Flood Rising (Jenna Flood #1)

The hour passed quickly. When the distant lights of Miami came into view, the small plane descended toward a dimly lit area in the foreground that could only be Homestead. The ride had been rougher than Jenna expected, but none of her expectations were based on any kind of prior experience. She had imagined that flying would feel smooth compared to other forms of travel, but the air, much like the water upon which she had spent most of her life, was full of invisible currents and pockets of turbulence that rocked the small plane. It was enough to fill her with nausea, exacerbating the roiling of her empty stomach and intensifying the headache that had taken root during her long walk to Key West. She wanted to close her eyes and seek refuge in sleep, but even if her body had been able to do so under such conditions, she knew that dozing off could be a fatal mistake.

The shaking grew worse as the plane descended through the layers of the lower atmosphere. Outside the window, Jenna saw the buildings and streets of Homestead grow larger until it seemed that they would set down right in the middle of traffic. Then a ribbon of asphalt appeared beneath them and a moment later, the fuselage shook with the impact of touchdown. Jenna squeezed the armrests, holding on for dear life. All thoughts of how she would escape the Villegas brothers were forgotten as she envisioned the plane coming apart around her, exploding in a fireball.

She sighed with relief as the aircraft settled onto its wheels and slowed, trading the rough chaos of thin air for smooth but unyielding terra firma.

Raul laughed at her. Jenna considered flipping him the bird, but decided that would be a bad idea for several reasons, the first being that she’d have to let go of the armrests.

They taxied for several minutes before pulling to a stop alongside a row of similar aircraft. Jenna looked in vain for ground crew or other personnel that she might be able to call out to if the chance presented itself, but the airport looked deserted.

Carlos extracted himself from the cockpit and threw open the door. After the unexpected cool temperature in the plane’s interior, the hot, humid, tropical air was yet another physical assault on Jenna’s frayed nerves.

Pull it together, she urged herself.

“I’m hungry,” she said, aware of how pathetic she sounded.

“Tell you what, chica,” Raul answered. “After you take us to daddy’s stash, I’ll buy you a great big steak dinner.”

The thought of eating steak—greasy, salty, dripping with bloody juices—nearly made her retch. “Actually, not that hungry after all,” she murmured.

Carlos ignored the exchange and led them down the tarmac, around a building to a nearly empty parking lot. As they approached a generic looking sedan with a rental sticker on the rear bumper, Carlos took out a phone and began tapping the screen. After a few minutes, the sedan’s locks clicked open.

“How did you do that?” Jenna asked, curious in spite of everything else.

“I’ve got the app” he said, waggling the phone in Jenna’s direction. “No more waiting in lines or filling out papers. No business hours.”

She had been wondering how they would proceed once arriving at Homestead. Hiring a taxi or renting a car might have given her yet another opportunity to seek help or slip away, but Carlos had avoided all human contact by ordering the rental car online and having it delivered to the airport, keys inside, to be unlocked remotely when he entered a confirmation code.

Carlos directed his brother to take the wheel, then opened the rear door for Jenna, sliding inside next to her. “Where to now?”

Jenna tried to remember the brief glimpse she’d caught of the map displayed on Mercy’s cell phone. “It’s south of the city.”

“What’s the address?” Carlos’s tone was impatient.

“There’s no address. It’s out in boonies. You know, it would be a lot easier to do this in daylight.”

“I’m sure it would. For your sake, I hope you can show us how to get there in the dark.”

She clamped her mouth shut. Daylight would have been preferable for a very different reason, but if the map was any indicator, the area where they were going was so remote that she doubted they would see anyone else even at high noon.

“I’ll need your phone.”

He laughed. “You think I’m stupid, little girl?”

“I need your phone’s GPS to find the exact spot.”

He considered this. “Just tell me the GPS location. I’ll put it in.”

“If you want the money, we do this my way.” The confidence in her voice wasn’t just an act, and she wondered from where she’d gotten her wellspring of fortitude. Noah, she decided. From watching his example and from listening when he spoke.

Probably his genes, too. Is grit an inheritable trait?