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“Do you need to get that?” Emile asks.
I sigh and nod. “Hello?” I ask into the receiver. I hope Todd can easily pick up that I’m not at liberty to discuss sensitive details right now. He’s probably just going to chew me out for not being locked up at home with my windows boarded up and my head under a pillow.
“Clarissa? Oh, thank God. Listen, we’ve got a situation.”
The strain in Todd’s voice drops a block of ice in my stomach. This isn’t his lecture voice. This isn’t even his normal ‘I mean business’ voice.
Emile takes a step toward me. My anxiety must be showing on my face.
“Look, there’s no easy way to say this… I lost your file.”
I blink a few times, trying to understand the full consequences of this. “And?” I ask.
“And? And the file has your new address, name, and contact information. Most importantly, it lists you as very much alive!”
My mouth hangs open. The sheer incompetence this man has displayed over the course of this nightmare has been astounding. And all this time, he had the nerve to lecture me?
“Well, where did you lose it?” I cry. My voice pitches, and I feel my face going red in equal parts frustration and terror.
“It must’ve been the diner. I had it with me to go over some details with the team. But when I left, I realized I had the menu in my hand instead,” Todd explains. He sounds strained and embarrassed. That should be the least of his worries right now.
“Well, call them!”
“I did! I went back to check and got a hold of the managers. No one who works there saw any files today. I think it might have ended up in the wrong hands. Hell, I’m starting to suspect the syndicate has its paws in a lot more than one donut shop. They might own every eatery in this entire damn town.”
My breathing picks up, my pulse hammering in my ears.
“Clarissa? What’s wrong?” Emile asks.
“Listen, I’m sorry. Whatever you’re doing right now, it doesn’t matter. I need you to get to a neutral safe zone with a lot of people. A grocery store or something. Then text me your location. I’ll have a team there to pick you up in ten minutes.”
My vision starts to narrow. The blues of the ocean and sky blur together into one mass of bright light. With the exception of one small, dark speck on the horizon. And it’s getting bigger. Fast.
“Emile,” I say, turning my head to look at him. “I don’t know how to explain this. But we need to get back to land. As quickly as possible.”
A flash of something like concern, or maybe pain, comes and goes on Emile’s face. But he nods and gets to the wheel.
“If you can dock near town, or anywhere that’s busy, that’d be ideal,” I say.
“Yeah, well, I’ll do my best. I need to get out of this other boat’s way first. The asshole doesn’t seem to want to go around us.”
I look up to see what Emile is talking about and feel my breath catch in my throat. There is indeed another boat heading straight for us. Three people are on it, dressed in tropical print button-down shirts and designer sunglasses. And the man front and center is one that haunts my nightmares.
Hudson Judge.
“Emile. We need to do more than go around. We need to get away from them. Quickly. Now!” I scream.
Emile looks at me strangely but gets the boat into motion regardless. Hudson pulls out a rifle and aims it towards us.
“What the hell!” Emile yells. We duck, avoiding the first shot, and Emile’s boat takes off faster than ever. We speed through the water, bobbing over waves and creating one hell of a wake behind us. The other guys’ ship has some trouble keeping up, but that doesn’t stop them from trying.
“You wanna explain what’s going on here!” Emile yells over the roar of the wind. His voice is dripping with anger, and I certainly can’t blame him. “Why are those ‘five o’clock somewhere’ meatheads trying to kill us?”
“They’re just trying to killme,” I explain. “I’m sorry, Emile. I wanted to tell you this whole time. I really did!”
“Tell me? Anything that leads to a gun being aimed in my direction is something you’re probably supposed to share!”
We duck again at the sound of the gun. The bullet hits the water, thankfully.
