Total pages in book: 205
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
When unconsciousness claims her, I put her in her heavy coat and boots and transfer her to one of the wooden crates on the upper deck. The other crates are already packed with her belongings, the fish I’ve caught, nonperishable food, gasoline, ammo, and other provisions I bought or stole before I swam to her island.
At a glance, all the containers are the same. Inconspicuous. Nothing to see here. As long as the padlocks remain in place, I don’t expect trouble.
When I arrive in Whittier, I dock in my personal slip and step off the yacht to greet my only contact in the civilized world.
“Morning, Denver.” Alvis leans against his forklift and shades his eyes in the sun. “Punctual as usual.”
“I can say the same about you.” I grip his beefy hand and give it a friendly shake.
“How were the fish?”
“Biting.” I gesture at the crates waiting on the deck. “I might be pushing the payload this time.”
“That good, eh?” With a chuckle, he climbs into the forklift. “Let’s get you loaded up and see where you’re at.”
“Try not to jostle them.” I step back, making room for the machine. “I picked up some new crystal tumblers.”
“Yeah, yeah. You rich folks and your fancy shit. I got a case of those special black cherries you wanted. And all the latest movies and books, as usual. Everything on your list is loaded up in the plane.” He tilts his head. “Never know what you’re going to request next. More distillery equipment? Parts for your dirt bike? Another saxophone?”
He has access to one of my unlimited bank accounts. The man is surprisingly thrifty with it.
“Nah, the list is rather dull this time.” Removing a folded paper from my pocket, I pass it to him. “Need to update my entire wardrobe, especially the outerwear. The specifics are all there. Won’t need it until my last visit of the year. I’m expecting a cold winter.”
“That’s always a guarantee.” He waves me off. “Go wait in the truck. I got it from here.”
Alvis has done this for me for two decades. Multiple times a year, he greets me when I venture to civilization, helps with my shopping—especially for those special orders—unloads my crates when I’m finished, and takes care of my yacht when I head home. Not once has he ever dropped or mishandled my cargo.
I hope to fuck that doesn’t change today.
Nervousness doesn’t fall in my range of emotion, but I feel sweat beading on my forehead despite the cool air. I stroll to his truck, refusing to watch as he moves crate after crate to the flatbed.
By the time I slide into the passenger seat, my pulse is hammering. My hands twitch in the pockets of my jeans, refusing to settle until Alvis stows the forklift on the flatbed and joins me in the cab.
“Got the Beaver all fueled up for you.” He starts the truck and hits the gas, side-eying me. “Reckon you’re ready to get home with all that fresh meat you caught.”
You have no idea.
“Yep.” I tap my fingers on my knee, gaze locked on the side mirror, watching the crates bounce beneath the sturdy straps.
I don’t take an easy breath until we arrive on his property on the outskirts of town.
The Turbo Beaver, my most prized possession, sparkles in the sunlight at the edge of his field. My chest loosens at the sight of it.
The rugged, high wing, short take-off and landing turboprop is my only connection to the outside world. I couldn’t live where I do without it. No one could. If something happened to it—or me—on the flight home, my boys wouldn’t survive the winter.
“Any issues with the inspection?” I lean forward, examining the bush plane as we approach.
“Only the usual maintenance.” He parks behind the wing and shuts off the engine. “Got her all tuned up and purring like a kitten.”
“Great.”
“Bet you got a few ladies tuned up and purring while you were here.” With a guffaw, he jabs me with an elbow and climbs out of the truck. “I’m right, aren’t I? You come into town after those long dry spells. Bet you hit it good and hard. With a pretty face like yours, you probably can’t get them out of your bed.”
He gets paid well to manage my comings and goings. I suspect someone also pays him to discreetly ask questions.
Or not so discreetly as it were.
“I don’t have much time for leisure, unfortunately.” I step out and meet him around the back. “I don’t like to leave my cabin unattended for too long. There’s probably a bear clawing at my door as we speak.” I shrug. “It’s a trade-off. Lots of sacrifices to live off-grid.”
“A damn shame is what it is. If I had half your looks, hell, I’d stir up all kinds of trouble.”