The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (233 page)

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.

I lifted my shredded wrists and took in a long, broken breath. All that work, all that pain, all this blood . . . for nothing.

I turned around to face the ocean, curled my knees up under my chin, rested my face between them, and cried.

The sun streamed down from above, warming my face as I looked out over the sparkling blue Caribbean Sea. I leaned against the cool, metal guardrail in my little red dress, feeling the wind in my face as the boat pushed forward through the waves. The water curled against the bow, burbling happily into white foam. I tipped my head back, my hair ticking the bare skin on my back. I was free. Free and totally at peace. Nothing could touch me now.

“You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

I turned and smiled at Thomas Pearson as he stepped up to the rail next to me. He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans and looked perfectly gorgeous. Untouched. Handsome and tan and young and alive. Behind him, the sun was descending toward the horizon at a rapid pace, but it didn’t bother me. Thomas was here. His hand on the small of my back. His touch was firm and warm. I leaned my head on his shoulder and breathed in the musky, clean scent of him.

“I love you, Reed. You’re the only girl I ever loved.”

“I know,” I told him, lifting my head. “You told me.”

Thomas smiled, then looked at something over my shoulder. “Hey, man.”

I turned around. It was Josh. His curly hair danced in the wind and he was wearing that sweater I loved so much. The green one with the high neck that brought out his eyes. It was dusk now, the sky a rich purple, and stars were beginning to appear overhead.

“Hey,” Josh said. He leaned in and touched his lips to mine. I melted all over.

“You love me too,” I told him.

“Of course I do,” he said, his hand sliding up under my hair. “I just had to do what was right. You know that.”

“She does. She’s fine,” Upton said, joining us. He slid between me and Thomas, and Thomas stepped back with a laugh, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll take care of her,” Upton told them. “Don’t worry.”

Upton slipped his hand into mine, our fingers entwined. We looked up at the now dark sky, where a blanket of stars twinkled and winked like huge, fat diamonds.

“I want one,” I said.

“I’ll get it for you,” Upton offered with a smile.

“No. It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

I climbed up on the railing, my feet completely steady, and reached as high as I could. There was one star hanging impossibly low, just above my head, just at the edge of my grasp. I stood on my toes—for
some reason I was wearing only one shoe—and stretched my fingers, reaching . . . reaching . . . reaching. . . .

“Reed, what’re you doing?” Thomas asked, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“Don’t. You’re going to fall,” Upton warned.

“Don’t bother, man,” Josh said, slapping Upton on the back. “There’s no stopping her when she gets like this.”

I looked down at them with a smile, ready to scold them for talking about me as if I wasn’t there, and all of a sudden, my feet slipped. My heart swooped into my throat. I reached out, grappling for something, anything, to grab on to, but there was nothing. A scream of terror escaped my lips as I fell. Plunged right past the guardrail and the three smiling loves of my life. And that was when I saw it. The hooded figure. It hovered just behind them, out of their sight, marking my progress as I fell.

My heart seized with fear. Whoever it was, they were going to make sure they succeeded this time. They were going to make absolutely sure I never saw daylight again.

“Upton! Turn around!” I shouted. “He’s right there!”

But then I hit the water, and the salty, roiling ocean closed over my face.

I couldn’t breathe. I clawed and kicked and strained, but the water felt like pudding. It slowed my progress. Tired my muscles. It took everything I had to shove my way to the surface. When I finally got there, I gasped in a breath, ready to scream, but Upton, Josh, and Thomas were gone. The hooded figure stood alone at the back of the
boat now, staring down at me as the vessel moved steadily away from me. If I could just figure out who it was. If I could just see its face . . .

And then, the figure moved. Slim white hands lifted the hood away and long blond hair streamed out over the ocean in the wind. My blood stopped cold.

It was Ariana. She was still trying to kill me. After all this time, she hadn’t given up. Her lips were set in a cold, thin smile, her light blue eyes like ice as she gazed down at me.

I was just about to let out a shout when something cold and slimy closed around my ankle and yanked me under. I opened my mouth and it filled with frigid, salty water. My lungs flooded. My heart exploded. And all the while Ariana smiled down at me. Down . . . down . . . down . . .

I gasped and sat up straight. My body shivered, my bones so frigid they were radiating cold from the inside out. I wrapped my arms around myself and held on tight, trying to abate the trembling. The sun was up, but not hot enough yet to melt away the cold. Definitely not hot enough to erase the nightmare.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to shove the images out of my mind. My pulse started to slow as my wakening mind began to accept the fact that it was all a dream. I wasn’t drowning. Wasn’t dead. Ariana was not here.

But neither was Upton. Or Josh. Or Thomas.

I wasn’t dead. Wasn’t drowning. But I was still alone. And stranded.

My stomach grumbled. I hadn’t eaten anything at the party the night before, since I’d been too excited about my night with Upton to even think about food. Lesson learned. Always eat at a party, just in case you’re going to be kidnapped and left for dead.

I forced a laugh, pretending my situation wasn’t as dire as I knew it was, and pushed myself to my feet. Without my phone and with no watch to speak of, I had no idea what time it was, but the sun was hanging low over the horizon, so it had to be early. I wondered if there was anything to eat on this island. Any fruit-bearing trees or shrubs. If there were, I was going to find them. At least it would give me something to do. A task with which to distract myself until Upton showed up with the cavalry.

Please, God, let Upton be on his way.
He would pay those guys off for me, right? He loved me. Money was nothing when it came to a person’s life. Especially someone you loved. Right?

Suddenly I found myself wishing we had known each other for more than a week.

But I couldn’t think that way. I had to have confidence in Upton. He was going to do the right thing. He was going to come for me.

I picked up the still-wet, balled-up T-shirt and opened it up, slapping as much sand off it as I could. Then I laid it out on a flat rock in the sun to dry in case the wind kicked up later. It would be nice to have another layer of clothing. I fished my compact from my purse to check the wound on the side of my head. There was a cut above my ear and my hair was caked with dried blood. I winced at the blood and touched my fingertips to the area. It didn’t hurt too badly, and it seemed as if the cut had started to heal. At least that was a good thing.