A person on the other end of the line says,“Tall, in sour mood. Wore a dark suit in that heat.”
My gut twists—Ezra. The description fits: a tall and dark asshole in a suit. “That’s him,” I say, meeting Bea’s eyes.
Her face pales with panic. “Can you please repeat what you just told me?”
“I picked them both up at Bora Bora. They fought over my boat and then the woman stayed outside while the man came inside the cabin. We got hit by a sudden storm. We don’t have many of those around here.”
I watch Bea worry her lower lip, and the more he talks, the harder she bites into it. A little longer, and she’ll chew it to blood.
“The boat flipped, you know. It was a good boat but old. It flipped.”The person’s voice breaks at the end.“I got picked up by a party yacht, and we tried looking for them but couldn’t find anyone.”
“Give me the coordinates where the boat flipped,” I say as I pull my phone out to write down what he says.
While Bea keeps asking him questions, getting paler by the second, I pull up a search bar in a browser and quickly book a boat that can help me search for them.
When the person on the phone stops speaking, Bea presses the red button with a shaking finger. Her cheeks are striped with softly running tears, and I fight the urge to wipe them away.
“I’ll find them,” I promise before storming away to meet the captain with the rescue team.
7
Noah
Nearly a week since the storm,and I’m on a beat-up boat with two locals, cutting through calm waters.
The Wrong file they provided never mentioned another daughter—Maeve. I only learned about her when I got here. And now she and Ezra have been missing, caught in the storm that supposedly flipped the boat and swept them away.
We scout the water with the engine droning, shouting names, eyes scanning for wreckage. They’re likely not in the water after so many days. If they survived. The storm was quick, not deadly, but the boat’s gone per the call Bea got.
My chest tightens like a vise on my lungs—Ezra could be dead, lost in the deep. And my last act was nearly kissing his fiancé. I pinch my nose, hating myself. As the blue of the sky and ocean blurs together, my hope fades with every passing hour.
We hit small, uninhabited islands—chickens, lizards, coconuts, but no people. Then, after many hours of search, on the next island, I spot a makeshift tent.
“There!” I yell in a cracking voice with the boat surging toward it.
Ezra. Alive. And beside him, a short woman with pink hair and tattered clothes that barely cover her. I leap onto the shore with boots sinking in wet sand, gripping Ezra in a rough hug with my hands shaking. He looks thinner than I remember, with the darkest tan I’ve ever seen on him.
“I thought you were dead, brother,” I mutter in a thick voice.
“Not so fast,” he replies hoarsely while smacking my back. His eyes dart to the woman who’s standing there, looking totally confused.
I turn to her with a forced smirk to keep distance. “And who are you, Friday?”
“I am Crusoe, he’s Friday,” she retorts in a sharp voice while gesturing at Ezra. I laugh, but Ezra’s face is blank with a locked jaw, like he’s trapped in his head. The woman’s body language screams familiarity while Ezra looks like he just ate a cactus.
“Nice to meet you, Crusoe. I’m Noah, his brother,” I say with arms crossed over my chest, sizing her up.
“I’m Maeve,” she says, smiling.
I suspected it when I saw her, she resembles Beatrice a little, but just a bit. It’s hard to tell with Maeve having a sunburn on her face and wild, pink hair crowning her head like a halo. But the more I look, the more I understand that Beatrice’s facial features are more refined. More captivating.
“Maeve? As in Maeve Wrong?” I echo in a low voice with eyes flicking to Ezra, looking for his reaction. Does he know who she is?
“Yes,” Maeve answers, squinting. “How do you know?”
“Let’s go,” Ezra cuts in sharply, heading toward the boat.
I turn to Maeve. “Milady, may I escort you to our transportation?” I usually skip pleasantries, but I can’t be meanto a woman who narrowly missed death. Especially when my brother is treating her like a pariah.
