Take It On The Run

Chapter 30

POV: Sumner

Picking up the guns and getting to the island turned out to be the easy part.

Contrary to Wikipedia's claims, we'd found a dozen or so people occupying the village. They'd been friendly enough prior to us asking questions. However, the moment Mr. Dawson's name was mentioned, the villagers had instantly clammed up, becoming downright hostile toward the four of us.

The two women we'd convinced to speak with us insisted they hadn't seen a tourist fitting Sloan's description. Nor had they come across Mr. Dawson today. In fact, they acted as though they'd never even heard of him before, which was sus as fuck.

"Obviously, Mr. Dawson bought their silence," I commented from the passenger seat as Deacon drove away from the village.

Since the owner of the credit card had reported it stolen and we had the rental car—not to mention a fuckload of guns and ammunition—we'd foregone the cable car for the ferry.

Deacon was the most familiar with the traffic laws since he'd spent ample time in this part of the world doing whiskey tastings and craft beer workshops with his staff. Even if that weren't the case, Reed and Avery were too anxious for me to trust behind the wheel anyway.

Reed responded, "That much is evident. Can't imagine there's much revenue or income in an isolated place like this. The villagers are probably desperate for funds just to keep the place afloat. That's likely why they allow tourism in the first place."

"Where are we heading now, D?" Avery inquired, leaning forward to stare through the windshield.

Deacon kept his eyes ahead as he spoke. "Thought I saw another road earlier—one that went along the coastline. Figured it couldn't hurt to check it out, seeing as we're officially out of options."

When we reached a three-way fork in the road, I recognized the left path, where we'd come from earlier. Deacon hooked a right, and I saw the coastline he'd mentioned before. I could tell everyone was hopeful from the heavy silence permeating the air.

My entire body tensed as I looked out of the window to my left. There was a perilous thirty-foot drop directly into the sea below and no barrier to keep us from falling off the cliff if Deacon lost control of the van. Nor was there room to pass or pull over on the thin strip of gravel that masqueraded as a road.

Reed breathed an audible sigh of relief when the road curved away from the cliffs. Once we came around the bend, I spotted a ramshackle structure on the horizon, and I squinted, trying to discern what I was witnessing.

"Is that a...barn?" I asked no one in particular.

"Yup," Deacon replied.

I tried to imagine Mr. Dawson's posse hanging out there and came up short. In terms of living quarters, the place appeared pretty damn small. "This can't be the place."

"Agreed," Avery replied. "As D said, though, we're out of options. We should at least take a look, if only to rule it out."

My brows lifted as I retrieved a locked and loaded pistol from the holster at my waist. "If y'all say so." It felt like we were wasting time, but I kept my mouth shut, seeing as I didn't have an alternative plan to offer up.

I heard Reed and Avery pull out their guns and chamber a round. Deacon parked before the barn and immediately reached for his handgun. He pointed it away from us as he loaded a magazine and pulled the slide back.

"Cover me," I commanded.

The guys kept a lookout, standing behind their doors, guns drawn as I exited the rental van and went to the trunk. I holstered the pistol once more before opening the doors and unzipping the duffel bag my friend, Patrick, had sold us.