I can’t let that happen. Whatever I do, Mal must not get me on that boat.
My eyes drifted to his pants discarded in front of the door. I knew his phone was in the pocket.
Mal had effectively kept it out of my reach since he took me, and plainly, it still was. Any attempt to move could wake him and I trembled at the consequence of him discovering I wasn’t asleep after all.
But I have to get that phone. Text my boys and tell them where I am before it’s too late.
I bit my lip—hard. The sharp rush of pain steadied my mind.
Slowly. Inch by inch. I could do this.
I looked to the clock, counting down a full thirty minutes to ensure he was in a deep sleep before I dare try.
Five minutes.
Eight.
Sixteen.
Twenty-one.
Twenty-six.
My chest tightened under his weight. Mal’s snores had evened out into a steady, rumbling thrum. He was out and—
Thirty minutes.
It was time.
I moved my hand under my pillow, gripping it tight.
Slow, I told myself. Just go slow.
Mal’s cheek slid across my chest. I dropped my free leg to the floor, using its leverage against the frame to draw me out.
He hit on my shoulder and grunted.
I froze, breath trapped in my lungs, and he stirred.
Shifting, his leg fell between my legs, and his head sank to land firmly on my forearm.
I didn’t move for a full five minutes.
I can do this. I will get to that phone.
My toes dug into the carpet, anchoring me out as I replaced my arm with the pillow in one smooth move.
Pushing myself up, my heart jackhammered in my chest looking down at Mal’s sleeping figure. I was only partially out. My other leg was imprisoned between his.
I clutched the nightstand and my own restraints, easing myself out.
Both feet dropped to the floor, and I didn’t waste a second. I padded on the balls of my feet, bent over his pants, and patted around until I found them. I darted across to the bathroom.
I closed the door as far as possible without engaging the lock. I couldn’t chance even a click. Couldn’t risk a sound.
I tapped the phone awake. The brightness was a beacon on my face.
Hurriedly, I lowered the intensity. My fingers shook uncontrollably, opening his phone. I nearly dropped it twice.
The police— No. If Mal hears me speaking, I’d be dead before they arrived.
Text.
Carter. Nathan. Preston. And they would be there. They’d come for me.
Me: Fox Hill Rd. Blue house. Boat. SJTJ.
I hit send, and then deleted every trace and blocked the number.
The floor creaked.
I whipped around, hands flying behind my back, as light flooded the bathroom. Mal filled the doorway—very much awake. Jeweled pools clear and narrowed on me.
“What are you doing?”
“I... had to use the bathroom,” I forced through numb lips.
Empty hands flushed the toilet and turned on the faucet. I washed under his watchful eye, avoiding contact in the mirror. Mal didn’t let me get as far as the towel.
“Let’s go.”
He grabbed my wet wrist, hauling me out of the bathroom. Behind his back, I tugged the phone from my dress’s belt and tossed it on his pants.
I coughed loudly to cover the sound.
His movements were quick and efficient as he forced me into my restraints.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
Mal laid his pillow on my lap and his rumbling snores soon returned.
Please. This time. One last time.
Come for me.
Chapter Thirteen
Nathan
Condensation collected on the mouth, joining small droplets to make heavy tears that raced down the side.
The beer and I had been in a staredown for an hour. It was almost obscene how it seduced me. Cool, wet, and dripping. Slim body adorned in bright colors and daring me to taste.
I never categorized my drinking as a problem. It was never something I had to do, but something I wanted to do.
I wanted to forget as my mother did. Erasing chunks of her life allowed Mom to smile and laugh as she spoke to the son she didn’t recognize. If she recalled everything that had brought us here, I’d never see that smile again.
Forgetting was the way to get through my life. And it’d be the only way I’d get to sleep.
My thumb traced a path through the condensation.
I let Fuller escape with Belle.
I was too late chasing down their car.
I sat here fucking useless with no money, security, or connections to track her down.
The colonel was only too happy to remind me of those facts.
“You have only yourself to blame, Nathan,” he said. “You were there and you let your friend get hurt and that poor girl taken away. I told you to toughen up. Take better care of yourself. Learn to protect what’s yours. Maybe if you had listened, you wouldn’t be in this position.
“Don’t expect me to step in and clean up your mess. The police have the situation in hand. Fly back with Carter,” he delivered as a parting shot. “I’m not sending the plane.”
My phone sat next to the bottle, singing a louder song than the beer.
You failed her, Nathan. Confirmed every fear she had that when she needed a savior, no one would be there. The colonel said nothing that wasn’t true. I was right there... and I let her go.
If that wasn’t reason to drink, what was?
I picked up the bottle.
My phone went off, flashing a number I didn’t recognize. I opened and read the message.
Then I read it again.
Then I dropped the beer on the table—already up and running as it rolled off and shattered on the balcony.
I bolted down the hall, skidding to a stop in front of Carter’s door.
“Wake up!” I pounded the wood. “Wake your ass—”
“I’m not sleeping!” The door flew open and an irate Carter stood in its place. “What is it?”
“We have to get Preston,” I said, shoving the phone on him. “It’s Belle.”
Carter chased after me, reading the message aloud. “Fox Hill Road? Where is that?”
“It’s on the island. Near the orange grove,” I shouted over my shoulder. “She’s still here!”
Preston’s door received the same treatment. We banged on it, shouting through the wood for him to get up. He threw open the door at the same time another door did.
Rosalie came out into the hall. “What on earth is going on?”
“I got a message from Belle,” I said to them both. “She never left in that plane. He’s keeping her in a blue house on Fox Hill Road.”
“What?” Preston snatched the phone from me. “How do you know it’s her? I’ve been getting bullshit texts all day even though I said they only had three hours.”
“SJTJ,” I said. “Sir Jackass of the Thumpington Jackasses. It’s her, man.”
Preston let out a shout of joy. “Yeah, it’s her.” He raced into his room and grabbed his shoes. “Let’s go.”
“Go?!” Rosalie snagged her son’s collar, snatching him back. “Where exactly do you think you’re racing off to in the middle of the night?!”
Shuffling sounded on the other side of the doors. We were soon joined by Mr. Desai, Belle’s parents, and Mr. Hendrix.