The Carrier (The Carrier Series Book 1) by Diana Ryan Page A

writing
on the back.
    Dear Ava,
    Thank you for the
amazing date the other day. I couldn’t have imagined a better time. Your sweet
smile is stuck in my mind, and I just have to get another fix. I would be
honored if you would accept another date with me. Meet me at the Island at 8pm
tonight.
    Nolan
    The huge smile on my face could not be hidden.
I looked back at Lower One and saw Suzanne leaning far out of the booth window
watching me. I chuckled to myself—how could I have let her scare me? I didn’t
care what anyone said; I was intrigued and had to make my own decision. I was
going to accept the ugly, wilted roses and go on that date. I only had to make
it through the day, first.
    I looked out toward the dam. From the spot
where my car was parked I could see the dock where Jack was loading up the
passengers for our next tour. “Crap!” I yelled and sprinted past Lower One.
    I could faintly hear Suzanne yelling, “What’s
the matter, kid? A swarm of bees fly up your shorts?” followed by that familiar
boisterous cackle. I just kept on running, all the way down to the boat.
    Jack was already at the wheel, engines on,
ready to pull away from the dock. I untied the bowline and mouthed “sorry” to
him. He flashed a somewhat fake smile at me, and I quickly walked to the back
of the boat, untied the stern, and gave us a push as we left. I walked through
the crowd on the lower deck and approached Jack at the wheel.
    He smiled more genuinely this time. “Glad you
could make it, kid.”
    Jack picked up the microphone and turned on his
tour guide voice. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome aboard the General
Bailey . My name is Captain Jack, and I will be skillfully driving you down
the Wisconsin River today. We have just embarked on a one-hour tour of the Lower
Dells. Be ready to see some gorgeous rocky scenery, learn about the history and
geology of the Dells, and hear Native American legends. Here to dazzle you with
her verbal dexterity is your very punctual and talented tour guide, Ava!”
    It was nearing the end of June and our full
boat was an indication that tourism was finally starting to pick up. Another
clear sign was that our trips were going well that day. We had sold
considerably more guidebooks so far than the amount we had sold on any other
given day that summer. I felt right at peace, doing what I was good at and
making some money doing it.
    Late in the tour, I was up on the top deck
giving my spiel on the loggers that used to come down the river riding on rafts
made from 100-foot-tall tree trunks tied together. It was another bright, sunny
afternoon in Dells country, and Jack and I were both in a great mood.
    We were coming up on a green army Duck and I
knew instantly from the name on its side that it was Aaron’s. I started
explaining the next rock formation, Pulpit Rock, when we caught up to him. I
waved politely and he put his thumb and pinkie up to his ear and mouth, giving
the “call me” sign. I shook my head no and he mouthed “please” as I finished my
spiel.
    Jack hit the throttle and left the little Duck
bobbing in our wake.
    Just then I noticed Jack had propped open the
windows above the dash so he could catch some breeze while he drove the boat. I
looked down and the window seemed to have some sort of paper stuck to the
underside of it. It even seemed to have writing on it. Could Jack be trying to
send me a message? Sometimes he would tug on the microphone cord to indicate I
had missed a cue or was repeating something I’d already said, but I’d never
seen him use this technique before. I moved to the edge of the boat and leaned
against the guide wires so that I could get a closer look at the writing. It
said, Whatever you do, do NOT come down !
    Do not come down? Why not? Was there an evil
man in a ski mask holding him hostage at gunpoint? Was there a hole in the boat
and we were slowly sinking? Just when I was about to panic and go down anyway,
he pulled that piece of