13
The Safe House
The car pulled further up the hillside of Gray’s Farm Main Road, past the Old Sugar Windmill up to a small house overlooking HawksbillBay, a beautiful stretch of pinkish sand and turquoise water. The house was shrouded in tropical vegetation and trees that overhung from every angle. As the tires crunched across the gravel-like driveway of crushed seashells, Jana said, “This is your safe house? Well, you certainly know how to treat the ladies.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad? Look at this dump. Christ, the little hut I live in is nicer than this. And that’s on a bartender’s salary.”
“But it’s nice inside.”
“Your plane touched down at the airport an hour ago. You went straight to the police station to argue with the cops until they let me out. You haven’t even bee
