AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The closer I get, the stronger the stench of urine and vomit grows. I take a cloth handkerchief from my pocket and hold it over my nose and mouth. The door is cracked, and Logan left the light on. In one quick sweep, I see enough to shoot our threat level to fire-engine red.
Seth is in the tub, and his face is blue-purple and bloated. The whites of his eyes are crimson, and what appears to be clear nylon fishing line is wrapped repeatedly around his neck. The tips of his fingers are bloody stumps, and rust-colored lines streak the skin.
It appears he fought to free himself until he died. His clothes are soiled with urine and feces, and foam is at the corner of his mouth.
I stumble out of the bathroom, still clutching the handkerchief over my face. Looking up, I lock eyes with Reggie.
I push off the wall and head for the door. “We’ve got to find Zelda. NOW!”
My uncle is right behind me, and we waste no time getting out the back door. Ronald Delahousse, our local contact, has the black SUV waiting in the parking lot, engine running. Logan is in the passenger seat, so Reggie and I take the back. As we’re slamming the doors, he begins to speak.
“The jet is fueled, and the pilot is filing our flight plans. We should be ready to leave within minutes of arriving at the airport.”
We set off at a fast clip to cover the short distance to Miami. My mind is racing, and I keep going back to the man I saw in the parking lot. It could be a coincidence. The hotel is located in a sketchy part of town. Still, fishing twine, “Fish Aruba”…
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Reggie says slowly. “Why torture him? Murder, yes, but torture? It’s like they were trying to get him to confess. Looking for answers. But to what?”
“Maybe they were trying to send a message,” Logan says in a grave voice.
“Can we get the satellite images of the islands?” My mind is still on fishing and Aruba.
“I have them on my laptop on the jet,” Logan answers. “Why?”
“I want to start with the ones closest to Aruba.”
He turns in his seat to face me. “Any particular reason?”
Passing my hand over my mouth, I see the dead blue eyes of the man in the parking lot. Fish Aruba.
“It’s a hunch,” is all I can give.
It’s all it is, but I have a strong feeling he’s connected. Fishing twine, polypropylene rope, skinning pliers…
We make our way quickly to the waiting airplane, and I’m settling in my seat when Logan strides down the aisle, laptop in hand.
“I have the images here,” he places the device on the shiny wood table and takes the seat directly across from me. “You can see how the islands are positioned in relation to Aruba, Venezuela, Curacao…”
His words trail off as a message alert from my brother flashes on the screen. Must speak to Cal immediately, it says.
My phone is out of my pocket and I’m touching my brother’s name as Logan clicks on the envelope to open the message. The message opens, and my chest grows tight. Inside is a photograph, and I’m on the edge of my seat, leaning forward to see her. It’s difficult to breathe.
The bruises are gone, and her cheeks are flushed. She’s looking up and another damn newspaper is right below her chin. I can’t see her beautiful neck or shoulders, and I have to trust they’re not battered and bruised.
Longing aches in my chest, and for several moments, I simply look at her beautiful eyes. I study her full lips. I need to touch her. I have to find her.
“Cal!” Rowan’s voice is in my ear. “I’m glad you called. We’ve received important news.”
“The photo—I have it here,” I say. “She looks… healthy?”
“She’s well…” his voice is haunted, and ice filters in my veins.
“What happened. Tell me!” I shout.
“Open the second photo,” he says.
I slide the cursor over it, although by the thumbnail, it looks like a thermometer. A double-click, and I’m looking at a plastic stick. It’s two-toned pink and white and it has pink lines on it.
“What is this?” My brows pull together.
