Private 10 - Suspicion (14 page)

"This isn't real," I told myself.

"Yes, it is."

Thomas was right beside me now. His voice in my ear.

"No. It's not. "Tears coursed down my face. "And you're not either. I'm going insane."

"You're not. Just open it. Drink it," Thomas said. "But take sips. You don't want to throw up again."

My hands trembling, I opened the bottle. Heard the click as the cap released from its plastic band. I had never wanted anything so badly in my life, but I was afraid. Afraid that I would lift the bottle to my lips and the whole thing would vanish.

"Here. I'll help you," Thomas said.

He lifted the bottle to my lips. Tipped it toward my mouth.

Cool water ran over my cracked lips and down my throat. The relief was instantaneous. I wanted to gulp the whole thing down, but remembered what Thomas had said and stopped. I didn't want to retch it up. Not only that, but I had to conserve it. Make it last as long as possible. I lowered the bottle and took a breath. Then I allowed myself one more gulp. My tears turned to tears of joy. Relief.

Thank God for people who littered.

People who littered. People.

This meant someone had been here before. It meant people did, occasionally, come to this island. Someone knew it was here. And if someone knew it was here, it was possible they were coming back.

It was possible that even if the kidnappers had left me for dead and Upton had forsaken me and Noelle had given up on me, I could still be saved.

I looked at Thomas, wanting to share the good news, but he was gone. Of course he was. He was never there.

I looked down at the bottle and cap clutched in my ragged, dirty hands. But if he was never there, how did I find this?

I felt a chill and looked around. "Thanks," I said, just in case. "I'm glad you're watching over me."

Then I capped the bottle, got up, and set off to find some food already. I was not going to end up like Thomas. I wasn't going to let some sadistic psycho remove me from this earth before I was ready. I was going to find a way off this island. And if I died in the process, at least it would be on my terms.

SAVE MYSELF

The sun was starting to go down. I sat atop the rock jetty, the one that was home to the barnacles I had used to fray the twine from my wrists that first day, and watched as hundreds of brilliant colors lit the horizon. I ran my fingers over the six lines in my piece of drift. I had so hoped there would never be a seventh, but if I made it through this night, it seemed as though there would be.

Pulling my knees up under my chin, I yanked the hem of the T - shirt down over my legs to my ankles, affording myself the slightest bit of warmth. Next to me on the rocks was my bottle of water, still almost full, my pile of manchineel apples, my purse, and my one shoe. I don't know why I felt the need to keep these things near me at all times, but I did. Having them near me made me feel more secure.

As the sun dipped toward the ocean, painting the sky with bright pinks, purples, peaches, and yellows, I took a deep breath and tried to fend off a niggling feeling of fear and desperation. Another day was 145

ending. Another night about to begin. How long could I make it without food? I wanted to survive. Wanted so badly to get off this island and see my family and my friends again. But just wanting it wasn't going to make it happen.

Behind me, the palm trees danced in the wind, their fronds click-clacking against one another. It sounded like a thousand mini-stilettos crossing a marble floor. I closed my eyes and pretended I was at a fancy Billings function. That I could hear the sound of my friends'

laughter and conversation. The sounds of champagne corks popping and glasses clinking and cell phones trilling. A smile twitched at my lips. What were London and Vienna doing right now? Were Kiki and Constance still hanging out in New York? I bet Astrid was going balls-out crazy in London, doing whatever she could to piss off her parents. I rested my cheek on my folded arms and sighed, wishing I was with them. Any of them. All of them. Wishing I was anywhere but here.

The wind died, and for a moment there was silence. But I kept my eyes closed, clinging to the happy, warm images of my friends. And that's when I heard it. A motor. A boat engine. Far off, but getting closer. Undoubtedly getting closer. My heart slammed into my rib cage like a rock off a slingshot and my head popped up, eyes wide. It had been so long since I'd heard anything other than the sounds of nature, I thought my brain was playing tricks on me. I scanned the water anyway. It was already much darker than it had been just moments before, but I saw the shadow of something moving out there on the ocean. Saw the white foam of wake made by a vessel cutting through the water. My heart leapt and I was on my feet.

It was Upton. It had to be. He was coming to save me. I lifted my arms over my head and waved them around like a crazy person. Which, of course, I was. A few hours ago I'd been talking to a dead guy.

The boat drew closer. Soon I was able to make out its shape. It was a small speedboat, nothing fancy, and there were two people at the helm. Not one, but two. And neither of them was Upton. I would have recognized his shadow. The line of his shoulders. The lift of his chin. No. It was the kidnappers. They were back. My hope fizzled like a fourth of July sparkler being shoved into sand. If they were back, they were here to kill me. I looked down at my pile of apples and my jaw clenched with grim determination. It was up to me. I was the only one who could save me now. Using my handy bandana sack, I gathered up the apples and jumped down to the sand to greet my executioners. I had promised myself I would be ready when they returned, and I was. But knowing that didn't stop nervous bile from rising up in my throat.

My plan had to work. It just had to.

They beached their boat and hopped out into the shallow water. Their faces were still obscured by wiry beards and dark sunglasses. As they slowly approached, I reached into my sack of apples with my bandaged hand and drew one out, clutching it behind my back.

"Well, well. Look who's a little survivor," Red Beard said. They were both smiling. Had Upton doubled their money? Were they here to bring me back? My heart pounded with adrenaline, hope, and exhaustion. I gripped the apple as tightly as I could, holding on to it for dear life. As if it could save me. I hoped it could save me.

"Where's Upton?" I asked, trying to remain positive.

They laughed. Red Beard drew a sweaty hand across his face, wiping under his nose. Both of them, in fact, were beaded with perspiration. Their fake beards were probably itchy and suffocating. Why did they feel the need to disguise themselves? I barely knew anyone on St. Barths. And if they were going to kill me, I'd never have the chance to identify them anyway.

"What's so funny?" I asked, my heart pounding so hard now I shook with each beat.

"Your little boyfriend never paid," Mr. Stilted English said. A gray cloud obscured my vision, and it took a long moment for me to realize it wasn't actually there. That I had just come this close to fainting dead away.

"He . . . but you went to him? You told him where I was, what you were going to do?" I rambled. Behind me, the apple jumped around in my hand. Upton couldn't leave me here for dead. He just couldn't.

But obviously, he had. What motive did these two have to lie? Hot tears welled up in my eyes. How could I have believed Upton when he told me he loved me? I had believed he wanted to be my boyfriend. I had almost slept with him. Sawyer was right about him. He didn't deserve a girl like me.

"He decided it was a better idea to go to the police," Mr. Stilted English told me, taking a step forward.

My desperate rambling thoughts were brought up short. Okay.

Well, maybe Upton wasn't all bad. Going to the police wasn't as bad as ignoring the situation completely, right? But if he really loved me, why bother? Why not just pay?

"How do you know he went to the police?" I asked. Not that I cared. I was just stalling for time. The longer we stood there, the more the real reason for their visit sank in. Somewhere, one of them was concealing a gun. The gun that held the bullet that was going to kill me. There was another laugh. "Because we are the police." Stilted English finally lost the stilt and went back to his regular voice, his French accent.

"Surprise, Miss Brennan!" Red Beard added.

In a rush, I realized who they were. Red Beard was Officer Marshall, and Stilted English was Officer Gravois. The cops from the hospital. The ones who had found my assertions so amusing. The ones who assumed I was a spoiled brat who was not, in fact, being stalked by a murderer.

They were going to murder me. Oh, the irony.

The two of them approached me now, slowly, predatorily, like lions stalking a gazelle. I took an instinctive step back. Officer Marshall stopped in his tracks.

"Wait. She has something behind her back."

Gravois lifted his dark glasses and eyed me with suspicion. "What are you hiding, eh?

Some kind of homemade weapon?"

I let out a shout as I flung the apple at Marshall with all my might. Thanks to my weakened state, it made a pathetic arc in the air and landed in his ready hand. He snorted a laugh.

"What did you think you were goingto do? Knockme out with your superhuman strength?" He tossed the apple up and down a few times. I watched him play his little game and held my breath. He was going to throw it over his shoulder, or down on the ground. What had I been thinking? This was never going to work. What were the chances that he would actually-Then he lifted the apple to his lips and took a bite. My heart leapt with joy. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect moment. Right now he was chewing on poison. The juice trickled down his chin. How long would it take before he keeled over dead? I had to be ready. Had to use the moment of surprise to take on kidnapper number two. Marshall chewed, swallowed, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Come on manchineel. Workyour magic.

But nothing happened. He just licked his lips and tossed the rest of the apple in the sand. Nothing.

My shoulders sagged along with all my hopes. Had Mrs. Ryan been lying when she told us about the dangers of the tree? Was she just that morbid that she wanted to scare us for no reason? Or had I been wrong about the tree? Was it just some ordinary crab apple?

"Sayyour good-byes, kid," Officer Marshall said.

He drew a gun out of the back waistband of his pants and pointed it at my chest. My breath stopped in my throat. These were the last few beats of my heart. The cold sand beneath my feet was the last thing I would ever feel.

I was about to close my eyes and see whatever it was my subconscious wanted me to see in my last moments, when suddenly Officer Marshall's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he crumpled to the ground. His whole body started to shake, and drool poured out the corner of his mouth. Both Gravois and I were so stunned that for a moment, neither one of us moved. But then my eyes flicked to the gun, which was now twitching like mad, Marshall's fingers curled around the handle. Gravois saw it, too, and at the same time, we lunged. Except I had another surprise in store for him. Rather than lunging for the gun, I grabbed my piece of driftwood. Gravoiswas still struggling to release the gun from his buddy's convulsing grip when I ran over to him, wielding the driftwood like a baseball bat. I was mere inches away when he finally freed the gun. He looked up, and his eyes widened. He started to lift the weapon as I let out a guttural scream and swung. The driftwood slammed into his skull with a satisfying crack. His neck twisted at an unnatural angle and he slumped over the now still body of his partner. I stood over them, my chest heaving with each and every breath, as I started to comprehend what I had just done.