Amy Maxwell's 6th Sense Page 20

  “Who’s this we?” Jason asks. He points to River. “We’re going in and you’re waiting here.”

  “Can I go with you? I want to help,” Dennis says.

  Jason shakes his head. “You could really help out by staying here and keeping an eye on this one.” He jerks his head in my direction. “She tends to get herself in trouble.”

  I puff my chest out with indignation. “I take offense to that!” But it’s true and I really can’t argue with it. In fact, we wouldn’t be standing here in the early dawn hours, whispering in the bushes in front of a hut, wondering if my husband is stuck inside with his would-be-killers or not. In fact, if it wasn’t for me, we’d be eating a fabulous steak and shrimp dinner on the deck of the resort’s finest restaurant after renewing our vows on a sunset beach. Well, not at six o’clock in the morning, but you know what I mean.

  “Do you have a clear signal on the radio?” Jason asks River.

  River reaches inside the backpack that is slung across his shoulder and retrieves a walkie-talkie. He turns the knob and a quiet screeching noise is emitted from the device.

  “Shhh! Jesus, keep it down!” Jason admonishes while slapping his cousin in the back of the head. “I asked if you had a signal—I didn’t say to turn it on!”

  “Well how the hell was I supposed to tell if I had a signal if I didn’t turn it on?” He doesn’t even sound the least bit smug…just confused. That’s River for you.

  Good point, River. You tell him.

  Annoyed at his obvious mistake, Jason waves his hand impatiently. “Do you have a signal or not?”

  “Who is he going to call?” I ask. “The Bahama Royal Guard?”

  “I don’t think that’s a thing,” Dennis tells me. He looks serious. I guess he never heard of sarcasm. I study him for a moment, wondering briefly what his story is. What kind of crazy sucker gives a boat ride to two guys he hardly knows, and chases after an unknown woman in the jungle and then, wants to go save a guy who may be held hostage by mobsters in a thatched hut in the middle of that same jungle? Or forest?

  “I know it’s not a thing—” I start to explain, but I am quickly shushed by Jason. He is frantically slapping River’s arm, trying to get his attention as River fiddles with the walkie-talkie.

  “What?” River asks, glancing up. Jason’s fingers are pressed to his lips and he is pointing toward the hut. River sees what he is pointing at and all the color drains out of his face.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper. I can’t see what they’re looking at because they’re blocking my view. Dennis is also craning his neck to see around them.

  “Nothing,” Jason hisses as he turns his back to me. “Just keep it down.”

  Annoyed at their easy dismissal of my concern, I realize if I can’t see over them, I probably can see under them. As they peer over the bush in front of them, I crouch to the ground and stick my head between their legs. Not actually between their legs…just between them. And their legs. The dog seems curious as well and follows suit, wriggling to fit next to me.

  I absentmindedly pat the dog—his fur is matted and pretty gross, but my mind is elsewhere. I can’t really see what the guys are looking at. There are feet shuffling in the distance, a little ways up the path. One, two, three sets of feet in shoes. And two sets of bare feet. I’m assuming that one of those sets belong to Waynedell. They look very worn. The other set in clad in black socks—black socks that I would know anywhere, black socks with holes in the toes that I have been trying to get rid of for years. The socks, that is, not the toes.

  Roger. Part of me is relieved. He’s alive. The other part of me is petrified. Why are they shuffling? And what are River and Jason trying to shield me from?

  My brain is screaming at me to just stay where I am and let Jason and River formulate a plan to free Roger. Me being me, of course, I ignore my brain and crawl a little closer to the bush, parting the branches as I do. What I see in front of me causes me to gasp loudly. Loud enough for Jason to grab my shoulder and drag me away.

  “Let me go,” I growl as he drags me along the ground, my butt bouncing over the lumpy dirt/sand combo.

  “No way,” he hisses. “I told you not to look. River and I are going to take care of this. There is no need for you to get involved, Amy.” He crouches down and I turn my head away from him. I feel the tears stinging at my eyes, rolling down my face. His fingers brush my chin and he lifts my head. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “How can you be so sure,” I sniff, avoiding eye contact. If I look at him now, I know I will burst out in tears and I’m pretty sure I don’t have any clue how to sob quietly.

  “Have I ever let you down before?” Jason asks.

  I shake my head. “No. But you’ve never had to rescue my husband before.”

  “I promise you, Amy,” Jason says solemnly. “And I rarely make promises. “Do you trust me?”

  I nod my head because what other choice do I have? What else can you do when the bad guys are leading your husband to a boat with his hands and feet bound and a burlap sack over his head?

  ~Twenty-Two~

  “Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen,” Jason, River, and I are in a huddle. Dennis is oddly left out. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He’s pulled a dog brush out of his pocket and is combing Grover. Very weird.

  “River and I are going to get into the water there,” Jason points to a beach area to the left. Waves are splashing up against the rocks. “We’re going to swim to the back of the yacht. It’ll take them a few minutes to get a boat that size ready to go. Then when the yacht departs, we’ll climb on board and take it from there. River, you got your piece?”

  River bobs his head and pats his side where I’m assuming his gun is strapped to his body. How the hell did he get on a plane with a gun?

  “Okay, let’s go then,” Jason says and he gingerly steps down the rocky side of the beach. I stare after him incredulously.

  Grabbing his arm, I practically screech, “That’s it?”

  Jason looks at me with equal disbelief. “Well, yeah. We don’t know what we’re going to encounter, so I can’t really say—”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about! There was no part of your plan where you mention what Amy is supposed to do,” I say.

  “Oh. Well, then here it is.” Jason shakes off my grasp and points to the ground where Dennis is still lovingly and obliviously brushing the dog. “Amy sits there and waits for Jason and River or back-up law enforcement to come get her.” He beams as if I am a toddler and have trouble processing grown-up words.

  “Uh, uh, no way,” I protest.

  Jason sighs audibly and closes his eyes. He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Seriously, Amy, we don’t have time for your nonsense right now. I know you want to be the hero and all, but you got to leave this one to the trained professionals.”

  “Okay, but you’re just leaving me here alone,” I whine. I sound exactly like Lexie when one of the other kids gets a treat and she’s not home.

  “No we’re not,” Jason protests. “You’ve got Dennis here for company.”

  “I don’t know him from Adam,” I hiss, grabbing Jason’s arm again.

  “He’s fine. He’s a very nice guy. He’s been good company so far. And very helpful. You’ll be in good hands.” He pats my arm and then detaches my fingers one by one.

  “And don’t forget Grover,” River pipes up. “Take good care of Grover.” He frowns for a second before he asks me, “Do you like the name Grover? I’m thinking about changing it when we get home. What do you think about Hercules?”

  Before I can even answer River’s ridiculous question, Jason grabs his arm and pulls him down toward the rocks. “No, you’re not because you’re not bringing the dog home.” They disappear from view, arguing about the damn dog.

  I can’t believe they left me here with a virtual stranger!

  I glance at Dennis, who is apparently aware of my discomfort. He grins sheepishly and offers me his hand. I don’t take it.


  “I’m Dennis. I live on this island. On my boat. So I guess, I don’t technically live on the island…” He trails off, looking a bit confused.

  Okay, so he seems nice and harmless enough, but I don’t have time for this nonsense! My husband is being blindly led onto a yacht, where he most likely will be killed and then dumped overboard in the middle of the ocean!

  “It’s nice to meet you Dennis, but I’ve gotta go,” I tell him. Before he can respond, I grab onto a tree branch to steady myself as I climb down the rocky ledge.

  Dennis clamors to his feet, practically toppling over from the swift movement. “Wait a minute! Where are you going? Jason specifically said to stay here!” He glances around nervously like he’s worried he’s the one who will get in trouble for my disobedience.

  I chuckle before I say, “Well, you obviously don’t know me very well at all. I don’t ever listen to what Jason says.” And leaving him open mouthed, I drop down onto the sand and out of his sight.

  I turn toward where Jason and River disappeared and I can see them wading waist deep into the lagoon. There is a rocky reef separating the lagoon from the ocean where the yacht is docked so unless someone is standing directly on the top of the boat, they are hidden and out of view. I see them speaking to each other in hushed whispers, River pointing and Jason waving his arms around. I guess they’re finalizing their plans to steal aboard the yacht.

  Squinting, I peer at the boat. The dock is on the opposite side so I can’t see them bringing Roger on board. The boat’s huge, so I wonder where they will take him when they do get him onboard. Will they bother to make him comfortable or will they just toss him in the coal bin or something? (Okay, I really don’t think there’s a coal bin in this sleek ship, but my mind is racing, all worse case scenarios front and center.) And it’s making me even more irritated that Jason and River don’t look like they’re in any kind of hurry.

  Move faster! Get on that yacht! What if it takes off and you’re not on it to save Roger? Or worse! What if they decide to kill him before they even leave the dock?

  That horrifying thought sends chills through my entire body. Oh my God! What if they kill him now and just wait to get to the middle of the ocean to toss his body overboard? It’s totally possible, isn’t it?

  Convincing myself that Jason and River aren’t going to get there in time and I absolutely must do something to speed up the process of saving Roger, I decide that I am going to get aboard that yacht. Rolling up my pants legs and slipping my flip flops off of my feet, I step into the warm water and start to wade over to the rocky ledge where Jason and River are still standing. I immediately realize that taking off my flip flops was a huge mistake—not only is the beach rocky, the lagoon floor is full of rocks. Or shells. It’s hard to tell, but it doesn’t really matter. Something is tearing up my feet.

  I try to ignore the pain, telling myself that it’s only a few yards. Dragging my feet along the bottom to minimize the impact, I inch forward, staring at my legs in the nearly clear water. God, why do we move so slowly under water?

  When I look up, I realize Jason and River have disappeared over the ledge. Crap! They’re onboard! I’m never going to be able to catch up with them if I don’t move a little faster.

  Sighing, I lift my foot and slip my flip flop onto my right foot, and then follow with the left, trying not to lose my balance and topple over. When both shoes are secured to my feet, I propel myself forward—even more slowly than before. Apparently, walking underwater with flip flops is not advisable. The suction makes it very difficult to lift your feet.

  After I nearly fall on my face trying to pull my foot out of the water, I yank the flip flops off again, and ignoring the searing pain caused by the jagged rocks, I lumber forward as quickly as I possibly can under the circumstances. I am pleased to discover about halfway to the ledge, the rocks give way to a much sandier bottom. This discovery causes me to run. Have you ever run in water? I wouldn’t recommend it. I’m sure if we were closer to the public beach there would be a You Tube video of me running in the water already.

  By the time I reach the ledge, I am out of breath and panting heavily. I lean on the ledge, intending to pause for a minute, just to catch my breath. Unfortunately, at that very moment, I notice that the yacht seems to be moving.

  Trying to convince myself that it’s only moving because it’s in water and the tide is rocking it, I push my body up on the ledge and lean over the side. Which is wet. Which causes my hands to slip. Which causes me to lose my balance, promptly falling on the other side of the ledge with a loud splash.

  Shit! What if they heard that?

  Panicking, I grab hold of the rail on the back of the ship. Hearing footsteps above me, I rappel my body down the side of the yacht, everything submerged under water except for my head.

  “What was that?” I hear a familiar voice coming from the deck of the yacht, off to the right. It’s my buddy Danny and he’s probably leaning over the side of the boat, looking at the water where I had just fallen. Fortunately, I am out of his line of sight now, and there is a lovely tree branch covering my head. I hear something rustle in the tree branch and then I feel something tickle my head. I pray that it’s not a tarantula or some other petrifying Caribbean insect, but I don’t scream. I purse my lips together and silently count to twenty, screwing up my eyes. I’m hoping that when I open them, Danny will disappear, the boat will start up, and I will have come up with some way to climb aboard.

  “What’s going on boss?” I hear Jerry’s voice.

  “Something fall into the water?” Mario’s voice, too.

  “Maybe it’s the broad,” Jerry surmises.

  Crap! I attempt to pull myself closer to the boat, resulting in another rustling sound. Crap, crap, double crap!

  “What was that?” Mario asks. I can hear footsteps on the deck directly above me. My heart is beating like a wild gazelle and my breathing is becoming rapid and shallow. They’re going to find me and they’re gonna shoot me right here in the water. I’m dead as a doornail.

  Frantically, I survey my surroundings, praying that I come upon something else to hide under. As the voices on the deck seem to get nearer, I realize that I’m actually in the middle of the best hiding spot possible. Taking the deepest breath I can possibly manage, I dunk my head underneath the water. I let go of the rail and push my body slightly underneath the boat so that I don’t come bobbing to the surface while they’re staring at the water.

  Please go away, I pray. I feel vibrations above me…directly above me, but I realize that I can’t hear a thing. Unless I come to the surface, I won’t be able to tell if they’re gone or not.

  Amy, you’re gonna have to play the longest game of “I’m Better than You”.

  “I’m Better than You” was a game my sister Beth invented when we were in middle school—I was in sixth grade and she was in eighth. Occasionally Joey, who was in fourth grade at the time, would play, but Beth didn’t like that because she actually felt bad about beating Joey. So she would tell Joey she was too little to play and that the game was just for the bigger girls. I felt delighted about being included until I realized I was not going to like the results of this game.

  Pretty much everything Beth had done up until that point had proved that she was definitely better than me at just about anything she undertook, but that wasn’t enough for my perfect sister. No, she had to actually devise a game where we would compete in tasks that were essentially rigged to guarantee my sister another win.

  One of those games included a challenge called, “See How Long You can Hold Your Breath Underwater”. The day Beth instituted this challenge, she had just beat me in our Hula Hoop challenge. I had spent all week trying to beat her, practicing when she was out with her friends. I thought I was a shoo-in for the win when I managed to keep that damn hoop up for over an hour and thirty minutes. Beth beat me by keeping hers up for an hour and thirty-one minutes. Needless to say, I had been looking for a win.

  So
that day, I held my breath, went under, and grabbed onto the pool ladder to hold me down. I sat at the bottom of the pool, crisscross applesauce, determined not to let the bitch beat me. And I would have won, too if I hadn’t passed out from holding my breath. My father had dragged me—unconscious—from the pool. Did Beth get in trouble for her little game? Uh, no—I was the one who got in trouble. Grounded for a week, par for the course, Amy style.

  Anyhoo, I’m thinking that my experience with holding my breath might actually help me out here. That day that I passed out, I held my breath for two minutes and nineteen seconds before my father dragged me out. (Beth apparently held hers for two minutes and twenty seconds.) If nobody comes to the surface after a minute or two, I’m pretty sure that the gang on deck will assume what they saw was a fish or some other sort of sea creature. Meanwhile, I’m hoping that no sort of marine life exists at this particular spot in the lagoon. I’m not looking to get cozy with a jellyfish.

  I’m starting to feel dizzy and lightheaded when I hear their boots on the deck. I sigh with relief (making sure I don’t actually sigh and open my mouth), thinking that they are leaving and in seconds, I’ll be able to poke my head out on the surface for a breath.

  Grabbing the railing, I poke the top of my head out of the water, followed by my eyes, ears, and finally, my nose. As I am taking a grateful swig of air, I hear the footsteps above me again.

  Panicking, I glance up, wondering if I have enough air in my lungs to hang on for another two minutes, when I realize it’s not just footsteps I hear. Rather, I’m hearing scuffling on deck. And shouting. And a gunshot.

  Roger!

  I can’t help myself—I let out an ear-piercing scream.

  I almost expect the scuffling to stop and half a dozen heads to peer down at me from the deck. Instead, the noise intensifies, adding bumping and screaming to the mix. Obviously whatever is going on up there is a little more important than my girlie scream.

  Determined to do something to save my captive husband, I grab ahold of the railing and pull myself up. Well, at least I try to. I’m pretty sure this is the upper body strength I could have gained from following Beth’s advice and lifting a weight or two.