The Island of Dragons (Rockpools Book 4) by Gregg Dunnett (best love story novels in english .txt) 📗

been a mess of twisted electrical wires, warped wood and mildew, with an inch of oily water sloshing over the floor, was now entirely different. Now it looked polished and beautiful, almost completely restored. But the way it was set up was nothing like any yacht she’d been in before, instead it more resembled a high-tech control room, perhaps like the interior of one of those vans you see on movies, used for running a hostage situation or secretly monitoring a gang of mobsters. There were three computer screens set up on the saloon table, each of them apparently running some program or another. Billy himself sat in front of them, Amber’s phone in his hands and a puzzled look on his face.

“Where’s your SIM card?”

“I took it out.”

“Oh.”

“Will that work? Can they track it when it’s out?”

“They shouldn’t be able to. But you should wrap it in silver foil. Just in case.”

Amber looked in her purse, and after a moment pulled out the SIM card, which she had previously wrapped in silver foil. She held it up to show him.

“Thanks.” Billy took it off her, and unwrapped it. Then he slotted it into a machine she recognized. He’d shown her it before, it was an external SIM card reader. She couldn't remember exactly why he had it. Then he turned to one of the laptops, which was connected by cable to the reader. A moment later he looked up.

“You took it out at your house?”

“Uh huh.”

“That’s quite clever.” He extracted the SIM and wrapped it up in the foil again. Then he took it, and the phone and opened a small microwave oven that took up most of the space in the galley. He put them inside and closed the door.

“I changed my boots too. In case they were bugged.”

Billy frowned at this, as if it wasn’t something he’d considered. Or at least, that’s how Amber took it.

“You didn’t say whose car that is. It’s probably OK, because I can see you weren’t followed. I was watching you come down the lane.” He tapped a couple of keys, and one of the screens switched to show two camera feeds from the road she’d just driven down. Amber glanced at them, but didn’t really look.

“But you should still move it. Park it behind the boatshed.”

Amber ignored him. Instead she stared around at the incredible interior of the little yacht, that was no longer a wreck, and at her friend who was supposed to be dead.

“Billy, what the hell is going on?”

Chapter Fifty-Three

He wouldn’t tell her. He wouldn’t answer any questions until she had gone back to the car, moved it behind the wooden boatshed where it wouldn’t be seen by anyone who happened to come down the lane. When she got back, she found he’d put a kettle on the gimballed stove, and was preparing coffee.

“Billy, you have to tell me what’s going on. I thought you were dead,” Amber said, as she sat down.

“Is the tarp fully over?” he replied.

“Yes. And the car’s moved and there’s no one around for miles, and by the looks of it you’ll be able to track it if anyone comes close and presumably launch missiles at them.” She answered. “Now tell me what the hell’s going on. I actually thought you’d killed yourself.”

“No you didn’t.” Billy answered at once, as he measured three level spoons of coffee powder into the French press, and carefully folded the packet back up, then wrapped a rubber band around it, and put it back into the wooden locker.

“What?”

“You didn’t actually think I was dead. If you did you wouldn’t be here. And you wouldn’t have done that to your cell.” He turned to look at her. “I’m actually a bit annoyed it’s taken you so long to come here.”

Amber’s mouth formed a word of protest, but it wouldn’t come out. She dropped it.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Called me. Sent me an email. Something.”

“I couldn’t. Any of those things and they’d have known. They’re watching you, and Dad, and me, or at least all my old accounts, which is all they think is left of me. I did think about sending you a coded message, but the FBI have people who are way smarter than you are. They’d have cracked the code before you would. Then they’d have known I was alive and before too long they’d have found this place. And I can’t let that happen. Not until I have enough evidence.”

“Well thanks.” Amber said.

Billy turned to look at her quizzically, then turned back to the coffee.

“Hang on.” Amber stopped him. “Slow down. I don’t understand.”

“I know.” Billy frowned. “That’s why I’m making coffee. I need to explain it all.”

He poured two cups and handed one to Amber, who sat down. It was warm and cozy in the cabin, despite the computers everywhere.

“What is all this?” she began, casting her eyes around.

“It’s all old stuff. From the loft. Dad brought it down.”

“Your dad? So he knows? That you’re alive?”

“Of course he does.”

“But… But he’s just held a memorial. For your death.”

“I know. I told you. We have to make it look like I really am dead, or they’ll find me.”

Amber paused to take a sip of the coffee. It tasted bitter and harsh, but she appreciated the hit it gave her. For a second she smiled, wondering if she should pinch herself, but knowing there was no need. This was too weird to be a dream. Billy was alive!

“Who’s going to find you? Who’s watching you?”

“The FBI. If it had just been a normal murder it would be left to the island police, but because it was a bomb, it’s classed as domestic terrorism, and that’s a federal offense.”

The casual way he talked about it reminded Amber what he’d been accused of doing, something she’d succeeded only in suppressing, because it was too awful to think about. But now, here, she knew it had to be faced.

“The bombing… Billy… did you..? I