When they are all in place, I turn back to the kit and find gauze. Which I wrap around his head, mummy style, to keep the blood still escaping from falling into his eyes.
I secure it at the side of his head with tape and then sit back to admire my work. Brock opens his eyes and looks at me. I tilt my head. There is still blood all over his face.
Finding another wet wipe, I lean forward and start to clean off his face. Brock blinks at me but doesn’t pull away as I rub the crust off.
“Where are we going?” I ask Robert.
“The Palms,” he says. “Then you’ll go back to the island. I am not safe for you to be around.”
“Not before you tell me what I came here to learn,” I say, my voice coming out weird. As if I want to spend time with him and am upset he is sending me away. Don’t be weird, vocal cords, none of that is true.
“I’ll give you everything you want,” Robert says. I don’t respond, just sit back in the seat and pull off the latex gloves, stuffing them into the little trash bag that came with the kit. It’s pretty full with the rest of the debris from my wound tending.
The pink of sunset stains the sky peachy blue. My son moves inside of me, and I’m suddenly ravenously hungry. Even with the thick scent of alcohol and blood in the air, I am ready to eat.
Brock’s voice comes over the headphones, a pair of which he has now donned over his bandaged head. “Do you want me to message the Palms, sir?”
“Yes,” Robert answers.
Brock’s jaw ticks as if he doesn’t like this but he doesn’t contradict his boss.
Robert flicks something on the controls and his lips move. He must be communicating with his team.
Brock sends off a message on his phone and then rests his head back and closes his eyes. Brock’s breathing evens out, and I’m pretty sure he is asleep twenty seconds later when Robert’s voice comes into my headphones again.
“We will be at the hotel in fifteen minutes. You need a change of clothing and then we can eat. I’d like you to leave tonight.”
I glance down at myself. There is blood on my shirt—must be from Brock, though I don’t remember when it got on me. “Leave tonight?” I ask, surprised at my disappointment. “My doctor didn’t want me flying around that much. She actually thought I should spend a few days here,” I continue, thinking out loud. “But it wasn’t that long a flight…”
“Why?” Robert asks, turning to glance back at me briefly.
“It’s not good to fly so frequently at this stage of the pregnancy; I mean, she said it’s fine, but better to give my body a few days on the ground.” My gaze tracks to the ocean below. “I guess I blew that,” I add with a laugh.
“Are you in some kind of distress with the pregnancy?” Robert asks, his voice calm and collected. He doesn’t sound worried but when I look back at him his jaw is clenched tight.
“No, I’m fine,” I say. Blue shifts closer, resting his head in my lap, as if he knows that I’m not really fine. That I’m even more confused than when I left the island.
I need to get some answers and get the fuck out of here. Robert is right, he is not safe for me to be around. And not just because I’m likely to get shot…
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Brock wakes up as our altitude drops. The lush green of a private island with a helicopter pad carved into a hillside looms below.
“That’s impressive,” I say. Brock looks over at me, a question in his gaze. “You can just sleep like that, anywhere?”
“Yes,” he answers. “It’s an excellent skill to have in my line of work.”
“I bet. How do you do it? I’d like to learn.”
“It’s a breathing technique. Takes practice but once you learn it, you can sleep anywhere, anytime.”
“Sounds amazing.”
The helicopter touches the ground and a uniformed staff member runs over in a crouch to open my door. “You’ll have to teach it to me,” I say.
“Anytime,” Brock promises, then slips his headphones off as the sound of the engine cuts. My door opens and Blue leaps out, frightening the shit out of the guy who opened it. He jumps back and yelps. Blue stretches and yawns.
“He’s friendly,” I promise.
The guy whose name tag reads “Rai” nods, not taking his eyes off my beast of a dog. I climb out, staying low to avoid the still-rotating blades, and then move with Blue to the edge of the pad, where another uniformed staff member waits. She’s a middle-aged woman with dark hair pulled back into a slick bun at the base of her neck. She smiles at me and gives a slight bow of welcome. Her name tag reads “Mahana”.
Brock, still wearing my small duffel, carries both weapons cases as he crosses to us. The head wrap stays in place even in the dying wind of the rotor. Rai waits by Robert’s door as he finishes whatever one needs to do after landing a helicopter. His mirror sunglasses flash in the dying light of the day and a thrill of something spikes through me. That’s my husband. The one who just coolly landed the helicopter. Yeah…that one. Oh my god, brain! Shut up!
Robert joins us moments later, taking one of the cases from Brock.
“May I take your luggage, sir?” Rai asks.
Robert shakes his head. “No, thank you.”
“This way,” Mahana says. “Your rooms are ready.”
We follow her down a wooden walkway set above the jungle floor. The lush vegetation bows over us, blocking out all but a thin sliver of sky.
A large palapa comes into view with open walls and a straw roof. Inside are seating areas, a check-in desk, and a shop with resort wear in the window—flowing kaftans and wide-brimmed hats.
We move through it without stopping for check-in and continue onto a new wooden walkway that leads out over the placid bay, passing bungalow suites that look eerily similar to the last hotel’s. Must be a Bora Bora thing. Blue’s nose brushes against my hip.
