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I watch Callie as her gaze burns Archer’s back with hatred, her chest rising heavily, hands curled in fists.
Archer doesn’t pay attention. “The Emirates sent the contracts, yes, but Amir is handling… Will you please listen!” He ruffles his hair in what seems like frustration as he listens for some time, then looks at the phone like someone just hung up on him and exhales with a hiss.
When he turns, his face is the same emotionless mask, but his eyes are angry when he looks at me—mostly at me, not Callie, like she doesn’t exist. I don’t mind taking all his attention if only it weren’t so hostile.
“You are dismissed,” he says coldly, his gaze on his phone again as he scrolls with his thumb. “If you want to see the autopsy report and death certificate, Marlow will get them for you.”
Harsh.
Callie’s stare is unblinking when she suddenly lunges at Archer with her palm swinging in the air. But before she lands a slap, Archer catches her wrist in an iron grip, his body motionless like he is a robot as he holds her flush against him.
And that’s when there is finally a flash or real emotion in his eyes—hatred as he glares at Callie, the two of them like two enemies caught in a duel, bare of weapons.
I stiffen, ready to give him a glimpse of what martial arts training for four years can do if he dares touch her.
But they just glare at each other, their nostrils flaring in anger.
“I don’t have time for you tantrums, sweetheart,” he finally says. “You try this again, and I’ll send you off this island tonight. By. Your. Self.” He lets go of her wrist. “We’ll wait for your boyfriend. Until then, you are dismissed.” He turns to Marlow. “Get them out of here.”
He walks away, his attention on the phone right away, and I wonder what it takes to tilt his axle.
Marlow meets my eyes and shrugs as if in apology.
I nod to him, pointing toward the door as I grab Callie by her arm and drag her away like a naughty child.
She is shaking slightly, whether from anger or the news. But if she wants to do something, she needs a cool head. And an ally.
I pull all my charms and a smile as we walk out of the villa into the bright sun and I turn to Marlow.
“Nado pogovorit’,” I tell him we need to talk in Russian, in case someone—something—is listening.
9
ARCHER
It’snoon but feels like I’ve been up for weeks.
I check the cameras on the Eastside again—Droga’s boat never came out of the caves. There is no sign of him either.
Fuck.
I dial the surveillance center. “I need you to track one of the Eastsiders. Send a drone to Devil’s Caverns. Check whatever cameras we have near the Ashlands, then the ones in town. If anyone emerged from the caves, I need you to tell me exactly where he is.”
Except, when I hang up, I know it’s too late. Droga probably got lost in the sea of vagrants in the Ashlands and even more so in town.
Sure enough. The surveillance team calls—they lost him. It’s been half a day, and they still can’t track him.
Meanwhile, on the Eastside, Maddy and several other girls go in and out of the bungalow where Bo is. And the highlight—three Eastsiders take off into the jungle, taking the smaller path that goes along the main one across the top of the island toward the Divide.
I wonder what their plan is. With fewer cameras on that path they still won’t be able to escape the Divide patrol.
Unless…
One of the blind spots, a square mile area, is around Bishop’s cabin. If they have the brains to do that—that would be the only way to come close to Ayana. But there is still close to zero chance to get through the patrol around the resort perimeter.
Curiosity keeps me checking the cameras every hour.
I finally dial Marlow. “I need you to keep tabs on surveillance. Your buddy, Ty, is coming home. So make sure he doesn’t get shot before he crosses the threshold. Nothing stupid, understood?”
