Private 10 - Suspicion (11 page)

"Please. Please, please, please, please, please."

I tried to beg, but the gag in my mouth distorted the words. I tripped forward across the deck as they dragged me by one arm. My head throbbed in several places and my knees and thighs were sore with the beginnings of nasty bruises. I heard a splash. Someone shoved me from behind and my feet hit the water. I started to fall forward, but the second guy yanked me to my feet and pushed his hand into the small of my back. I fumbled ahead, my feet unsteady as I navigated the shallow incline toward the shore. Soon, my toes hit dry sand. The moment they did I was shoved again, and fell face-first into the sand. My captors--my executioners--laughed. Rage surged through me like white-hot fire. One of them tugged at the knot on my gag and it fell free. I coughed as I rolled over, still blindfolded. There was no light coming through the slits at the top and bottom of the black scarf that was tied over my eyes. Definitely still night. Apparently, we hadn't been on the water for very long.

I felt proud of myself for noticing these things, for trying to assess my situation, even though I was terrified for my life.

"Any last words?" one of them asked.

I swallowed hard. I was pretty sure it was Red Beard speaking. At least it sounded like the boat captain's voice. But now I felt a shiver of recognition. I swore I had heard that voice before. But where? I thought back to every man I had met on the island and couldn't place it. Could it be Daniel disguising his voice?

"Please don't kill me," I blubbered as I was dragged to my feet again. I hated that I couldn't even see them. That they wouldn't even look me in the eye. That I was standing on some beach somewhere and I didn't even know what it looked like. What the place of my death looked like. "Please. You don't have to do this."

"God, just shut her up," one of them whispered. "Enough already." I pulled in a shaky breath. "Why are you--"

My words died in my throat. Something hard had just been pressed into the back of my skull. I heard the click as the gun's hammer was cocked.

"No!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, releasing every ounce of my soul into the air. Fear coursed through my body like cold shock waves. I trembled, more terrified than I had been that night on the roof of Billings with Ariana. More terrified than I'd felt looking down the barrel of Sabine's gun. At least then I had known where I was, had had the benefit of sight. Had known there were people around who could help me. But now, I was alone. Completely blind, completely helpless. Images flitted rapid-fire through my mind. Josh, Thomas, Billings, Noelle, my home in Croton, my parents, my brother, my dog, my first bike, my first soccer uniform, my turtle--God, I'd forgotten I ever had a turtle--my dolls, my baby blanket, my room. And Upton. Upton, Upton, Upton waiting for me in his bedroom on St. Barths. The bottle of wine, the look of anticipation on his face. My heart felt as if it was being shredded by a raging lion as I thought of him.

"I have a rich boyfriend!" I shouted, sounding like apathetic crazy. "He'll pay you. He'll pay you anything. Please just don't shoot me!"

For the first time, my captors were completely silent. My heart swelled with hope. Clearly I had gotten their attention.

But then they laughed.

"That's not going to work," one of them said. This one, I realized, hadn't spoken until now. His English was clipped. As if he was concentrating on his words. It must have been the second man. The one who had gagged me and thrown me around the boat. "You see, we are already being paid to kill you."

The air rushed out of my lungs. "What?" I breathed.

"I don't know what you did, little girl, but you've definitely pissed off some very important people," Red Beard said.

People. Plural. Daniel and Paige. It had to be them. That family was just crazy enough to spawn a plan like this. Just rich enough to have the money to do it. But why? Why go to all this trouble to get rid of me?

In a week I was going to be back at Easton and they'd never have to see me again. The gun pressed deeper into my skull.

"Wait! But Upton . . . he's a billionaire. Trust me, whatever you're beingpaid, he'll double it." I took a deep breath as the pressure of the gun lessened. "Think about it for a second. You can walk away with twice the money and no blood on your hands." The gun was lowered and they shoved me to my knees. For a second I thought they were just going to pull the trigger and I pressed my eyes closed under my blindfold. I couldn't breathe. My whole body involuntarily flinched over and over and over again, thinking each second was my last on earth. "Waiting for the shot was torture, pure and simple. My teeth clenched together, and every inch of my body shook.

But then the gun was lowered, and I felt them walk away. Felt their eerie, looming presence subside. Their voices carried to me on the wind in snippets as they discussed my offer.

"That kid . .. would never..."

I twisted my hands around, trying to loosen the twine that bound my wrists together. The rope only cut deeper into my flesh. I bit my lip to muffle my cry and kept twisting. This pain was preferable to getting shot.

"... say we just get it over..."

Slowly, I sat down on my butt and swung my legs around in the sand so my feet were in front of me.

".. . is true, we could just get..."

Holding my breath, I pushed myself up to standing, sidestepping a bit for balance.

". .. no idea what she's talking about..."

I took a step forward, not knowing what the hell I would find up ahead, but knowing it had to be better than what I had here.

"... but that fa--Hey!"

My heart seized at the sound of his shout. Within two seconds the gun was pressed into my skull again, right against one of my many fresh wounds. The pain was so sharp I choked out a cry.

""Where the hell do you think you're going?" Mr. Stilted English spat.

"Please! Please, don't," I cried.

"Jesus. If we're goingto do this let's just do it," Red Beard said.

"Fine."

I waited for the gun to go off. Wondered if I would have time to feel the pain. And then he released me.

"We're gonna go talk to that pretty-boy billionaire of yours," Red Beard said. "Good luck not freezing to death out here."

I heard them moving off through the sand and relief rushed through me. All my emotions welled to the surface and I started to cry. Bawl, actually, but I no longer cared. I just let it all out. I was alive. That was all that mattered. For the moment, I was alive. The boat's engine roared to life. I was still crying when it faded to nothing in the distance. They were going to talk to Upton. Upton was goingto save me.

Everything was goingto be all right.

Or not.

As soon as the boat's engine was out of earshot, I realized the hopelessness of the situation. I wasn't dead. That was something. But I was standing on the middle of a beach, blindfolded, with my hands tied behind my back. It was the middle of the night and I was wearing only a skimpy minidress, with nothing to protect me from the cold breeze that was kicking up off the water. I assumed the island was deserted, which meant no one was about to stumble upon me and help me. But there could be animals. Huge, scary animals that liked to tear apart human flesh.

Once again, my heart started to pound.

"Okay . . . okay ... all you've got to do is keep yourself alive until Upton pays those guys off," I said to myself, my chest heaving up and down with my panicked breathing. But my brain wouldn't stop. How far was I from St. Barths? How long would it take them to get there, to find him, to do the deal? I tilted my head back, trying to see something, anything, through the slit of an opening at the bottom of the blindfold. All I could see were my bare feet. My shoes were gone. Not that they were exactly survival gear, but still. It would have been nice to have them. I wondered when they had fallen off. In the boat? In the water? I couldn't remember. I hadn't exactly been thinking about footwear while those guys were talking about dumping my body.

The wind kicked up and I took a deep breath. First things first. I had to get this blindfold off so I could assess my situation. Find shelter. I sat down carefully, my arms still tethered behind my back, and lay back in the cool sand. Digging my head back as hard as I could into the ground, I squirmed forward down the beach, trying to dislodge the blindfold. The knot edged up a little bit. My heart leapt with hope and I squirmed some more. And some more. The knot edged up ever so slightly again, this time hitting the bruise left when Mr. Stilted English had slammed my head into the floor. Hatred and anger surged through me and I squirmed even harder. By the time I felt the knot moving up the back of my skull again, I was sweating from exertion.

But at least I wasn't cold anymore.

Finally, with one last push, the blindfold came free. Yes! Relief rushed through me. I sat up and looked around. Thanks to the ever-present blanket of stars, and a nice, fat moon, the night wasn't pitch-black. I could see that the beach was wide and white, reaching up to a thick forest of vegetation behind me. To my left was a long, flat rocky ledge stretching out into the water. To my right, nothing but sand stretching on for what seemed like miles. Out in the ocean . . .nothing. No sign of St. Barths or Kiran's party island or any boats of any kind. There was nothing but water as far as I could see.

All I had was my blindfold, and the bandana they had used as a gag, which was lying in the sand a few feet up the beach. No food. No water. No blanket. No tent. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Hopelessness started to cave in on me like a thousand tons of rocks. Where was I supposed to go? Into the trees where animals probably lived? It wasn't like I could sit out here all night on the cold beach in the wind. I would, as Red Beard implied, freeze to death. Could that happen in one night? Would Upton sail out here to rescue me only to find my cold, dead body?

No. I was being ridiculous. This was the Caribbean. Sure the nights were cool, but not freezing. And there had to be something I could do. I shoved myself to my feet, ready to check out the tree line, and saw something out of the corner of my eye. Something tossed into the sand near the edge of the water. My heart leapt with hope and I ran for the water's edge. It was my purse, my still-wet T-shirt, and one of my shoes. The men must have thrown my things there, intending to bury them with me or something. Get rid of the evidence. But the stupid morons hadn't realized something. My phone was in that purse!

I dropped to my knees and leaned forward, grabbing at the clutch with my teeth. I only succeeded in pushing it farther away. If these things got any closer to the water, the tide was going to come in and sweep it out to sea. Cursing under my breath, I got up again and kicked all of it up the beach, working my way up until I was a few feet away from the forest's edge.

"Okay. How the hell do I get at my phone?" I said through my teeth. I looked down at my bare feet. It was worth a shot. Sitting my butt down on the cold sand, I managed to pull the purse toward me by gripping it between my feet. Then I held it down with the sole of one foot while nudging the toes of my other foot under the flap. The second it opened, it flapped closed again, the magnetic closure working against me.

"Dammit!" I cried, frustrated tears stinging my eyes. This was ridiculous. I needed my hands. Even if I got the damn phone out of there, it was going to be impossible to work the touch screen with my sandy toes. I shoved myself to my knees, then my feet, and walked toward the flat rock. There had to be something there I could use. Something sharp to cut the twine, or something I could use as a wedge to shimmy the coil from my wrists. I walked all the way around the base of the rock. There were plenty of stones, but all of them had been smoothed out by the pounding surf. The desperation was just starting to fill my chest again, when I saw a large patch of white clinging to the black rock. I moved closer to inspect it and saw that it was a colony of rough barnacles, porous and scaly, almost like a pumice stone.

My jaw clenched. It would take hours to break through the twine this way. But it was the only hope I had.

I turned around, backed my hands into the barnacles, and started to move my arms up and down. The barnacles snagged my skin and I winced in pain. I leaned forward slightly, trying to keep my arms away from the sharp surface as much as possible, and kept going. Up, down, up, down, up, down. I kept catching my skin, and each time it stung even worse, but I just gritted my teeth and kept working. At times it felt as if the twine was loosening, but then I'd try to pull my hands apart and nothing would happen.

After what felt like an eternity, I stepped away from the rock, panting with exertion and exhaustion and fear and pain, and pulled as hard as I could. My wrists felt as if they were being slit open with a paring knife. I shouted against the pain and strained even harder. Harder, harder, until I couldn't take it anymore.

Nothing happened.

That was when I let out a scream that scared a dozen birds from one of the trees at the edge of the forest. My heart constricted at the reminder that I was not alone, and I went back to work.

Gritting my teeth, I told myself that the pain wasn't there. I moved my shoulders up and down, tearing my wrists apart, and simply took it. There was no other option. I needed my hands, and this was the only way to free them. Sweat popped up along my lip, across my brow, under my arms. My wrists burned. I clenched my jaw tighter and kept going. Two minutes later, the rope fell into the shallow water at my feet. I was free. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

I whipped my arms around to inspect them. There were nasty, bloody cuts around my wrists and scrapes all up and down my forearms. The wounds stung in the cold night air, but the pain was nothing. I was free.

I turned around and sprinted for my phone. Falling to my knees in front of my clutch, I ripped it open and dumped its contents onto the ground. My heart fell to my toes. My phone was not there.

"No! No! No!" I shouted, moving aside the lip gloss, the compact, the Tic Tacs. As if an iPhone could be hiding beneath any of this stuff. Of course it wasn't there. The men had been smart enough, at least, to take that with them. There would be no calling for help. No relief of friendly voices. Nothing to do but wait.