The rest of me turns sharp at this realization.
Ashley Donnelly is not only beautiful and desperate.
She’s worth a literal fortune.
I stand up and shove the phone into my pocket, hating it there. I asked for the information from Nicholas. Now that I have it, the restlessness has grown into an insistent, punishing thing. All of her daddy’s money couldn’t keep her from watching her boyfriend get shot or becoming the temporary property of a far more dangerous man. All of her daddy’s money will line my pockets. Maybe more than money. I’ll be the winner, in the end.
This is what I’m best at. Taking what I find and using it to my advantage. The sea has given me yet another chance to do it, almost as if I called her out of the waves myself.
I shake off the persistent urge to kick out the windows of my own cabin and throw myself into the sea. A swim would be bracing. It would clear my head. But there’s work to do, and only work can distract me from the pointed, hot anger I feel at the helpless woman sleeping peacefully on my pillows.
Work, and the search for the treasure that matters. The treasure that will not let me rest until I find it.
None of those have to do with Ashley, or the way her hair is spread on my pillowcase, or the way her soft body curls into my blankets.
I leave the room.
Pulling the door closed hurts, but not because I feel anything for her. No. I’m pissed at myself for… whatever that was before. For that siren song that I invented in my own mind. I pulled her out of the sea because you never know when a person might be valuable. Ashley has turned out to be almost too valuable. The way she looked, so helpless and sweet, disguised the truth of her from me, and I hate myself for nearly getting taken in.
But I did not get taken in. I let my feet fall heavy on the steps up to the deck. The vixen didn’t trick me. I uncovered her secrets before she had the chance to hide that fancy, charmed past away and pretend to be innocent. The pain in her eyes when she talked about her boyfriend was probably as fake as all those social media photos.
I burst out onto the deck and into clear air.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
5
Ashley
The next time I wake up, I’m alone.
The chair by the side of the bed is empty.
A faint rocking tells me I’m on a boat, and this isn’t a fever dream of a nautical vacation. Plus, everything I can see is bolted down to the floor. I climb out of bed, keeping my movements slow and controlled. There was definitely a man in here before, but I can’t remember exactly what we talked about. Only the sea-deep pitch of his voice.
Once I’ve got both feet on the floor I can see that the bed is bolted down, too. Or… no, it’s part of the floor. As if the dark, knotted wood unfolded itself into a huge bed. Far too much space for a person like me. He must be very tall.
One of the room’s walls is lined with curtained windows. I pad over and pull one of the curtains back. The windows are larger than I’d expect on a ship. Whoever built this must have done a lot of reinforcement under all this wood to support windows like this. That’s how windows are on boats.
The windows don’t matter compared to what I see outside.
Nothing but open sea.
Not even a dot on the horizon to suggest land exists.
It does exist. I know that. I was born on land and I had both feet on solid ground before I left for the trip with Robbie.
I can’t think directly about Robbie right now. No, no. That’s not a good idea. It makes my eyes burn and my chest ache. Not right now, not right now.
Being naked is not helping. If the man who was here before comes in right now, he’ll see me standing here numb and nude by the window, staring at nothing. He would laugh. I’m not in the mood for that.
I go hunting for clothes. My sundress isn’t here and I’ve never been very cute in bedsheet chic. A single big dresser stretches across the opposite wall. Inside are folded clothes. Folded—for some reason that surprises me, but it shouldn’t. There’s no clutter here. Not on top of the dresser or anywhere else. I remember drinking from a cup, but there’s nothing on the table bolted down near the bed, either. This ship probably goes through a lot of rough seas.
I take the first things that look semi-normal and shake them out over the bed. A loose white linen shirt and dark canvas pants. Sailing clothes.
My hands shake while I put them on. It’s tiring, standing up for this long, but what’s my other option? I can’t stay in bed forever if I want to find out what’s going on.
Do I want to find out what’s going on?
Not really. But once again, no other great options present themselves. I tie a knot in the shirt and roll up the pants so I can at least look like I’ve worn clothes before. There are no shoes. I wasn’t wearing any when I jumped off the yacht, and I can guarantee that whoever owns these clothes won’t have shoes that fit me, either.
The door to the room is unlocked.
I step outside of it, bracing for an alarm, but nothing happens. There’s no shout or loud siren or anything in the long hallway to announce my escape. Everything is wood, wood, wood. It doesn’t make any sense. People don’t have ships like this anymore. At least I don’t think they do. This boat feels big, almost like a yacht, but… different.
It doesn’t seem smart to wander around in the hall by myself so I take the stairs.
My quads burn from the effort of the climb. God, how long was I in that bed? Long enough for my legs to go weak and boneless? It couldn’t have been that long. With every step I take, the pit at the base of my stomach grows. I’m pretty sure the door at the top of the stairs opens onto the deck.
Once I’m up there, I won’t be able to hide from the sea.
I stop ten steps from the bottom and cling to the railing, taking deep breaths and trying to look like it’s normal for people to freeze up in the middle of the stairs. The sea used to look calm to me. What else could it be? My parents never went boating when it looked like bad weather. Robbie borrowed his parents’ yacht because no storms were on the horizon during spring break. But the weather didn’t matter in the end. The storm came anyway. It came on a perfectly calm day, in golden sunlight—
I shake my head once, twice, but it makes me dizzy, so I stop. The sea is a violent creature. Calm seas are a lie.
Every part of me wants to run back down the stairs and into that bedroom, but it wouldn’t be better. I wouldn’t get any answers. I wouldn’t learn anything about where I am or who I’m with. I wouldn’t find out when my dad will arrive.
Jesus. Am I really going to be the kind of girl who sits around waiting for some strange man to tell her what the plan is? I’ve been that girl. Shame heats my cheeks. I didn’t know that going along with things would land me on a strange ship in the middle of the ocean.
I climb the last ten steps as fast as I can, before I can change my mind, and force myself out through the door.
I was right.
This is the deck.
It’s a big, wide-open deck, and the second I’m out in the sun I regret it. The telltale heat of a deeper burn takes no time to set in on my sunburned face. I press a hand to one cheek, then the other, then put them back down by my sides. I’m not going to help myself by trying to prevent a sunburn with two hands.