Reckoning (Wolfes of Manhattan 5)

“Stay here a minute.” Diamond left the room and was back a moment later with a wheelchair. “Sit down.”

“I’ll walk.”

“No. You’re not even supposed to be here. Please, just do as I say.”

I sighed softly and sat down in the chair.

“Close your eyes. Pretend like you’re out of it. I’m going to put you in the back of a van. It’s a short drive.”

I nodded, closed my eyes, and dropped my head. What about my things? My clothes? The food supply she’d provided? Would she bring it all? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t. I couldn’t risk her injecting me with some unknown substance.

I stayed still and quiet as a mouse as she wheeled me out into the darkness. I ached to open my eyes, to get some idea of where I was, but I didn’t dare.

She wheeled me down a ramp and across an even but slightly bumpy surface, and then I tilted as she presumably wheeled me up a steeper ramp and into the van.

“Stay still,” she whispered. “I can’t belt you in, but I’ll drive carefully.”

I didn’t nod. Didn’t dare to.

I kept my eyes shut during the drive, pushing down every urge to look. I’d only see the back of a van in the dark of night, so why risk it?

Reid, where are you? I love you so much.

After what seemed like an hour or so—I’d lost all track of time—Diamond stopped the van. A few seconds later, she opened the back. I heard her set down the ramp, and then she wheeled me down.

She moved her head so close to my ear I could feel her breath. “Don’t talk,” she said so quietly I could barely hear her with her lips at my ear.

I didn’t dare nod. I stayed quiet.

She wheeled me up a slight incline and then inside. I could tell because the humid air was replaced by the dry cool of air conditioning. I listened, trying to hear anything that might give me a clue about my surroundings.

Nothing.

No noise at all.

Not overly surprising, since it was the middle of the night.

Finally, the click of a door.

A moment later, she whispered, “We’re here. Be very quiet. Get out of the chair, and lie on the bed.”

I opened my eyes. The room was dark, but already I could see that it was bigger than where I’d been.

“Where—”

“Shh. You’re supposed to be out cold. Remember?”

I nodded and lay down on the bed. This one was bigger. Queen-sized at least, compared to the narrow twin in the first room.

“Go to sleep,” she said. “I’ll bring your breakfast in the morning.”

She whisked out with the wheelchair and clicked the door locked.

I wasn’t sure whether I should be frightened or relieved.

I was both.

36

Reid

My brother looked green.

Seriously green.

We’d taken a puddle jumper from Honolulu to an unnamed island that was used only as a gateway to the privately owned islands in a small cluster about four hundred miles south of Hawaii.

A private ferry would transport us to the coordinates.

We still used our aliases and paid for everything in cash except where a credit card was required. Then we used the cards in our alias names.

The ferry. The waters weren’t rough today, but my older brother still looked like he was about to hurl. I couldn’t help a chuckle.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“The great Rock Wolfe is seasick.”

He swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”

“Dude, there’s no shame in being seasick. You’ve never been on a boat before.”

“And you have?”

“Dad’s yachts, of course.”

“Poor me.” Rock grimaced.

“It’ll pass once we get to solid land,” I said. “In the meantime, try to focus on something on the horizon.”

Except that there was nothing on the horizon. Shit. Were these dead coordinates? Was Father Jim leading us to some point in the water that had no meaning to anything?

“Okay.” Rock gazed toward the endless ocean depths. “I see it.”

Sure enough, a sliver of land appeared in the horizon.

“It won’t be long now,” I said.

“If I can make it without losing my lunch.”

Rock didn’t lose his lunch. The boat docked at the island recognized by the GPS coordinates. Several uniformed workers got us docked, and a jeep waited for us.

“What is this place?” I asked our driver.

“You mean you don’t know?” The driver was pale-skinned but had a definite Pacific Islander accent. “How did you get here if you don’t know where you are?”

“We’re here on business,” Rock said.

Sure. Good enough. When in doubt, say you’re on business.

Of course, we were still wearing our very non-business clothes—Mike and Dave Bush’s clothes. Who cared? Maybe they were travel clothes.

“What kind of business?” the driver asked.

“The confidential kind.” Rock dug a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to the young man. “Take us somewhere where no one will know we’re here.”

He nodded and drove into what appeared to be a luxury resort. No sign indicated the name of the place, though. Surely Derek Wolfe would have put the Wolfe branding somewhere, but not that I could see. At least not yet.