The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (237 page)

“They’re going to feed you through an IV,” Upton said, running his hand gently over my hair.

“No, I mean . . . where have you been?” I asked, blinking back tears. “I’ve been here for five . . . six . . . days? Where have you been?”

Upton’s grip on me tightened. I could feel his tension throughout his body. “I’m so sorry, Reed. You have no idea. . . . When those men approached me, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if they were lying, or who was behind the whole thing. There was no telling whether they’d make good on our deal or simply take the money and leave you for dead. So I hired this team of investigators to find you, but we kept coming up against brick walls, dead ends. Finally we thought we would simply follow them back to you when they came, but it took them this long. . . . I’m so sorry. I’ve been doing everything I can to find you.”

He shifted his position and I found myself gazing out the open side of the helicopter. Marshall and Gravois were being dragged off toward a waiting boat.

“Who hired them?” I asked, clutching Upton’s shirt as the EMT lifted my other arm to try to find a good vein.

“They think it was Poppy,” Upton said grimly. “They found a disposable cell phone in her bag and all the calls were to the same number . . . a pay phone near the police station. They’re questioning her now, back on the island. I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you. I never thought she could do something like this.”

Poppy. I had thought it was Paige and Daniel, hadn’t I? But now I couldn’t for the life of me remember why. And I didn’t care. If it was Poppy, it was Poppy. It made sense. She hated me, was obsessed with Upton, and had money to burn. I couldn’t wait to see her rot in jail.

“All right, sir, we’re ready to go,” someone said.

“Good. Let’s get out of here.” Upton’s voice rumbled in his chest beneath my cheek.

The door shut.

“You’re going to have to sit up or lie down, miss,” the EMT said.

I sat up. “I don’t want to go to the hospital.” It was there that I’d met Gravois and Marshall.

The EMT shot me an impatient look. “You need immediate care.”

“No. I’m not going back there,” I said, my heart fluttering with nerves. “I can’t. I don’t trust them. I don’t trust the people there. Upton, I—”

“It’s okay,” he said, running his hand gently over my hair. “Noelle’s father has arranged for private care at his home.” He looked over my head at the EMT. “We should have an ambulance waiting for us at the Ryans’ to take her back to the Langes’.”

“The Ryans?” I squeaked.

“This is their helicopter, and they have the only helipad on the island,” Upton explained.

I swallowed hard. The very idea of being in the Ryans’ house made my blood run cold. I didn’t trust those people either. But if there was an ambulance waiting there, I wouldn’t have to be there long. Noelle’s family was going to take care of me. Of course they were.

The EMT started my IV as Upton placed a set of huge headphones over my ears. My weakened neck could barely hold up their weight. I leaned my head against the window and looked out at the island. I hated this place. Hated it with a vengeance. But at the same time it had been my home for almost a week. It was the place where I had almost given in to despair and death, but had fought back.

The helicopter’s engine roared to life, the blades starting out with a slow, whomping sound and gradually quickening to a deafening growl. The headphones dulled it, but they also made it impossible to hear anything else. Next to me, Upton settled in, his arm clamped around my shoulders like he would never let go again. We rose slowly into the air, the ground dropping away from us until I could see the entire island.

It was small. And the area of beach I had explored was about all the sand there was. The rocky steppe extended all the way around the rounded south edge of the island, and to the north, the forest eventually
took over the beach, the trees reaching all the way out to the water.

As the helicopter lurched forward, flying low over the darkened water, I looked back at the island, at my beach. I could have sworn I saw Thomas standing there in his white T-shirt, smiling at me as he waved good-bye.

The stretcher was lifted out of the helicopter and wheeled down a slight hill toward the Ryans’ estate. It was pitch dark out now and the walls of the sprawling mansion were eerily white against the raven sky. I was on my back, the IV being wheeled next to me, soft white blankets tucked in around me, but I was still shivering violently. It had started about halfway through the trip back to St. Barths and hadn’t slowed since.

Still, I felt more awake than I had in days. More present. More alert. Whatever was in the IV, it was working.

“Is Noelle here?” I asked Upton, who walked beside the stretcher.

We were coming around the side of the house now, headed for the back patio near the pool. The stretcher’s wheels hit the stone patio and the ride quickly became a lot less smooth.

“She’s on her way,” Upton said, looking down at me. “Everyone’s at Mrs. Lange’s charity thing, but they’re all coming here to see you.”

I smiled grimly. Leave it to the Billings Girls and their friends to keep the party going even when one of their own has been missing for six days. Not that I could blame them. I’d attended the Legacy while Thomas was missing, hadn’t I? That was how these people dealt with tragedy. They partied it away. At least Upton hadn’t decided to attend. I guess he really had been focused on finding me.

“There you are!”

Mrs. Ryan came skittering over the patio from the house, her high heels clicking on the stone floor. In seconds she was looming over me, her auburn hair falling forward over her cheeks. She was wearing a dark green strapless gown and a wide gold necklace. Her face was the picture of concern.

“My God, Reed. Are you all right?” she asked, her hand to her chest.

“Yes,” I said. “I think so. Thanks for the ride.”

Her brow creased in confusion, but then she laughed. “Oh, the helicopter. Of course.” She looked at Upton as we all continued inside the house, the EMTs still pushing my stretcher. “Some woman from the police station just called and said the ambulance was delayed, but it would be here within the next half hour.”

“It was supposed to be waiting,” Upton said, his jaw clenched.

“Well, you know how things work on this island,” Mrs. Ryan said, rolling her eyes. “She also said they need you down there. They have some questions about Poppy and your . . . relationship.”

“Now?” Upton was annoyed.

“It seems they want to wrap this up as quickly as possible,” Mrs. Ryan said.

“Upton, I don’t want you to go,” I said.

“Don’t worry. Let’s just get you inside,” he replied.

Once we were inside the house, there were a lot of hushed conversations between Mrs. Ryan and Upton and the EMTs, all taking place while I lay flat on my gurney, shivering and staring up at an ornate chandelier made out of coral and rock. Finally, the EMTs left in a huff. All I heard them say was that they highly recommended I visit the hospital within the next twenty-four hours.

“Can we get this thing out of my arm now? It’s burning,” I said, shoving the covers off of me and swinging my bare legs around the side of the stretcher. I got a head rush and brought my free hand to my forehead, waiting for it to pass.

Okay. So maybe the hospital would have been a solid idea.

“Of course,” Mrs. Ryan said, rushing forward.

She helped me remove the bandage and the needle and pushed the IV tower aside. Ever since I’d arrived on this island she’d been nothing but a bitch to me. Perhaps she was feeling guilty now that I’d almost died for the fourth time. Now that one of her friend’s daughters had hired hit men to kill me.

“What do you need?” she asked, stepping back, lacing her fingers together.

I glanced over her shoulder at Upton. “Food? Water? What first?” he asked.

“Actually, I’d kill for something solid to eat,” I said. “And a bath would be great.”

“I have this amazing bubble bath with aloe in it,” Mrs. Ryan said. “It will do wonders for that burn.”

“Let’s get her upstairs,” Upton suggested. “Then you can come down and talk to the chef.”

“What about the police?” Mrs. Ryan asked him. “They said it was urgent.”

Upton glanced at me warily. “I don’t think I should go anywhere just now.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Ryan said. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of Reed until you get back. Besides, the ambulance will be here soon, not to mention the rest of your friends and their families.” She gave me a tight smile. “Everyone wanted to be here to make sure you’re all right.”

I swallowed hard as I looked at Upton. I didn’t want him to go. Not after longing to see him for the past six days. I never wanted to let him out of my sight again. But if Noelle and the others were on their way, I could manage. Especially if he was going off to slam the last nail into Poppy’s coffin.

“Reed?” he said.

“It’s okay,” I said as my bare feet hit the cold tile floor. My knees collapsed underneath me and Mrs. Ryan held me up. She was a lot sturdier than she appeared.

“Are you all right?” Upton asked.

“Fine,” I said, clearing my parched throat. “You can go. Just . . . come right back,” I said, glancing warily at Mrs. Ryan.

Upton approached me. He placed his hands gently on my shoulders, probably afraid of hurting my scorched skin. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I said, not feeling sure at all.

“All right, then. I’ll be back before you know it. And don’t worry. Calista will take good care of you.”

Since when did he call her Calista? I glanced at Paige and Daniel’s mother. Yesterday, this morning even, I had been certain her children were trying to off me. But it wasn’t Paige and Daniel. It was Poppy. Upton and his crack team of investigators were convinced it was Poppy.

“Come on,” Mrs. Ryan said, flicking her fingers at me. “You’ll feel so much better once you get in that bath.”

I took a deep breath. If Upton trusted her, I supposed I should, too. Besides, like he said, Noelle would be here soon. And Kiran, Taylor, Tiffany, and the rest. If I could survive six days on a deserted island, I could survive six minutes with Mrs. Ryan.

“Okay.”

Upton kissed me on the forehead and I was on my way. Mrs. Ryan kept one arm around my back, supporting me as I slowly climbed the wide, red-tile stairs. The second floor was carpeted, and the warm fibers were like heaven for my cold feet. She led me down the hallway to the very end, where an open room awaited us.

“This is my dressing room,” she said, flicking on the light.

The chamber was actually one huge closet lined with shelves and drawers and racks of clothing built into the walls. At one end was a huge vanity table with curled legs and marble detailing. The mirror
was so tremendous I could see my entire body reflected in its surface. It was not a pretty sight. My face was such a dark red it seemed unnatural, and my lips were cracked and crusted with blood. My hair was a tangled, matted mess and hung limply over my shoulders. The skin on my legs and arms had peeled in several places, leaving streaks of mottled white against the bright red. Flecks of dead skin were peppered everywhere.

If Upton still loved me after seeing me like this, it would be a miracle.

“Have a seat and I’ll draw the bath,” Mrs. Ryan said, depositing me on the soft velvet bench in front of the mirror. She opened a set of double doors to my right, revealing a huge white bathroom. From my angle I could see only a wide sink, but she disappeared to the right side of the door and I heard her rummaging around. Heard the water start to gurgle.

A bath was going to feel so good. Just sitting there in that clean, airy room, I was starting to smell myself, and it was not a nice scent. I wondered if Upton had noticed it on our way back from my island. If he had, he’d been too polite to so much as wrinkle his nose.

Unable to stare at my horrifying reflection any longer, I turned my attention to the myriad products on the table. There were bottles and tubs and tubes and glosses. Moisturizers and toners and bronzers and plumpers. I ran my trembling fingers along the beveled edge of the table, unable to believe I was here. Back in civilization.

“Reed, I’m going to go check on the food,” Mrs. Ryan called out. “I’ll be right back.”

A door closed. An outside door to the hallway from the bathroom no doubt. I glanced over my shoulder at the open door, then reached for a bottle of perfume near the center of the table. I removed the glass top, intending to give myself a little spritz to mask my stench, when the scent of the perfume filled my senses and the room began to spin.

It was the scent I had smelled just before I was shoved off the stern of the Ryans’ boat. Unmistakable. It brought me right back to that terrifying moment as if it were happening all over again.

The bottle fell from my quaking fingers and hit the table top with a crash. I was on my shaky feet like a flash, the adrenaline that had kept me alive on the island returning full force. Desperately, my eyes scanned the shelves and racks on the walls all around me, taking in flowered dresses and pressed pants and silky blouses. I took a deep breath and told myself to concentrate. If it was here somewhere, I could find it. I just had to concentrate.

I breathed in and slowly scanned the room. Right next to the two floor-to-ceiling racks of shoes was a small section of workout gear. Yoga pants were folded neatly on shelves. Tank tops hung on silver hangers. Right next to a half dozen hooded sweatshirts. My legs quaking, I stepped ever so slowly toward the rack. I saw the white trim before I was even halfway there, but I kept moving. I needed to be sure. My arm was so weak as I reached for the garment, I could barely lift the hanger off the high rod. But I managed. I drew the sweatshirt toward me and lifted the hood. The white trim traveled up the sleeve, along the shoulder, and all the way around the hood. It was the sweatshirt my attacker had worn.

But Mrs. Ryan? Why?

I heard a creak and whirled around. Mrs. Ryan was standing, framed by the doorway, with a heaping tray of food in her hands. Bread and cheese and grapes and apples.