee.
