New Year Island (27 page)

“Tag,” he said, but he didn’t move, either. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes.

The moment stretched, and Camilla’s heart sped up. This was getting awkward. Why was she just lying on him, like she was brain damaged or something? Someone was bound to come around the corner and wonder what was going on between them. Mason would never stop teasing her, and he would get a real kick out of telling their team captain, too. What would Jordan think of her
then
?

Camilla’s heart pounded so violently, she felt it pulsing in her neck. And surely Juan felt it, too. How could he not? Her chest was pressed against his.

Remembering the cameras all of a sudden, she gasped. She needed to get off him. Right now.

“Sorry,” he said.

She jammed the fist that still held the flagpole into the sand, and felt the sharp grains bite into the backs of her fingers as she pushed herself up.

“No,
I’m
sorry,” she said.

Now she was sitting astride him. Oh god, this probably looked even worse.

Juan shook his head. He pointed at the flag in her hand. “Five points.”

Realization dawned on her slowly. That was why he had backed away to let her grab the flag first, before tagging her. She had lost five of her points to him, not just one.

“Oh, great.” Mad now, she slapped his chest and rolled off him. She stood up, and he rolled to his feet as well. The calm friendliness in his eyes seemed genuine.

He reached for the flag she held. Took it.

“Whatever happens here, you can’t take too seriously,” he said. “It’s just a game. But you’re a nice person, and it’s not a very nice game, Camilla. Be careful.”

Unable to think of anything to say, she stood there facing him, her feelings in turmoil. What had he meant by that?

JT came sliding down the slope behind her, his construction boots sending rocks skittering across the sand. “Fucking Lauren went AWOL,” he said to Juan. “Again.”

He paused to catch his breath and turned to point back across the island. “And Travis… dumb son of a bitch tagged himself out. But he did it using his elbow, right into the doc’s face.”

C
linging to the small ridges and knobs of the bluff’s vertical face with her fingers and the toes of her shoes, Lauren edged around the southern end of the island. A few feet below her heels, whitewater churned against mussel- and starfish-encrusted rocks. She peered around the corner to see the blue flag, in the center of a flat sandstone shelf. Swinging her body around, she dropped onto the shelf and shook her hands to loosen them.

Jordan stood barefoot next to the flag, staring at her with cold eyes. Then she raised a sculpted eyebrow.

All right, bitch.
Lauren tilted her head, cracking her neck.
It is on.

A small, superior smile appeared on Jordan’s face. She pulled the blue flag out of its base. “Want this?”

She tossed the flag toward Lauren, and it clattered down onto the rock surface between them.

Mocking me.
Bands of rope tightened around Lauren’s chest.
Like I’m some kind of a joke to her.
This was Susan Calloway in the high school locker room all over again. Well, she would break
this
bitch’s perfect little nose, too.

Springing forward, she scooped up the blue flag and ran for the rock ramp that led up onto the island’s plateau, with Jordan sprinting after her. Gritting her teeth, Lauren spun, swinging the end of the steel flagpole like a baseball bat, aiming for Jordan’s face.

But the flagpole swished through empty air—Jordan wasn’t there anymore. Running three sideways steps up the bluff wall, in seeming defiance of gravity, she launched herself at Lauren from above.

They crashed to the ground with the flagpole trapped between them and rolled apart. Realizing that Jordan had just taken five points from her, Lauren stood up fast, fingers clenched into fists.

On her hands and knees, Jordan looked at her and laughed. Then she pushed off and bounced to her feet.

Lauren threw a punch, and Jordan bobbed back, avoiding it, still laughing. Weaving and feinting, they circled each other, stepping over the flag that lay on the ground between them.

Somebody was going to get hurt bad here, Lauren realized. That was for goddamn sure. She swung at Jordan again, but her heart was no longer in it.

Jordan danced back again, and her eyes narrowed with dislike. She raised her own hands in some kind of a martial-arts stance—karate or some shit. Jordan wasn’t laughing now.

Lauren’s stomach sank. For the first time, she wondered if she would actually be able to beat Jordan.

“Cut that out!” a deep voice shouted behind her. “Right now.”

Jordan’s eyes shifted to look over Lauren’s shoulder. And widened.

Lauren turned around to see Brent stumbling down the sandstone ramp toward them, his large frame supported by Mason on one side and Veronica on the other. Blood streamed from his nose and mouth, covering his chin and staining his collar and fisherman’s vest. “Get away from each other!” he shouted.

Lauren looked at Veronica in shock. “Who hit him?”

Pale eyes like the blue flames of a propane camp stove burned into hers. Angry. Accusing. “Travis.” Veronica practically spat the name.

“Oh Christ.” Lauren ran up the ramp.

Crossing the island toward her own team’s base to tag herself back in, she wondered how something this obviously out of control could end well for anyone.

“I
’m all right.” Brent rubbed his sleeve across his lower face, streaking blood on the clean shirt he had changed into. “God damn it, I’m fine.”

Camilla noticed with some alarm that he was massaging his left arm when he thought no one was looking.
Oh god, his heart?

“You should take a break,” she said.

Veronica gave her a slight nod, her features taut with concern. She had seen it, too. Leaving Jordan with the flag, they had helped Brent inside and he had gone upstairs to change. Now he sat heavily on the stairs, his jaw already starting to swell.

Although she felt guilty for checking scores, Camilla’s eyes flicked to the monitor on the wall.

Juan’s tag had cost her. If she wanted her foundation to get the money, she would have to start doing better. But the game was turning rough, now. Camilla didn’t want anyone else getting hurt.

“We need an ice pack.” Veronica snapped her fingers at Mason and Camilla. “And you two, don’t just stand there like idiots. Do something.”

“Okay, where’s the first-aid kit?” Camilla asked.

“No.” Veronica waved her away, looking furious. “I’ll take care of him; I’ve got some nursing experience. You two need to go after their flag again.”

“But Julian has to give us a time-out, because Brent got hurt—”

“A
time-out
?” Veronica said. “Don’t be ridiculous. What are we, playing beach volleyball here?”

“Oh god. Come on, Mason. She’s right.” Camilla headed for the door—the red team would be going after the flag right now, with only Jordan in their way. “Let’s go.”

Brent’s voice, slurred but strong, followed her out the doorway.

“Remember who you are. Don’t stoop to their level. That’s exactly what Julian wants.”

• • •

Once they were both outside, Camilla grabbed Mason’s arm.

“We have to do something about Travis,” she said. “Take him out of play before he hurts someone even worse. Any ideas?”

“Maybe one or two.” Mason reached behind his waist to pull the black cylinder of bear spray from under his suit jacket.

“Oh god. But I think we need to do this.”

He grinned. “It’ll be fun…” A furious scream from the direction of the blue base interrupted him.

“I’m going to kill him!” a woman’s voice shrieked. “I’m going to fucking
kill
him.”

Camilla stared at Mason in alarm. “That’s Jordan.”

She sprinted toward the top of the ramp, arriving just as Jordan crested the slope, hair soaked, her wet dress plastered to her body.

“That son of a bitch.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, and Camilla was surprised to see she was near tears. “What happened to you guys? You left me alone out here.”

Camilla put a hand on her back to calm her. “Brent was hurt—”

“Bastard netted me with a bunch of kelp to avoid a tag—threw me in the water like a fish he didn’t want.” Sniffling, Jordan rubbed at her forearm. “I landed on rocks.”

“Travis?” Camilla asked.

Jordan shook her head. “Juan.”

“Oh, no.” Camilla pictured his face so close to her own a few minutes ago, seeing his calm, sardonic smile. Her cheeks felt hot. “I’m so sorry.”

Jordan dropped suddenly to sit on the ground near their feet. She swiped an arm across her eyes, then hugged her knees and looked away. “Where
were
you guys?”

“Did Juan get the flag?” Mason asked.

She didn’t answer, but the sound of cheering from the far side of the island answered for her.

“Why didn’t you call for help?” Camilla asked. “Maybe we could have caught him.”

A stricken look bloomed across Jordan’s face. “Oh my god.” She dropped her face into her arms.

She hadn’t even thought of it, Camilla realized. They were all falling apart here.

• • •

“You hang back a little,” Camilla said to Mason.

Lurking just inside red territory, Travis leered at them from behind the seal barricade fifty yards away. He rubbed at the triangle of beard under his lip.

“I’ll make him chase me,” she said. “You come up behind him and spray him. Then we both run like hell.”

“Don’t be shy!” Travis shouted. He grinned, beckoning her forward. “Bring your fag buddy, too.”

Mason laughed. “That’s our cue. Just don’t let him catch you.”

Camilla sprinted forward, and Travis shifted along the barricade to intercept her. He looked like he would enjoy hurting her. Mason wasn’t kidding.

She feinted to one side, pivoted, and scrabbled up the rough round logs, getting splinters in her palms. The heel of her sneaker caught on the top, tumbling her headfirst into red territory, and her face smacked against something wet and rubbery.

Yelping, the seal Camilla had landed on wriggled out from under her as she rolled aside. She scrambled to her feet and took off running, with Travis’s boots clattering on the rocks close behind her.

Slaloming around seals, bird nests, and rocks, she was forced to watch the ground ahead of her skidding feet. This didn’t seem like such a great idea anymore. What if Mason couldn’t catch up with them?

Passing between the cistern dome and the fallen lighthouse tower, she glanced toward the locked warehouse buildings. No one had come out when Travis injured Brent—this was definitely a rough game. But by pepper-spraying Travis in return, were she and Mason about to make things even worse?

And where was Mason? All she could hear was Travis, almost on top of her now.

In the middle of the causeway, Natalie raised her hands, looking uncertain. Dodging around her with pathetic ease, Camilla ran for the red team’s base. Juan was there. He could protect her until Mason caught up. She would be safe with Juan.

Or would she? She pictured Jordan—soaked, hurt, and humiliated—and realized she had made a big mistake.

“You stupid little bitch!” Travis’s yell came from far behind. “Why did you just
stand
there?”

What?
Slowing, Camilla looked back.

Travis had Natalie by the arm. He shook her violently, sending her head whipping back and forth. “You let her run right past you again.”

Camilla skidded to a halt in shock. She didn’t see Mason anywhere.

Travis grabbed the front of Natalie’s sweatshirt with his other hand, bunching it in his fist and lifting her onto her toes. “What use are you? Huh?”

The sweatshirt rode up, exposing the stark whiteness of Natalie’s bare stomach and ribs.

“Let go of her!” Camilla shouted, running toward them.

A loud, ugly crackling sound reached her ears. Travis convulsed suddenly and fell to the ground, releasing Natalie. She squatted next to him, pressing the stun gun against his neck, and the crackling sound came again. Travis’s back arched and his legs jerked, kicking at the rocks. Then he lay still.

Camilla stopped twenty feet away.

Natalie pulled her sweatshirt down, covering herself. Lips trembling, she met Camilla’s eyes. She looked about to cry. Then Mason appeared at Natalie’s side.

Still squatting, Natalie looked up at him. He gently held out a hand, and she touched his palm. Then she scooted backward and stood up.

Why had Mason let Natalie tag him? Rooted in place, Camilla stared in confusion. Events were moving too quickly, leaving her stranded like a traveler lost in a strange country whose customs she no longer understood.

Placing a foot against Travis’s side, Mason shoved, sliding him toward the edge of the oceanside bluff. Travis’s eyelids fluttered, but his arms and legs didn’t move.

Camilla’s eyes widened.

Mason pushed again, sending him tumbling over the edge. Camilla winced, remembering that the drop to the beach was eight or ten feet at least. But after what Travis had done to Brent, to Natalie, she was okay with this.