Requiem (Providence #2)

Requiem (Providence #2) Page 33

“Cold?” Jared said, wrapping his arms around me.

“Not now,” I smiled.

“He's made this trip enough times, I'm sure he could do it blind-folded.”

“When it's this dark, he pretty much is,” I said, a bit anxious.

A half-hour later, the boat docked at the smal pier of Little Corn, and I sighed with relief. The waves had just begun to rock the boat a little more than I was comfortable with, and lightening had begun to spark across the horizon.

We met another smal truck with our luggage, and a smal , sleepy man by the name of Jose drove us to the same Casita we'd stayed in during our previous trip.

Speaking above the distant thunder, Jared spoke kindly to Jose in Spanish, and then pul ed our suitcases from the back of the truck, opening the door for me.

It had just begun to rain when he set our suitcases on the floor beside the bed, and the smell of the rain combined with the sound of raindrops tapping on the roof and bouncing off the palm fronds took me back to a not-so-distant past when everything seemed innocent and exciting.

Inside was the same simple accommodations, with only two differences: every surface was adorned with glowing candles, and a tal fan stood at the end of the bed. It stood stationary, ready to serve it's purpose while I slept next to Jared's feverish body in the Caribbean heat and humidity.

I covered my mouth with my hand as I yawned. My long, undisturbed nap on the plane left me feeling groggy. “It's beautiful! Better than I remember,” I said, trying to muster the appropriate excitement in my tone. Speaking through a yawn dampened that prospect, but thankful y Jared could feel what I couldn't adequately express.

He lifted me off my feet, and carried me to the bed, his body outlining mine. It felt as if we'd never left.

“You should rest, Miss Grey. We have work to do.”

“Work?” I asked, sleepy. “What kind of work?”

“We're changing your name tomorrow,” he whispered in my ear.