The security guy raises his hands. “I’m just following orders.”
“For now, no,” I say. “Wait until you hear from me.” I guide Tess to the helicopter. The propellers rotate violently, sending Tess’s hair flying and my jacket flapping behind me.
Once we’re seated and buckled, the pilot takes off.
It’s so loud that neither of us speaks. Instead, we look out the windows, watching the motorcycle gang cruising the vicinity of my condo.
Tess is in trouble, and I need to know what kind. Her frozen face tells me it’s something bad.
And, damn it, I need to know what it is, so I can figure out how the fuck I’m supposed to protect her.
So I can figure out if I’m a fool for letting her into my goddamned life.
Chapter Fifteen
TESS
Nothing about the trip is relaxing. From a terrifying helicopter ride, to a bumpy flight in a tiny plane, to the unspoken frustration emitting from Jack’s every comment ... I feel tense as hell.
“Did you call them?” I ask. “Do they know we’re coming?”
“My parents? No, I didn’t call them. I got you on a plane and got you the fuck out of Vegas, Tess. Calling them wasn’t really a priority.”
“Okay. God.” I take a deep breath. The private plane dropped us off at a tiny airport in the middle of an island, and now we’re waiting for a taxi. “Before we get there can we stop at a mall or something?”
Jack looks at me like I’m crazy. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.
“What?” I ask. “I need clean clothes and, like, a toothbrush.”
“We can find stuff at my parents.”
“I am not wearing your mother’s underwear.”
“There are no malls here, honey.”
“There’s got to be somewhere we can stop. Like a Target?”
“This island has a population of eight hundred.”
“Okay, then, is there some sort of general store?”
Jack nods his head slowly. “There is one option. And I can’t wait to see what sort of panties you find at Roscoe’s.” He smiles as a taxi arrives, and I feel him relax.
He holds the door for me, and I climb in. All I have in terms of luggage is my purse. Jack throws his duffel into the trunk.
“Hey, Lenny,” Jack says.
“The famous DJ has returned, after only a week away,” the driver smiles widely, taking me in a little too appraisingly.
Ignoring his long look, I turn to Jack.
“Can you take us to Roscoe’s before going to my parents’ place?” Jack asks.
“Sure thing, Mister Jack Harris,” Lenny answers from the front seat. “And I see you brought home your sweet thing.”
“This is Tess,” Jack says “Tess, Lenny is the one and only taxi driver on the island. He’s been doing this for as long as I remember.”
“Yep, yep, yep, since this boy was in diapers,” Lenny says, smiling in the rearview mirror at me. “Any friend of Jack is a friend of mine. Though these days Jack is a bit out of my league.”
“There are no leagues, Lenny,” Jack says.
“Well, your parents are the talk of the town. Got themselves a brand spankin’ new boat just a few weeks ago.”
Jack doesn’t comment, just nods politely. It’s weird seeing him outside of Vegas. His scruffy beard looks more appropriate here than in the casinos, but his eight-hundred-dollar jeans don’t mesh with Lenny’s Carhartt jacket and trucker cap.
I absorb Lenny’s words—a different league and a new boat. That, combined with the fact that we took a private plane to get here, reminds me that Jack’s world is so not my own.
Jack may say there is no such thing as leagues, but the divide between our worlds is large. I should probably just stay in Lenny’s taxi and let Jack go hang out with his parents.
Lenny drives us toward a very small town and parks outside Roscoe’s General Store.
“Stay here, Jack,” I tell him. “I honestly can’t deal with someone wanting your photograph, not knowing who might end up with it.”
He squeezes my knee. “No one on this island is going to sell my picture to a newspaper, Tess.”
“Just, please.” I shake my head; frustrated with the way he doesn’t seem to realize how uncomfortable I am right now. “Stay in the car and call your parents. Please.”
Lenny smiles. “Got to listen to the woman.”
I smile tightly, and push open the car door.
Walking inside, I grab a cart and look around for personal items. Roscoe’s is a gas station slash grocery slash hardware store.
I find a dusty rack of tee shirts, and they’re all screen-printed with bald eagles, ten-point bucks, or grizzly bears. Classy.