Chapter Twelve
Willemstad, Curaçao, Dutch Antilles
Tom practically ran back to his apartment – his thoughts racing along with his body. Chatterton’s approach had shaken him so much that he failed to notice the large blond man following him. He soon arrived at his small cottage, checked that the toothpick was in place, and let himself in. He made straight for the back terrace and sat in one of the small chairs that overlooked the harbor, which was one of his favorite spots – ideal for relaxing and clearing his mind, not as therapeutic as his running, but close enough. He sat in a chair and rested his feet on a Rubbermaid Ice Chest. It was a long time since the chest had seen ice. Tom now used it as an impromptu footstool and a container for a snorkeling mask and fins.
Tom consciously for
