I’ll get her. She’ll be safe.
Baptiste had wanted us back in Jamaica where it all began—where he’d proposed to Nakita, where he’d married her later, and also where he’d buried her. And of course, he’d book the same resort hotel we’d been in. Baptiste had always been romantic with his plans, so symbolic and sentimental.
It took no time finding the location of his room. It just took a gun to the resort owner’s face and a threat that with all certainty I would burn his property and him down to the ground if Zola wasn’t found.
The owner decided to help after that, getting the front desk to look up the room and even having room service check that they were in there.
Once room service ordered Baptiste’s coffee and breakfast, we emptied out the fifth and forth floor, telling people it was a possible false alarm, but the resort wanted to be proactive.
Presently, I was heading up to get Zola back.
“Come on!” I roared at the elevator as it rose to the fifth floor. As soon as the doors opened, I raced to the door. The hall was clear. My thighs burned. His lungs were on fire.
I gripped my gun in both hands, pointed it at the doorknob, and fired. The knob shattered. Metal broke and fell to the floor. I slammed open the door and entered the suite, arms extended directly ahead of me.
Where are you, baby?
I tried gauging where Zola could be. There was a long hallway from the front door that must’ve opened out into a living room. Baptiste had reserved a two-bedroom suite.
Baptiste’s voice sounded. “You showed up too early, Hunter.”
It came from the living room area, but a little further away. Only one thing registered in my head.
Where’s Zola? Was I wrong? Did you want to kill her?
My breath caught. I prayed to every god that ever existed that she was safe.
“Where’s Zola?” I yelled out.
“She’s here.”
“Where?”
“On the balcony. Come out, and I won’t shoot.”
Sweat trickled down my back. I inched down the hallway with my gun still in the air. “Let her go. Please, Baptiste. I know what you need from me now.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. You want me to kill you.”
“But how do I know that you will kill me?”
“Trust me.” I gripped my gun hard. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m definitely going to kill you.”
A dark laugh left Baptiste. “Oh, Hunter. I know you’re mad, but I need your guarantee that you’ll follow my—”
“I read them all on the plane here.” I got to the end of the hallway and stepped out. “I read the damn instructions.”
“You did?” He held Zola in his arms with a gun pointed to her temple.
My body shook with rage. “Baptiste…let her go.”
“What did my instructions say?”
“Let her go—”
“What did they say?!” It looked like Baptiste had tightened his hold on her. Zola widened her eyes and shook against him.
I let out a long breath, still keeping my hold on the gun in front of me. “The instructions said that I should be dressed in white.”
Baptiste nodded at the clothes I’d worn—ivory pants and a white buttoned-down shirt. “Go ahead.”
“The death needs to be swift. Not with a gun, but a sharp knife dotted in the blood of a newly sacrificed goat.” I gestured to my rainbow knife on my shoulder holster.
Baptiste smiled like a crazy man. “Good. I have the goat blood.”
“I figured you would, but I had Stark get me a goat and keep it at the burial just in case.”
“Stark is here?”
“Yes. He’s with Nakita.”
Baptiste’s hand shook. “What does that mean, Stark is with Nakita?”
I inched closer. “It means that if you don’t let Zola go right now, I’ll have Stark fuck up Nakita’s body.”
Baptiste gritted his teeth. “Is that threat necessary?”
I glared at him. “Was this threat necessary? Why Zola? Why have her terrified?”
“Like I just told her. You needed a push. Before you started investigating her stalker, you were scared of her love and willing to hide—”
“Ah, you did this for me?” I inched even closer.
Baptiste snarled. “Stay where you are.”
“Let her go. I read your instructions. Stark is at the burial area to help. I’ll follow it all. Just get her out of here.”
A calm expression fell on Baptiste’s face. “What else do you have to do? Prove to me that you read them.”
“Goddamn it—”
“I need you to take this seriously.”
My nostrils flared. “Stark and I did everything this morning. We ran all over this goddamn island. Black candles are outlining the grave. I’ve got the chants in my pocket. There’s even a goddamn jar for fucking tears. Let her go!”
Slowly, Baptiste moved the gun away, but didn’t release her. “The tears are the most important. They needed to be bottled up and kept for thirty days.”
“I know.”
“Those tears have to remain there—on that windowsill—for all the phases of the moon.” Baptiste opened his arms.