Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
So I asked the driver where someone might be heading after Cuenca.
We settled on Guayaquil.
But unlike Wick, I didn’t exactly have bottomless funds to work with. So I needed the driver to drop me off at the nearest bus stop that went to Guayaquil.
Where I sat and waited a few hours until the next bus showed up.
As much as my scratchy eyes wanted me to spend that time resting, I perused the maps and guidebooks I’d picked up in town while shadowing Wick instead, wanting to get to know the lay of the land. And possibly try to anticipate my skip’s next move.
I had a good gut when it came to tracking. Maybe that was from experience or something more innate. But I usually didn’t have to kick around in the wrong places for long before I found who I was looking for.
That said, that was in the States. Where I could guess the most likely places someone hiding from the law might go. Even if it was in a different city or state from mine.
This was a whole new country.
And I had no idea what Wick was trying to do here. Disappear? Fine some nice house somewhere and drop off the face of the earth? Use Ecuador as a jumping-off point to some other country?
If he was going to stay, what was he looking for? Rural or city life?
Sure, I’d made snap judgments given Wick’s white-collar crimes, figuring he would be too persnickety to ever rough it, that he would need to live in a city where all his creature comforts were easy to come by.
Now that I’d actually met the guy, though, I wasn’t so sure.
The real Wick Hughs was rougher around the edges than I’d been anticipating. I could easily picture him in the jungle somewhere, fighting off… snakes and black caiman. Or with his pant legs rolled up, standing in the river with a spear, ready to catch dinner. Or with his shirt off, muscles tensing as he…
“Enough of that,” I grumbled to myself, shaking off those thoughts.
Clearly, I was getting a little delusional from lack of coffee. And I wasn’t even going to think about my grumbling stomach.
No matter how hot the trail might be for Wick, I had to make it a priority to stop in the next town and get something in my damn stomach.
In the early morning hours, the bus finally rumbled up the road, filling me with the promise of a few hours of sleep.
Only to discover just how loud and bumpy the ride would be, leaving me bracing myself and wincing as we chugged along the road.
By the time the bus dropped us off in Guayaquil, I was bone-deep tired, feeling kind of travel grubby, starving, and fending off an awful caffeine-withdrawal headache.
What I really needed was a hotel room for the night, a shower, some food, sleep, and coffee. Not necessarily in that order.
But, well, I was still me.
Always on.
Always working.
So I scanned the crowds, looking for a tall guy in a white straw hat. And I opened up my phone. Wincing at my low battery, I flashed Wick’s image around at everyone and anyone who would look.
Yes, rest and food were important. But maybe not as important as making sure a trail didn’t go cold.
All I got were head shakes until, suddenly, a man lit up, excited to tell me that he had seen Wick.
When he’d dropped him off at the airport.
“Dammit.”
Not another plane.
The same guy was all too happy to drive me to the damn airport as well. For an inflated fee. But, hey, the guy did me a solid, so I wasn’t complaining.
He’d even told me where he thought Wick was heading.
The Galapagos Islands.
Why? I had no idea.
Maybe he thought he’d lost me and could go sightseeing or something.
It didn’t really matter.
Hell, it might even be for the best. I mean, what better place to kidnap a guy and stick him on a boat or private plane, right? If I had enough service to contact my father about the whole situation, that is.
Besides, an airport meant more than just a flight, right? It meant food and water and, I prayed, coffee. Maybe a nap if we didn’t hit much turbulence.
Luckily, my bag was still packed from my last flight, so it was relatively easy to get through security after I got my ticket at the counter for the next flight out.
I actually felt my eyes get a little watery as I made my way into the departure lounge and smelled the blessedly welcome scents of fresh, strong coffee and food.
My stomach let out another grumble as my gaze scanned the options.
But as I did so, I saw a familiar white straw hat. And a man towering over everyone else in the seating area.
I exhaled hard out of my nose, not sure I wanted to risk him seeing me standing at one of the lines. Then turning and running.