“I thought we were going to Aruba.” Melissa looked up from the last of her conch fritters, ketchup-lime-Tabasco dipping sauce, and soft panny cakes that they’d grabbed from a street vendor on their rush to the dock.
“We are. But I have to make a quick stop first.”
She checked their GPS location. “Hey, we’re still in the Bahamas. I thought you couldn’t wait to get out of this country.”
Richie kept his reply down to an “Uh-huh” of agreement, so that he didn’t give anything away, and settled the plane down on the rolling waves with the ease of his multiple water landings all in the last twenty-four hours.
She was craning her head about trying to see where he was heading. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere.” He slid to a stop and cut the engines. Unbuckling the seat harness, he twisted out of
