Page 4 of Without a Hitch
I flash my phone, and she smiles as if she isn’t freezing.
Liar, my head screams, but of course, I rein it in.
“Have a nice trip. We’ll be taking off in a few. Just waiting on three more tickets.” She babbles at me like we’re friends, and I barely manage a growl. Niceties are saved for my family and a few select friends these days. The more bastardly I behave, the less likely I am to get roped into any more lies.
“Three tickets?” I finally mutter because I’m also holding the other three tickets.
“Yes, sir. There will be eight of you tonight. Busy night for a winter ride to The Block.”
Removing my phone from my pocket again, I hold it out for her. “I have the other three tickets.”
“You waitin’ on friends?”
“No.”
“Family?”
“No one is coming. I merely bought the tickets.”
“You bought three extras?”
“Yes.” She stares at me like she’s owed an explanation, and I blame the cold for why I give one. “Your bloody system would only give odd-numbered tickets. I had to buy four before I got an even one.”
She blinks slowly. I can’t tell if she’s processing what I’ve said or if the sleet has frozen her eyelashes in place. “You bought four tickets for one trip so you could have an even-numbered ticket?”
“Yes,” I say through a locked jaw.
She studies me for an uncomfortably long time before finally shrugging. “I gave up trying to figure people out a long time ago, handsome. Whatever floats your boat.” She chuckles at her inane joke and ushers me aboard.
Relieved to be able to move away from her, I stalk onto the small vessel like a villain in a Bond movie. I choose the bench that’s second from the back and ease onto the hard surface. Bench number two. Even. I wish I could say the same for the ship.
The ferry ride to Block Island’s shore is choppy at best. Motion sickness is a nasty bitch and three people hurl around me as the ship sways. My growing frustration comes to a boiling point when the small vessel shifts, sending us all sprawling to one side.
I catch myself, but my neighbor does not.
“S-sorry,” she whispers. When she looks up, I see the instant her shame turns to interest, and my stomach revolts.
There was a time when I may have found this young woman interesting. Not anymore. I gently shove her back to her side without saying a word.
Twenty minutes later, the ferry docks with an announcement that all trips have been canceled until the storm passes.
Looks like Blake will have a house guest tonight.
The island itself is small, maybe ten square miles, and it’s essentially a ghost town in the winter months. Scanning the near-empty parking lot, I’m relieved to see the black sedan waiting. My name is printed on a worn sheet of paper that sits on the dashboard.
I cross the parking lot, wrench the door open and cram my large body into the back seat. Removing a folder from my coat pocket, I toss it on the seat next to me. At least the damn thing stayed dry.
“Welcome to Block Island,” the cheery teen in the driver’s seat says with a grin.
I frown.Is this kid even old enough to drive?
He shifts the car into gear, and we lurch forward. Jesus Christ.
“Sorry.” He shrugs while glancing in the rearview mirror. “I haven’t driven this car before. Got my license last month, though, so you’re good.”
“Three Dodger Lane,” I say. “Keep your eyes on the road.”
The flustered kid nods, and I pinch the bridge of my nose to keep from yelling at him. He could very well hold my life in his hands. I Googled it earlier. It’s less than a five-minute drive. Surely he can get me there in one piece.
