“Buenos dias, señorita. I trust you slept well,” he greets me as I climb aboard the golf cart.
I return his greeting, then turn to say good morning to Toni and the other two ladies he’s already collected. Toni and I chat quietly about my writing progress from yesterday. For a while it’d been slow, but thankfully I’m hitting my stride, and the story is flowing. And honestly? Who wouldn’t be inspired by this view?
Two stops later, we collect Izabella from her cabin and almost instantaneously the vibe on the golf cart changes. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is that seems off about her, but I’m grateful to know it’s not just me who feels it.
The fact that she always appears to be staring at me unsettles me – every time I happen to look her way, I find her eyes on me. There’s something in them I can’t fathom, and I don’t like it.
“That Izabella’s a bit odd, isn’t she?” Toni whispers in my ear as if she can hear my thoughts.
“Right?” Guilt has me casting a quick glance her way, and sure enough those dark eyes are fixed on me, the expression enigmatic.
“Is it just me or is she always staring at you?” Toni continues, blissfully unaware I’m sure, that this very thought has been on my mind since I met her. “She seems like a nice enough person, just odd, you know?”
“I was beginning to think it was all in my head. That I was imagining things. I don’t know what it’s all about, just that it’s creepy.”
We arrive at the resort’s main building, and our conversation is put on hold for the moment.
The breakfast buffet at the in-house restaurant is a sight to behold. Spoilt for choice, the selection is mind blowing. Conversation is lively, a perfect opening for the first writing session of the day that will follow our morning meal.
“Well, what do you think about this?” I hear Izabella ask. It takes a moment to realize she’s talking to me, waiting for an answer.
Swallowing the mouthful of coffee I’ve just taken, I give her an awkward smile. “I’m sorry, Izabella. I missed that. Could you repeat, please?”
A rather sour-looking smile barely tugs up the corners of her brightly painted lips. “To what extent should we, as writers, be willing to go for the sake of our research? To the same extreme as journalists, potentially causing the downfall or death of a subject?”
Silence descends on the table, all eyes turned to her. Rather taken aback at the venom that bleeds into her tone as she speaks, I’m at a loss for how to answer her. How do I navigate this minefield?
Thank God for Toni. She speaks up while my brain is still scrambling to come up with the most diplomatic answer I can.
“Um, I’m not sure that’s an accurate view of a journalist’s research process, to be fair. However, in terms of research for a story –”
The woman doesn’t even give her a chance to finish her sentence. “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t asking you. I want to know Agatha’s thoughts on this topic.”
I feel Toni’s body tense beside me and reach out a hand to pat her knee under the table. “Toni’s one hundred percent correct. As a former journalist, I can say that it is never our intention to cause harm. However, when one sees the wrong that’s being done in the world, we do feel a responsibility to step forward to help right those wrongs to the best of our abilities.
“I’m not sure what you’ve experienced to give you such a grim view of journalists, but I assure you that is never our intention. As for researching a book, one wants to be as authentic as possible in conveying the story so it’s always best to do as much in-depth research as you possibly can.”
I could kiss our server who chooses that moment to appear at my shoulder. “More coffee or juice, señorita?”
With an extra bright smile, I shake my head. “No, thank you.” Turning to those closest to me, I ask, “Anyone for more coffee or bit of juice?” completely avoiding Izabella’s gaze.
To this point, she’s only made me mildly uncomfortable. Today, she’s made me really concerned. There’s definitely something bubbling beneath the surface, and I’m not sure how to go about figuring out exactly whatitis.
All decline a refill of either beverage, and Toni announces that we’ll be moving to the conference room that’s been assigned to us for our daily writing sessions. The sound of chairs scraping as they’re pushed back from the table is loud to my ears, but I’m guessing it’s just me since no one else seems to find anything unusual about it.
Chancing a surreptitious glance in Izabella’s direction, I notice that, for the first time, she doesn’t appear to be staring at me. In fact, she’s making eye contact with a group of men seated at a table halfway across the room from us.
The nonverbal exchange isn’t threatening in any way, yet something about it makes me far more uneasy than I’ve been. Maybe it’s because the exchange we’ve just had has me so rattled I’m seeing things that aren’t there? Mentally shrugging, I decide to focus on the other ladies in the group and push thoughts of breakfast out of my head.
Just as I’m trying to do that, a creepy, thorough, once-over one of the men gives me when he thinks I’m not looking has the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. A pang of longing hits me hard – there is precious little I wouldn’t do in this very moment if I could wish Jessen into being right here beside me. Sighing, I follow Toni from the room, vowing once again to put this unpleasant morning interaction out of my thoughts.
19
LUCKY
Ifucking hate rainforests. You can’t trust anything since everything’s trying to kill you. The most innocuous bug has the potential to bring about the most painful death imaginable. Snakes meaner than Bear lurk in more hidden spaces than I care to think about. And the incessant. Fucking. Rain.
I’m so over the rain. Everything is wet. The heat is unbearable. The humidity is insane. And nothing heals. Gator took a bullet to the arm during a skirmish a week back. Thankfully, it’s nothing more serious than a flesh wound, but in this damn environment, Scooter’s worried about infection.
