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“Sir. It’s Casual Friday, sir.”
“And there’s a team-building exercise at four, followed by a Cinco de Mayo tequila party at five,” said a college-aged-looking dweeb in sneakers dribbling a basketball. Taylor made a mental note that when she returned home and won Miss Teen Dream, she’d start a charm school for clueless college boys. The world expected girls to pluck and primp and put on heels. Meanwhile, boys dressed in rumpled T-shirts and baggy pants and misplaced their combs, and yet you were supposed to fall at their feet? Unacceptable.
Aviators man shook his head and exhaled through tight lips. “Go on, Agent.”
Dismissed, the mystery men approached the volcano. One of them lifted a fake rock panel and punched in a code on a keypad. A hidden door slid open to reveal a brightly lit corridor. The men stepped inside and the door closed again as if it had never existed.
Taylor’s mouth opened in astonishment. What was going on here? Who were these people? She’d grown up on bases. She knew military. These people were something else. Keeping low to the ground, she crept around the side to get a better look at what was inside those crates. She kept one eye on the young guy and the man in sunglasses, who had lit up a cigarette. Taylor’s mouth twisted in judgment. Clearly, some people were just too stupid to live. She would also work anti-smoking into her platform. Taylor watched the men carefully.
“Hey, Jonesy! Think fast!” The college kid fake-tossed the basketball. Aviators man didn’t move. “You flinched!”
“Did not.”
“Did so,” the college kid singsonged under his breath. He reached into a crate and pulled out a white jar. Taylor strained to read the label. It looked like Lady ’Stache Off.
Aviators man put up a hand. “You might not want to get that near my lit cigarette.”
“Why? Doesn’t it take an electrical charge or something to make it go off?”
“It’s a volatile compound. An explosive. The less handling, the better.”
The college kid chuckled. “Exploding hair remover. I can’t get over that.”
“Try.”
The college kid placed the tub back in the crate. “This stuff’s gonna make The Corporation rich.”
Taylor frowned. The Corporation didn’t make explosives — certainly not out of beauty products. She had no idea what this ill-dressed boy was talking about.
He twirled the basketball on the tip of his index finger. “I know what’s going on, you know.”
Aviators man pulled on his cigarette. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
“Yes, Harris. I always know. What do you think you know?”
“What I need to know.”
“Which is?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Aviators man’s face remained stoic. “No. Not really.”
“Fine! Play hardball, Jonesy. I like that about you.”
“I’m not playing. I’m genuinely not interested.”
“The plane crash. The Miss Teen Dream beauty queens on the other side of the island?”
From the safety of her hiding spot, Taylor gasped and immediately put a hand to her mouth to silence herself. Aviators man’s head turned slightly in her direction and Taylor crouched lower.
“What is it?” the college kid asked.
“Nothing,” Aviators man said.
“So The Corporation was looking for those girls and the whole time they’re right here with us on the island.”
