Trying to figure out where I’ve seen her before. One of the money-making ceremonies?
Maybe.
The Kane residence?
Possibly.
But I don’t have time to think about it because there’s half a dozen drones weaving through the air
all around me, Megan’s father is not looking too good, and if I don’t figure out something quick, I’m
going to be leaving this island in a few minutes and Megan will be left behind.
The woman stands at our approach. She’s wearing a white linen suit, dark sunglasses, and her
blonde hair is artfully pulled up in a fashionable style that would be home at any of the various garden
parties I’ve had to attend over the years.
She spreads her hands wide and smiles at me. “Mr. Boston. Such a pleasure to meet you.”
I side-eye Megan, unsure if we’re supposed to exchange pleasantries when we’re about to threaten
the lives of thousands of people.
“How was your trip?” the woman asks.
“My trip?” I’m confused.
“Your trip here. How was your night? Did you have a good night?”
“What the fuck are you talking about? You sent us a drone last night. Threatened to torture and kill
our loved ones.”
She sits back down. Then claps her hands and a server appears from the maintenance shed behind
her with a tray of drinks. “Thank you, Samuel,” she quietly says as he places the drinks at all four
settings around the table.
“Please,” the women says. “Have a seat. And a drink. It’s on us.” And her smile is big. Almost
wolfish and cunning.
I look at Megan. “What do you want to do?”
“Oh, that’s adorable,” the woman says, placing her hand over her heart. “You asked for her opinion. See, Monty?” She looks at Megan’s father. “What did I tell you? You should have learned to
trust me by now.”
Monty doesn’t answer because I’m pretty sure his jaw has been wired shut. His mouth and neck are
swollen and red and the concentrated breaths he’s taking through his nose are labored and loud.
“Daddy?” Megan says. “Are you OK?”
She starts to walk forward but I hold her hand and tug her back. “One second, Megan.” Because