Free Jackson by Ember Casey Page B

afraid as she was.
    Roth and the big Russian guy stayed on the boat while the others were searching. The two men spent most of the time below, flipping through the atlas and a stack of what she assumed were Vincent Rinaldi’s old journals. Once she’d gone down there, wondering if she could help—after all, she’d spent more hours looking through that atlas than any of the men here—but Roth had shot her such a terrifying, withering look that she’d retreated to the deck again immediately. Now she sat on one of the boat’s benches, staring out across the scene in front of her. She’d been ordered to stay here, told it was too dangerous to go off on her own.
    Vis appeared to be quite a charming, quiet little town. The white-stoned, orange-roofed buildings were built right along the curve of the port, and a large green slope of land rose up to the sky behind them. Behind their ship, back toward the mouth of the bay, there was a little promontory with a church jutting out into the blue water. There weren’t many boats here, but there was a fair amount of activity going on—people fishing off the concrete edge of the wharf, a handful of tourists whizzing by on scooters, locals sitting behind stalls of fruit, fish, and other commodities. She wanted to go out and explore, to experience the town and island for herself, but even if she knew it was safe—which she didn’t—it was a stupid idea. They had to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice, and Roth would, no doubt, have no problem leaving her behind.
    One day , she thought. One day she’d come back and explore. But no matter how many times she told herself she was making the right decision by being responsible, she still wanted to kick herself. Here she was, finally on her adventure, and she was just sitting on the boat.
    Maybe I can just go down to that little shop on the corner , she told herself. She’d be able to keep an eye on the boat from there. And it wasn’t like anyone would attack her in the middle of the afternoon in front of all these people.
    But just when she’d worked up the courage to try, Leo and Jackson returned. Leo flashed her a grin as he ran across the gangplank, but Jackson had a grim look on his face.
    “What is it?” she asked. “Did you find anything?”
    Leo gave a little shake of his head. Jackson looked tense, like he was just waiting for the excuse to punch something. When his eyes met hers, she felt a shock move through her—but she wasn’t sure whether that was because of the intensity of his gaze or of everything they’d left unresolved between them.
    But there wasn’t a chance to resolve those things, not here. Even now the remaining two team members were coming toward the boat, and Roth had just emerged from below.
    “Anything?” their leader asked as everyone joined them.
    Leo shook his head again, but the blond member of the team— Xavier —gave a little nod.
    “Nothing from Sloane,” he said, “but a shopkeeper in the old town saw a couple of men who might have been Nash’s guys.” He glanced around the group. “And there was a guy with them who matched Tav’s description.”
    The entire team reacted visibly to that news, but none more than Jackson.
    “I knew it,” he said. “I fucking knew it.”
    “We still don’t know anything,” Leo countered. “We didn’t see the guy ourselves.”
    “You know I’m right,” Jackson said. “All of you do. And Roth agrees, which is enough for me.”
    At that, the men erupted into an argument. Roth remained silent and stoic through all of this, but Charlotte could tell that his steely eyes didn’t miss a thing as his team argued before him. He seemed content to let them continue this heated discussion, and his face remained perfectly impassive.
    Until suddenly, he raised his hand in the air. “Enough.”
    Immediately, the others fell silent.
    “We can discuss Tavish at a later time,” he said. “Right now we have more immediate concerns. Sloane is