Free ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE by Joan Mauch Page A

he added, “We checked with the family. They
weren’t especially concerned; said she’s taken off before only to show up in a
week or so. Unless you provide us with evidence of foul play, there’s nothing
to investigate.”
    Zac reluctantly agreed with the
cop. Besides, he knew his brother was prone to jumping to conclusions. He’d
been like that ever since he was little.
    He recalled the time Jackson was
absolutely sure Zac had been “kidnapped” and told his teacher, who went to the
principal, who in turn reported it to the police. By the time they were
finished, half the town was searching for him.
    Imagine the furor when he returned
home at the “usual” time, having played hooky. He’d been punished royally and
didn’t speak to Jackson for a week.
    With nothing better to do and in
possession of Jackson’s old heap of a car, he decided to head over to Ybor
City. It was where Jackson had spotted that girl on the balcony. Besides, Ybor
was supposedly a tourist attraction. After being cooped up in the apartment for
several days, he could use the distraction, even if it meant watching someone
roll cigars in a storefront.
    Zac turned off Seventh Avenue and
found a parking spot. He figured if he walked the area he could check out the
house without calling attention to himself. The place wasn’t hard to find.
Jackson had played the videotape for him so many times he recognized it
immediately: There it was—the two-story house with the balcony.
    Zac bent down as though to tie a
loose shoelace, then glanced around acting nonchalant. The property’s front
yard with its ankle-high grass and half dead bushes seemed embarrassed to be
seen. Shades gave the place an unfriendly vibe, preventing even the slightest
peek inside. Security bars, the decorative type, enclosed each and every
window. It made the house appear charming—in a European sort of way. Still, if
the man inside had something or someone to hide, that would be a perfect way to
do it.
    Surreptitiously scrutinizing the
property, Zac sauntered down the block playing the role of tourist to the hilt
for any one watching. After strolling a little over a
block, he glanced at his watch, then turned around. Lil ’ ol tourist guy’s lost and going back the way he came—at least that’s what he hoped
nosy neighbors would think. He barely reached the edge of the property when a
man came out the front door and headed down the street without giving Zac a
second glance.
    It couldn’t have been more perfect
if Zac had scripted it himself. He’d follow the guy and see what he could find
out. The man wasn’t hard to track. His shabby apparel set him apart from the
stylish tourists parading up and down the street. He appeared preoccupied to
the point he nearly got hit by a car as he crossed the street and entered a
cafe.
    The place reminded Zac of the
eateries back home where he could afford to dine without having to take out a
loan. Its shabby walls were covered with local art—a devil with a hot pink joojoo eyeball; sassy signs suggested customers could “Take
it or leave it”; and sculptures that reflected Cuban-American taste.
    Booths squatted along one side of
the room, a counter with stools on the opposite side with a smattering of
tables down the center. Zac hesitated at the door as if waiting to be seated.
Nodding when a server said he could “sit anywhere” he drew a breath of relief.
The man had parked himself at the counter with two unoccupied stools next to
him.
    Zac quickly followed before the
opportunity was lost. Picking up a menu, he began to scan it, then turning to
the man, said, “You eat here often?”
    “What if I do? What’s it to you?”
    Zac had to admit the man wasn’t bad
looking in a tough-guy sort of way. He had thick black hair, piercing eyes with
eyelashes most women would kill for. His most obvious flaw was his teeth. Apart
from needing a good cleaning and some whitening, he probably should’ve worn
braces as a kid. They