“No,” said Rickards, raising a cautionary hand. “We don’t have to do anything.  If someone thinks you’re crazy, trying to convince them otherwise in a fit of desperation never helps.  Trust me.”

She opened her mouth to speak but stopped and closed it again, frustrated, but reluctantly agreeing.

“I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I,” said Rickards.  “And I didn’t even want to come.”

She turned with a quip but found him grinning at her.

“Look, it is what it is.  Just let it be and see what happens.  And hope he finds something in Morton’s data that changes his mind—or at the very least stirs some curiosity.”

Angela folded her arms and turned to look out her side window.  “What do we do until then?”

Rickards shrugged.  “I could eat.”

***

In the ten minutes it took to drive to reach Kaanapali Beach north of Lahaina, something changed.

From the passenger seat, Angela could sense a difference in Joe.  He seemed to grow quiet and anxious, judging by his driving, which now was beginning to seem a little erratic, as though he was irritated.  There was a notable difference from the longer drive they’d just made from the college.

She remained quiet in her seat, watching him from the side and saying nothing while he accelerated in and out of the cars on the two-lane highway, only to calm down again and move back to the right-hand lane.

“Everything okay?” she finally asked.

“Fine.”

Reaching Kaanapali, he turned left with the other cars and wound around the large section of golf course.  But when they reached Whalers Village, he continued driving, completely missing or else ignoring the GPS instructions from her phone to make a turn.

Instead, Joe turned another direction and headed up a steep incline onto Kekaa Drive, where he turned right and looped back onto the highway and then back toward the same turn they’d just made, now from the opposite direction.

“Joe?”

He didn’t answer.

She decided not to press the issue.  He was most likely growing tired.  Or perhaps it was just the distinctly male habit of not wanting to ask directions after making a mistake.

Not that it mattered.  This time he turned into the Whaler’s parking garage as expected and found a spot on the bottom level.

Without speaking, they climbed out of the car and walked the two hundred or so yards toward the scattering of restaurants overlooking the beach and ocean.

After being seated, they ordered without conversation and eventually started to eat.

They were halfway through lunch when Rickards finally spoke, peering through the crowds of people strolling by.

“I need to tell you something,” he said.  “And I need you to stay calm.”

Midbite, Angela swallowed part of her burger and nodded.

“I think we’re being followed.”

She stared across the table, unsure whether she’d heard him correctly.  “What?”

“I said I think we’re being followed.”