Vice(47)
Only, when I get to the small clearing where I left the Yamaha, the clearing is empty.
“What the f*ck?” I know this is where I left it. I have no doubt in my mind. I’m not in the habit of forgetting where I leave vehicles, even if it is in the forest and all you can see for miles is trees. I search the area, scanning the ground for signs of the bike, but I don’t find anything. The ground is soft; after all that rain yesterday, even the deepest, most defined tracks from a set of tires would be gone. Mud sucks at my boots as I cross the clearing, swearing under my breath.
Natalia said the bike was still here. She thought it was yesterday, at least. That means it must have been taken recently, and she’s not being kept in the loop. Am I surprised by this? No, not really. It was a miracle they let me keep my gun on me for so long. I think if I hadn’t used it to shoot William, I’d probably still have it. But a mode of transportation? A means of escaping without them knowing? Fernando wouldn’t stand for that, especially if he thinks there’s a two-million-dollar deal on the line.
“Fuck.” I crouch down, resting my elbows on my knees, trying to think. This isn’t the end of the world. Yes, having the scrambler would have been perfect. It’s designed to excel on rough, uneven terrain and that’s what I’m dealing with around here. But there are Humvees and Patriots back at the estate, too, which are also designed for navigating crazy landscapes. I can take one of those when the time comes. And hell, maybe it’ll be safer if there are two people inside.
God, I don’t even know why I’m even considering something like that. Natalia may not want to come with me. If her father is dead, what’s to say she won’t want to stay here, at the estate? It’s worth a small f*cking fortune. The compound and the Widow Makers’ clubhouse is a far cry from the luxury she’s used to.
“You look like the world has ended.”
I jump up, my balisong already in my hand, fully prepared to stab whoever is standing behind me. It takes a full second for me to process the fact that it’s a woman’s voice I’ve heard, and that it’s Natalia hovering on the edge of the clearing, with a backpack slung over her shoulders. Her hair hangs down in a long braid. She’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and some serious hiking boots, like she’s planning on taking off up a mountain.
“So you found me, huh?” I smile at her, flicking the knife over in my hand to retract the blade.
“Not hard to do,” she replies. “You left a track that could probably be seen from outer space.”
She’s right, I’m sure. I’m used to moving through desert and bayou, and I’m good at concealing my movements usually, but in this kind of overgrown, wild forest, even my best efforts are for nothing. I raise an eyebrow at her. “I’ll try not to be too offended. Are you out here following me, or are you about to fly the coop?” I point to her bag.
She pulls a wry expression, looking off into the trees. She doesn’t want to look me in the eye. “I thought,” she starts. “I thought I should probably take you to her. To Laura.” I’m shocked. Too surprised to speak. When I refrain from saying anything, she continues. “Higher up into the mountains, we have a burial site. It’s not much, but that’s where my father told me she had been taken. If you would like to go, to pay your respects to her, I could show you where it is.”
******
The climb up the mountain is gruelling. We don’t really speak all that much. The heat is oppressive, especially since it’s the rainy season and it’s so damn humid, and so we both remain in our thoughts, planting one foot in front of the other, heads bowed as we slog our way upward. We share an easy silence. It feels strange to think I met her less than a week ago. Despite my surroundings, the threat of death hanging over my head, and the knowledge that Laura is gone, I spend a good deal of my day thinking about her. It seems as though I’ve spent more time with her than I actually have. I recognize her tics now—the way she obsessively tucks her hair back when she’s thinking; the way she taps her index finger against the table whenever she’s sitting down; the way her forehead crinkles when she’s confused. And most of all, how her pupils dilate every time she looks at me, like she wants to jump my bones right out of my body. I’m more than happy for her to be looking at me that way, but it carries a certain risk. One day soon, Fernando’s going to notice, and there won’t be any denying the fact that we’re both attracted to one another.
We climb. Thank god I have good cardio. Natalia’s used to the trek up to the burial site, but even she is out of breath when we reach our destination. The trees are thinner up here, so much closer to the timberline, and the mountain gives way to a broad, rocky clearing. I see the small, wooden crosses almost immediately. There aren’t that many of them, maybe ten, and they’re set out sporadically in between the large rocks and boulders. Red, green and orange streamers snap on the gusts of wind that buffet the mountainside. It reminds me of Nepal, of the reams and reams of prayer flags that travel all the way from Base Camp up to the top of Everest, though these aren’t prayer flags. They’re just pretty decorations to mark the graves.
Turning around, my breath is clear whipped away. The burial site itself is fairly barren and stark, but the view from this vantage point is truly spectacular.