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He pulled up the log, and it was one of the bars.
“Now can you pull up the cameras from the exits starting at the time he got there?” It hadn’t even been an hour. I shouldn’t have to do this guy’s job for him, but here we were.
He was entirely too slow skimming through the footage but finally stopped. “I found him!” he said like he deserved a fucking cookie.
“Now follow him.”
“Right. Right.” He moved with the cameras, seeming to get more confident as he moved. Fucking finally. I’d hate to have him on call if someone was in real danger or missing. How was he the last resort on an island full of what I could only assume was a ton of rich derelicts?The insurance liability alone.
I leaned forward to look over his shoulder, and the guy shied away from me, like my breathing down his neck was about to kill him. Was he this skittish normally, or was I that terrifying?
I knew I was tall, but Jesus, the news couldn’t be that bad, could it? If my phone worked, I’d have it in my hand, but the damn program director seemed to avoid me at all costs. Levi was probably paying her extra for that.
“I figured it out!” the guy said in a triumph when Aspen disappeared into a bush.
“Enlighten me.” It felt like I’d been in the tiny stuffy little room for a fucking hour. Maybe he was right to fear me because I wanted to smash his face into the keyboard for not spitting it out immediately.
“It looks like someone took him to the employee-only bar.”
I stared at him. “Is that even allowed?”
“Absolutely not. The employee would be in so much trouble.”
“And isn’t it your job to report such incidents?”
He turned to look directly at me, staring deadpan. “My job is to watch the guests. I’m not a snitch. Are you?”
I laughed. The guy had finally found some balls. “Fair enough. How do I get to the bar?”
“It’s around the corner from the bar—”
I cut him off. “Draw it for me.”
He sighed and rolled his eyes and muttered something about me being old as he turned around to get a piece of paper out of the printer.
“I’m not even forty!” Did this little shit think I was fucking old?
He pulled a face as he drew—badly. “You’re like classic rock, bro.”
“Are the guys from My Chem or Blink old?”
“Yeah! They are like the grandfathers of punk.”
I blinked. Gen-fucking-Z, I swear. I opened my mouth to argue with him, but I couldn’t bring myself to waste more time. I grabbed the map out of his hand, and he was lucky to get a thank you.
I stomped all the way back to the bar and stood there, turning the map five times before I figured out which way he wanted me to exit. Did this kid not know how to add landmarks for orientation? I followed the horrid map, trying to find the hidden entrance to this bar around every fucking corner.
It wasn’t until I retraced toward where I’d started that I saw a light leaking out from under a green door, painted to blend in with the foliage. I opened it to find a little tiki bar packed to the brim. I guess in the back of my mind I knew how many people were needed as the support staff at a place like this, but it still blew my mind.
I got a few looks as I passed; I assumed they’d clocked me for a guest and not an employee. My face wasn’t exactly something that I could hide, but it didn’t look like it was all that unusual for guests to find their way in here. Aspen was here too, after all.
I made my way to the bar and ordered a drink so I wouldn’t look that out of place. The bartender raised a brow but served me. He didn’t ask for my bracelet or payment, so it must have been a perk for the employees. It was all-inclusive.
“He’s over there.” The bartender chinned toward a group of guys, all obviously queer.
“How’d you know?”
He raised a brow. “Do you want the truth, or do you want me to feed ya a line about him being your best friend?”
