Rye
RyeAs I headed up the path to our bungalow, the constant drums gave the night a primitive feel that filtered into my blood. I felt wild and drunk on nothing but Lauren and tropical air.
I was in such a hurry, I nearly missed the signs of trouble inside the bungalow. I tripped over an object in the dark. I flipped on the light and saw it was Lauren"s scented candle. I figured we must have knocked it over that morning and not noticed. It wasn"t until I saw my jacket that I knew—someone had been in our bungalow. They"d searched through my old, beat-up ranch jacket and put it back where they’d found it, on top of my duffel bag. But they"d left the collar turned up. I never turned up the collar.
I did a quick search and saw that Lauren"s suitcase looked messier than it usually did. The t
