Page 13 of Take Me Back
“Shit.” Dane’s voice is gruff as he shifts and my body impacts with him and not the ground. His arms wrap around me. “Jesus Christ, Kat. Be careful.”
Before I can reply, another voice, musically accented with the sound of the Caribbean, comes from behind us.
“Miss, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
Shaking off my clumsiness, I step out of Dane’s arms and turn. “I’m fine. Totally my fault.”
The employee works my sandal out of the gap and hands it back to me. “Don’t want to forget this.”
I slip it on, embarrassment burning my cheeks and a rueful smile in place.
Another man waves us away from the plane. “Come this way, please. You can wait inside for your bags.”
Dane’s arm slides around my lower back as we walk toward the building. Above the entry, there’s a word in green letters. Dangriga.
“Watch your step,” Dane says as we approach the door, and I make it inside without another mishap. A rush of cool air and the hum of an air-conditioning unit greet us, and the sweat trickling down the nape of my neck chills on my skin.
Several men in polo shirts with different logos embroidered on the breast are waiting in a group, along with a couple holding handfuls of necklaces and crafts.
“You wanna buy something pretty for the lady?” a man with a shredded black shirt and dreads asks first.
“No, thanks,” Dane says. He heads directly for another man in khaki pants and a sage-green polo with purple writing holding a notebook withDEANCROSShandwritten on a piece of lined paper.
“It’s Dane Cross, not Dean.”
The man glances down at the paper and looks back at Dane. “You sure it’s not Dean?”
“Positive.”
“But you’re going to Sweet Water Caye? Two passengers?”
“Yes, that’s us.”
The man nods. “Then I’m Carlos, your driver. If you’ll give me your luggage tags, I’ll take care of your bags.”
We hand them over and wait in silence, but I’m taking everything in, down to the sunburned vacationers rushing out to the plane to get home.
I’d rather walk.
Carlos returns with our bags and leads us out of the building that’s too tiny to call an airport.
Once again, the intense heat and humidity slap me in the face. You’d think I’d be used to it, having lived in Texas for much of my life, but there’s something different about tropical climates and the air that’s almost heavy against your skin.
Carlos carries our bags to an unmarked white van, the kind I’d never get in if I were traveling alone, at least not without triple-checking for proper identification of the driver and resort. But with Dane, it doesn’t matter where we go—I always feel safe.
He’s always been reluctant to talk about his past, but I attribute that to the years he spent in the military. I’m sure he’s done and seen things I can’t imagine. Even though he’s an import broker now, there’s something about his constant vigilance that gives me the sense that nothing can go wrong as long as I’m with him.
Carlos stows the luggage and slides open the door for us. “This will be a short ride and then a long ride. Five minutes to the docks and then an hour out to the island. If you have any questions, let me know.”
“No questions yet,” Dane replies as he climbs in the van first. Again, another safety precaution. He gives me the nod, and I hop in.
Once I’m belted into my seat, Carlos cranks the AC and puts the van in drive. We’ve only gone a couple hundred feet before he slams on the brakes and swears at two dogs running across the road and the child chasing them.
I don’t recognize the words he yells, but they don’t sound far off from English, which I know is the official language of the country. Before I have a chance to ask what dialect he’s speaking, we pull up to a dock where another man waits next to a small boat.
Jesus, what is it with itty-bitty planes and boats today?Thankfully, this doesn’t bother me as much as the plane. I can swim, not fly.
Dane looks at the skiff and then at me, no surprise in his features. And why should there be? He planned this whole trip, so he knew about our transportation in advance.
