Vacation to Die For (12 page)

Make that so blatantly. As he moves the map closer to her, his hand grazes her thigh. She gasps a bit, but shifts even closer to him—

And almost drives us off the road.

Quickly, I reach over from the back seat and jerk the wheel, steering us away from the shoulder. 

Do I get a thank you from either of them, for saving their lives? Nah. They’re too busy looking soulfully into each others’ eyes.

“I…I’ll have to get proper authorization for those areas,” Julie stutters.

“I’ll make it worth your while—and Mr. Boarke’s of course.”

I give the wheel another quick jerk—to straighten out the Jeep, if not my relationship with Jack. 

The maneuver causes Jack to hit his head on the roof of the Jeep. “Shit…
Ouch
!”

“I’m sure Julie will happily kiss it and make it feel better,” I hiss at him.

Julie, still embarrassed, takes the wheel. But this time she keeps her eyes on the road.

We pull into the Hunt Club right at lunch time. The club, which sits behind a tall stone wall deep within the island’s thickest jungle, resembles a rustic Victorian lodge. It is made of worn stone and aged-wood beams that look as if they were salvaged from old ships. White Adirondack chairs are scattered, in pairs, over its velvety green perfectly manicured grass. 

Beyond the lawn, the lush jungle lays undisturbed, except for the shrieks of parrots, no doubt in response to the rumbling footsteps of the wild beasts roaming through the ferns at the base of the tall moss-veiled palms where the birds have taken sanctuary.

Julie ushers us into the lobby, which is filled with men clustered according to their toys of choice: rod and reel, guns and ammo, or cards and chips.

“Ah, the deep sea fishermen are back!” Julie gives a happy sigh. “Their catches–mostly tuna—will be prepared to their liking at dinnertime by the lodge’s legion of world-class chefs.”

All around us, hunters are swapping tips on the best routes to stalk the island’s wild game. “What kind of animals are they after?” I ask her.

“Mostly red stag,” she answers, “Although our puma, black buck, and wild boar safaris are popular, too.”

I nod, as if fascinated. “I hear the Hunt Club also has a private reserve, just for its VIP guests. Does it have a different, more exotic prey?”

My question wipes the smile off Julie’s face. “I’ve heard rumors to that effect.”

Give, queenie. “
Ooh
! Are we talking endangered species? Elephants? Lions?”

Julie glances over my head, at a security camera, I presume. When she turns to Jack, her lashes are batting a million miles an hour. “I hardly think Mr. Boarke would do anything that would displease our guests.”

That’s just the point. How far would he go to please those who pick up the tab?

And who exactly are the partners he wants to cut out?

More importantly, how does Dr. Mandrake fit into this equation?

“As for a tour of the club’s private reserve, sorry, no. It wouldn’t be fair for those who have paid top dollar for the privilege.” Her frown turns upside down as she faces Jack. “But you’ll be happy to know, Mr. Stone, that the part of the island you’ve requested to see is next on our itinerary! I’ve arranged Battoo to be your guide, since he’s more familiar with the terrain than me.” Her eyes sweep over me. “Your sundress is precious, Miss Tallant. But considering that most of your journey will take you off the beaten path and within the animal reserve, you’ll have to change into camo. We don’t want to scare the animals, now do we?” She takes Jack’s arm in hers. “Take your time. We’ll wait for you up in Mr. Stone’s suite. I have to go over a figure or two with him.”

Hers, being the prime integer.

Let the games begin. 

Too bad she can’t tag along on the rest of our tour. It would have been interesting to point a rifle in her direction, if only to see how fast she can run in those heels.

 “You look ridiculous in that get-up,” Jack mutters.  

At least he’s waited until Battoo is a good fifty feet in front of us on this rocky path before chastising me for what I’m wearing. 

I shrug. “Hey it’s not my fault that the women’s attire in that so-called  ‘gear shop’  was slim pickings at best. Camouflage bustiers and short-shorts? I mean, come on already!” 

Jack raises a brow. “Admit it. You counted the wolf whistles from the guys in the lobby.”

Six, but I feign ignorance with a shrug. “Can I help it if your new gal pal, Julie, has cornered the market on Ralph Lauren safari wear?” 

I’m being serious. Her outfit was downright elegant: a long-sleeved belted beige linen tunic over formfitting khakis.

He shakes his head. “Don’t be so jealous. She’s a nice kid.”

“She’s no kid. And that’s no normal hunt club, either. The only other alternative was a Playboy Bunny outfit! No wonder this place is called ‘Fantasy Island.’ Tell me honestly, Jack, what kind of woman would wear this get-up in a hunting lodge?”

“One who’s looking to bag a man with a humongous bank account.” He swats away a mosquito. “And believe it or not, the lodge is crawling with that kind of woman—sometimes on all fours and tied to a leash by a studded collar around her neck, and wearing a pair of antlers on her head. We’ve only been on this island for thirty-six hours and already I’ve been invited to three orgies with the theme, ‘Fuck a Fawn.’”

“If you think Dr. Mandrake will show up, you should certainly attend.” 

 “He’s not. He’s out here somewhere. At least according to his GPS reading as of thirty minutes ago. But if Mandrake were there, yeah sure, I’d play along. We’re here on a mission, and we both know it.”  

So that he doesn’t see me grit my teeth, I feign interest in a beautiful bush with pale pink tulips that hang upside down from its branches. But before I can touch it, Battoo slaps my hand away. “Miss Tallant, don’t! That is Devil’s Breath. It turns those who touch it into zombies.”

 “Wow! Thanks for the warning.” I’ve already had one run-in with the drug that comes from it: scopolamine. My ex, Carl, used it on me then waltzed out of Guantánamo Bay, with me as his cover. 

And you wonder why I wanted a divorce? 

“Mr. Stone, we’ve gone as far as the path will take us.” Battoo sounds worried. 

Jack’s green eyes darken as he stares deep into the jungle. “I understand that, Battoo. But any investment in Fantasy Island dictates a due diligence that goes beyond the boundaries for the already established resorts. I’m sure you and Mr. Boarke understand my need to investigate even further.”

Battoo hesitates for a long moment. Finally he nods. “Yes, of course. But I caution both of you to follow me closely. We are only a twenty-minute walk from the crest of Mount Fantasia, the island’s most spectacular vista point. Still, the jungle is fraught with danger.”

His warning weighs heavily on the already moist air enveloping us. 

An even bigger warning is the poison dart that whizzes past my head.

Jack jerks me back just as another one flies by, spearing the trunk of a dwarf palm. 

I follow closely at his heels as he leaps into the bush, taking us off the footpath. We don’t dare stop and turn around. The sounds of the darts slamming into tree trunks and shredding palm leaves are all the incentive we need to keep moving. 

We’ve run a quarter of a mile when suddenly Jack stops short—

At the ledge of a cliff. The drop is at least six hundred feet into a copse of thick foliage, and who knows how far below it? To climb back up is impossible because the wind has stripped any vegetation off the cliff’s sheer face. 

From what I can tell, there is only one way to escape. Somehow we’ve got to leap to the other side of the trail—which from the looks of it, wraps around the hillside. 

But where does it end?

Jack turns to face me. “It’s a seven-foot leap. With a head start, you can clear it.”

“What? Are you crazy?” I shake my head so that he gets the message: 

No. Fucking. Way.

“It’s a broad jump. You did it in high school, right? There’s no difference here.”

“Oh yes sir, there is a very big difference. I’m twenty years older. And back in the day if you fell, you cut your knee—you didn’t 
kill yourself
!”

“Listen to me, Donna, you can do this! And I’m certainly not going without you—so, ladies first!”

Ladies first, eh? 
Now
 he pulls the etiquette card?

Then I see it. Long, strong, and swaying over my head, from a ledge that juts out over the abyss:

A vine.

I take off in a dead run. I grab it just as it waves past me, twisting it around my wrist and holding on tight—

And I take a flying leap.

I glide far, far over the chasm—

Until I’m swaying over the path on the other side.

Drop the vine—now! Drop it…

I do, and I flop down onto the muddy path. 
Yes! Yes!
 I’m on the other side!

When I turn back, Jack is staring at me in awe.

He looks hurt. “What the hell, Donna? You couldn’t have waited for me to grab hold of it, too?”

I shrug helplessly. “But you said ‘Ladies first’!”

He waves me off, annoyed. At least my weight gave the vine the needed momentum to sway back toward him. 

Thank you, God, for those eight lousy pounds that won’t come off.

Jack takes a flying leap, grabbing hold of the vine as it goes overhead. Then he swings back over the abyss, toward me.

But then his face twists into a grimace. At the same time he jerks forward—

Oh my God, he’s been hit by a dart.

His grip is slipping. His eyes open wide at the realization that he may not make it. But when they shift toward me again, I see love and hope and determination—

Until he falls.

I run toward him, praying that I make it in time. 

I slide to the edge, belly flopping just in time to stop, and to grab him.

Yes! I’ve got his hand. But…barely. 

The rest of him dangles over nothing but thick, moist air.

And silence. Except for the shrieks of birds.

I wish those parrots would shut the fuck up.

Jack’s grip is softening. I do my best to hold tight with both hands, but he’s much too heavy.  Any second now, he’ll slip away from me.

From the life we’ve built together.

From the love we share.

The look in his eyes is not fear. Nor is it resignation. 

It is adoration.

It is…surprise?

Something has grabbed hold of my legs. 

Whatever it is pulls me back, across the rocky ground. And because I’m still holding onto Jack, he is being dragged up and over the edge. 

I don’t let go until he is a safe distance from the ledge. Then I turn to see who saved us.

An ape? 

No, it’s a man—

A very hairy man.

A very hairy, naked man.

So there really is a Sasquatch. 

Ha. Cute ass.

Jack is cold. His body stiffens. I don’t want him to die this way. Please God, don’t let him die.

But if he does, at least it will be in my arms.

Make that Sasquatch’s. He turns around and comes back to us, if only to yank Jack up and over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. He practically runs down the path with him.

Leaves slap my face as I fly through the brush after him. I round each curve just in time to see him disappear around the next—

Until I don’t. 

I stop short. The bushes are once again thick on both sides of the path. I backtrack about twenty feet, scrutinizing every palm leaf and every fern, every nook and cranny of the hill towering over the path—

Until I find it: a tiny crack, half hidden in a thatch of vines.

I have to turn sideways and bend to the waist to enter.

It is pitch black inside.

I’ve lost them.

Is Jack now Sasquatch’s bitch?

“Don’t worry. He’s just stunned.” Sasquatch’s voice is coming toward me from the deep recesses of the cave. 

I hear sharp scratching sounds. The next thing I know, flames are flickering in a pile of brush, creating shadows that dance on the cave’s walls.