Page 84 of The Romance Adventure

I give my head a little shake because there isn’t time for silly stories, but the first part of what Bean said doesn’t sound like a joke. “What do you mean the guys chasing her?”

“She had an awful ex-boyfriend. When she broke up with him on New Year’s Eve and she didn’t cooperate with his threats, especially when the police got involved, he sent some thugs after her. She made a grand getaway by splashing paint all over their windshield. Turning their eggplant on wheels into a colorful clown car.” Isla’s sister beams with pride.

My adrenaline doubles, because if these guys are after my girl, paint is the least of their worries. I blink once, twice, each for the words My Girl. Part of me wishes I could leave her like a stray, that I could claim otherwise. But the other part of me knows that woman is mine and I am hers.

“I care about Isla Pratt more than anyone I ever have in my life. Even if we can’t be together, I will make sure she is safe. If you hear from her, contact me right away.” I rattle off my phone number and am not sure Bean got the digits before I peel down the street, going faster than I should. As fast as Ryan and I used to go when we’d race late at night, long after the town residents were tucked snuggly into bed. Doughnuts on the road after dark and doughnuts at sunrise.

We used to have good times here. Tragic how it all washed away. Like sand into the sea. Then again, it’s that very sand that forms a pearl. When an oyster or other mollusk encounters an irritant like grains of sand, it releases a substance to protect itself. Over time, a pearl forms. Something beautiful from something unpleasant.

Glancing to the horizon, the sense that Chip meant for me to humble myself and see what I have instead of what I want comes into focus. My breath whooshes in my throat in an affirmation. Maybe Chip’s will wasn’t so much a game, but a lesson in life, love, and truth.

My focus returns to the road as a couple riding beach cruisers with a dog in the basket on one and a work van, driving herky-jerky approach. I honk when the vehicle nearly careens into me.

“No driving and texting,” I yell like an angry old man.

With a glance in the rearview mirror to make sure they don’t strike the cyclists, I notice the license plate is from out of state. It has a palm tree and a sunset in the background.

The adrenaline kicks in the closer I get to the resort. As I cruise past the palm tree I rescued Isla from, realization dawns and I spin a U-turn in the middle of the road.

The van was from South Carolina. So is Isla. Is she in the van I passed? I call Magnus. It goes to voicemail. Likely, he’s heading back to his base. Ryan answers, but it’s so loud in the background, I can’t hear him and doubt he can make out anything I say. That leaves CJ.

“Hey, bro. What’s up?” he asks casually as if I were calling to meet him for frosty drinks on the beach.

“If you’re anywhere near town, there is a van with South Carolina plates. I need your help to stop it.”

“I’m on the boat, but as long as they haven’t crossed the bridge by Hidden Hammock Beach, I’m on it.”

Zooming forward, the rear running lights of the vehicle come into view unless it’s a different van or a truck. I’ve had numerous commercial vehicles coming and going since the start of the resort restoration.

Accelerating, I’m still too far away to tell. I realize that CJ offered to help, no questions asked. Then again, that’s his downfall. He never asks questions. Presumably, that’s what gets him into trouble. Thankfully, this time, he’s on the side of the good guys.

As I get closer, the van slows. I blink as red sparks vault toward the sky. Is someone setting off fireworks during the day?

It’s then I see a speedboat beached and my brother standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms with an array of road flares sparking toward the sky.

To the driver and passengers in the van, he’d look like a stranded motorist, er, a sailor who has spent a lot of time at sea.

Behind the stopped van, I throw the BMW into park and let CJ deal with the brutish guys who get out of the driver and passenger sides. Having spent countless hours practicing jiu jitsu, I know three things for sure. Magnus is a barbarian. Ryan is fast and furious, especially on the field. CJ is scrappy and can handle two guys at once without breaking a sweat—that’s the trick with the gentle art. Conservation of energy. That leaves me, and I am a man on the warpath. If Dax so much as touched a hair on Isla’s head, he is going to find himself deep in the water offshore.

I tug on the van’s rear door, but it’s locked. I try the rolling side door and it sticks like someone grips the handle from the inside. The adrenaline in me nearly tears the thing off the track. Inside, crouches a man with spiked hair and an earring. It’s Daxel Norris. Someone squirms behind him with a cloth bag over her head.

Gripping Dax by his scruffy shirt, I toss him out of the van. As I reach for Isla, he jumps on me from behind. I’d much rather give Isla a piggyback ride. Throwing myself from behind into the side of the van, I say, “Get. Off. Me.”

Dax lets go and I return to help Isla. Again, Dax comes at me, and I fend him off with one hand while releasing her bonds with the other.

When I tear the covering from her face, she gasps a breath. Her eyes are glassy and meet mine. The striking light that’s usually in them is dim. Her lips tremble. Seeing her scared and potentially hurt strikes a match inside.

“Get in the car, Isla,” I order.

In less than a minute, CJ and I dispatch the three assailants and stick them in the back of the van. My brother ties up his boat and gets in the driver’s seat of the out-of-state vehicle.

“Where are you going?”

CJ smirks. “I know what to do with people like these. We’ll see how well they do at sea for six months.”

I raise my eyebrows, but now is not the time to hear sketchy explanations. I get in the car and rapid-fire ask Isla a half dozen questions.

“Yes, I’m okay. No, he didn’t hurt me much. My wrists sting a little. I hit my head, but I don’t think there’s a bump. No bruises. Dax was mad that I’d talked to the police and then skipped town when his goons came after me. Um, am I missing anything?”