Another wicked laugh bubbled out of Jackie. “You’reJet-Setter’s newest photographer.”
Realization settled over Fletcher like a smothering pillow. This was all she had been promised. To live long enough to see her promotion.
“Jackie, please—”
Before she could change her fate, her skull snapped back with a sharp blow. The edges of her world frayed, split, cracked open into bleeding black nothing.
25
That bitch hit her with a golf club.
The way the crown of Fletcher’s head throbbed confirmed it. Only distantly could she muster the strength to be thankful Jackie hadn’t unsheathed her pistol and shot her right there in the crew lounge. The thought did nothing to quell the copper tang in her mouth. It meant only that whatever Jackie had planned for her was worse than a bullet to the chest.
A chill spread down her body. Wet, like she’d sweated her way through a night terror. But when Fletcher finally convinced her eyes to open…this wasn’t a dream she could wake up from. And it was far from over.
Nylon mooring line burned against her skin. A knot wrenched her arms behind her back, one of the dock’s support beams stiff against her spine. Cold salt water lapped at her chest. The tide wasn’t merciful enough to be lowering—it was only a matter of time before it coaxed its way into her mouth, her lungs.
Fletcher jerked, tugged, stretched. Anything to break her bonds.Now, she thought begrudgingly,would have been the perfect time to have a machete.
“You look like shark food.”
The familiar tone shocked Fletcher’s system. Two posts down, Waylon was trapped. Awake, but trapped. How the fuck Jackie managed to drag them down here was a case for the FBI. Fletcher was so relieved to hear the rasp of his voice that his words didn’t connect. “Like what?”
“Shark food.” His head nodded toward the cresting waves.
Below, circling along the sand, were shadows too big to ignore. Sharks (of a variety Fletcher had no intention of being close enough to discern) lurked with hungry anticipation. So, if she didn’t drown, she’d be shark chum.
Was one a more preferable death? Drowning sounded bleak—the slide of water down her windpipe, a useless gasp for air—but sharks hadinfinite teeth.
Her thrashing stalled. Drowning it was.
And if she was going to drown, at the very least she’d do it with a clear conscience.
“You were right, you know,” she said.
Waylon stewed, silent. But when she turned her head, his eyes bored into hers. His mouth pinched into a tight stripe, flat and unemotional. At least he was listening.
“I did use you. Just like Eliza, just like everyone. You’re Waylon Cartwright, and I took advantage of that, and I’m sorry.” A particularly rowdy wave crested over the breakwater and slammed into her. It took a second to find her breath, her bravery, again. “I think I’ve been using a lot of people for a very long time.”
His eyebrows lifted, but his lips stayed shut.
Near-death experiences were either the best or worst time for self-reflection. The jury was still out on which.
“Using them as excuses mostly. Like Kent. He was constantly trying to get me to go home, and I…let him keep trying. I could have broken up with him a hundred times, but I never did. If I really couldn’t cut it in New York, I knew he was right there waiting for me. The safe option. The backup plan.” Salt water stung her eyes. That was why they teared up. Obviously. (The quiver in her voice, however, was not going to be addressed.) “The night I met you, it scared me how you saw straight through me. It had been so long since I had felt that way with Kent, but admitting that to myself…I couldn’t. And when I learned who you were, well, I assumed the worst. It was wrong, and I’m sorry for that, too.”
While she spoke, Fletcher worked at the rope, twisting her hands to earn as much slack as she could, until she caught the first knot between her fingers.Thank you, company-sponsored self-defense classes.A few more tugs, and the knot unraveled. A sigh parted her lips when the rope floated away. Next up: ankles.
In response, Waylon said nothing.
Lucky for him, Fletcher had always been a nervous talker. “And your dad said it himself. I’m an excellent executive assistant. It was way too easy to blame him for demanding so much of me, but I was the one who never set any professional boundaries. I tried so fucking hard all the time, and I was stuck in the same place I always had been. As long as there was always someone else to blame, I never had to admit to myself that I was so scared of failing that I’d never truly tried.”
It was easier to be unhappy somewhere familiar than to strike out on her own. Even when that meant working seventy hours a week while her portfolio collected dust. If only she could have seen that three weeks ago.
A deliberating sound thrummed deep in his chest. A lot likeI told you so. She deserved it. His mouth was still set in an uncompromising frown when he said, “You lied to me. Repeatedly.”
“I did.” She breathed. “It doesn’t help that I wanted to tell you. I didn’t, and I should have. When I offered to help Jackie escape in exchange for a job on theJet-Setterstaff, I thought getting off the island as soon as possible was a safer bet than waiting for the rescue crew. But this morning, when you asked me to stay, I meant it when I said yes. It doesn’t—it doesn’t undo what I did. I know. But it’s the truth.”
Waylon focused on the horizon, throat bobbing.
