Sarita peered into the dark mass of trees, straining to see and thought she saw branches moving in a tree behind and to the left of her. And then a sound behind her on the right had her turning her head sharply to look that way. She sagged with relief when she saw it was Domitian slipping back out of the woods.
"Come," he whispered, holding a hand down to her.
Sarita took his hand and allowed him to haul her to her feet. Her legs were no longer trembling, but her muscles protested at being forced to move again so soon. Ignoring that, she followed Domitian into the jungle, asking, "Shouldn't we use the beach?"
"It is shorter this way," he replied quietly.
Sarita nodded to herself as she forced her legs to follow him up a winding path. He hadn't gone to relieve himself in the woods then, but had been checking out the house to be sure it was safe to approach. The man seemed to forget she was a police officer and could take care of herself. They'd have to talk about that some time, she thought, and then glanced up and leaned to the side, trying to see how much farther they had to walk. Her calf muscles were burning like crazy.
Unable to see around Domitian's wide chest and shoulders, Sarita simply put her head down and continued forward, reciting song lyrics in her head as she went as a way to distract herself. It worked so well that she was completely unprepared when Domitian suddenly stopped. She plowed right into his back, nearly knocking him over.
"Woah," he whispered, reaching back to steady her as he regained his own balance.
"Sorry," Sarita muttered and clasped his arm to lean out and try to peer around him again. This time she managed the feat, and her eyes widened as she saw that they were there. A small English-style cottage sat not ten feet in front of them. Two stories, it was cross-gabled with steeply pitched roofs and tall, narrow, lattice windows. Her gaze slid over the chimney and gabled entry and she nodded solemnly. "Oh yeah, Mrs. Dressler lives here."
"What makes you say that?" Domitian asked in a whisper.
"She was missing England in her letter, and this is definitely a little bit of England in the middle of the tropics," Sarita pointed out. "It looks like it could have been scooped up out of the Cotswolds and dropped here or something."
He nodded agreement. "Yes, I suppose it does."
"Come on . . ." Sarita started to move around him, but he caught her arm.
"Wait," Domitian rasped, pulling her close to his side. "What is the plan?"
"We knock on the door and ask to see my grandmother," she said simply.
"Just like that?" he asked with disbelief. "What if Dressler has some of his security detail in there?"
Sarita glanced at the cottage again and shook her head. "It's too small for that. My guess is there are three tiny bedrooms upstairs, a living room, bathroom, kitchen, and dining room downstairs. There can't be much more than that," she said with certainty.
"I did not say his men had to be living there," Domitian said grimly. "What if they are posted at the doors?"
Sarita sighed with exasperation, but supposed it wasn't impossible. "Okay, we'll look in the windows first and then knock on the door if there's no sign of Dressler's goons."
"And if there are goons in there?" Domitian asked.
"Then we come back here and make another plan," she said patiently. "Come on."
He didn't stop her this time when she started toward the house, but did mutter, "You are entirely too used to being a police officer."
Sarita scowled at him over her shoulder. "What does that mean?"
"It means you seem to think you can just walk up to the door and knock and no one will take a shot at you or anything."
"I agreed to check the windows, didn't I?" Sarita pointed out. "Besides, I suspect Dressler needs us alive for whatever nasty little experiment he has in mind for us, so we aren't likely to be shot. Now hush or we'll wake someone up before we want to," she warned, slowing as they approached the front window on this side of the house.
"Too late for that, children. Do come in. We're all awake."
Sarita stiffened and peered at the window as the voice of what she thought was an old woman drifted out to them. Only then did she see that the window was open. Mouth tightening, she peered in at the dark shapes inside.
"The door is unlocked," the voice said now and Sarita thought it was coming from a chair across the room where she could just make out what looked like a seated figure. The voice was definitely an old woman's and it had an English accent to it.
"Mrs. Dressler?" she asked.
"Yes, dear. And you are Maria's granddaughter, Sarita. Come in, dear, she'll be down in a minute."