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The woman shakes her head slowly, studying the picture. “No, I’m sure it was her, and she was alone at the bar for quite a while. Not sure how long. She ordered drinks from me right before I left for the night.”
I look at Florence, who seems wholly confused. “No. That’s impossible. Mae never ordered drinks for us. It was always me.”
“What time did you leave?” I ask Adanna.
“I got off at three. Maybe a few minutes after. She was my last drink order of the night, if I’m remembering right.”
Three.Three was when Florence claimed she was walking Mae back to her room three floors above where we are now. Three floors above where she was supposedly ordering drinks at the bar alone. How could she have possibly been in two places at once? Is Florence lying? Or is this woman? What reason would either of them have to lie to me? I want to trust Florence, and I don’t believe she’d ever hurt Mae, but would she help her hide something? She already admitted she wasn’t going to tell me about the man. What else is she keeping secret?
“She couldn’t have been here at three. We went back to our rooms earlier than that. I was in bed by three thirty,” Florence says insistently.
Adanna lifts her brows, her hands up in defeat. “I’m just telling you what I remember. We have security footage.” She points to a camera over the bar. “If you want to double-check me, have at it. But I’m telling you, I remember her. She was in here. Alone. At three this morning.”
Florence looks ready to argue again, but I’ve found a shred of hope. If she came back to the bar, for whatever reason, someone must’ve seen what happened to her. And if there are cameras, even better.
“Everything okay over here?” I catch a familiar voice behind me and turn to find Diego Diaz staring us down. He looks at Adanna as if checking to be sure we aren’t threatening her.
“This morning, during your search, did you check the security footage?” I ask him.
He puffs his chest. “Of course we did.”
“Did you check it in the hallway? Did you see her leaving Florence and heading back to our room?”
“Sir, this is an older ship. We do not have cameras in our hallways or guest rooms. We do have security cameras in the main guest areas, and they have all been checked. As I’m sure you can understand, certain spaces in the ship become very crowded, making it hard to get a clear picture of one single person. As of this moment, we have not located your wife on any of our security footage.”
“Adanna said she was here at three. At the bar, alone. Could you check that?”
“At three? You told me this morning she was in the hallway at three,” he says, brows drawn down.
“I realize that. That’s what we thought, but maybe the time was off by a few minutes. Could you just check please?” I ask again, equally annoyed.
He looks up at Adanna, who nods. “She was here before I clocked out this morning. I worked till three. Sat right here.” She pats the counter in front of her. “Ordered a drink.”
“I’ll make a note of it and have our team go over the footage of the bar at three.” He gives a solemn nod.
“Are there any other updates? Have you found anything? Heard from the Coast Guard?” I ask him.
“I’m afraid not, sir. The Coast Guard’s search hasn’t turned up anything, and we’ve received no reports of any ships spotting anything or anyone in the water.” His lips press together. “We’re actively monitoring the situation and will continue to do so. I’ll update you as soon as we hear anything at all.”
I want to tell him it’s not enough. That they should send lifeboats out, that they should call the police and search every cabin. That they shouldn’t rest until they find her and bring her back to me.
Instead, I nod, feeling equal parts helpless and devastated. My mouth is too dry. “Thank you,” I mutter.
CHAPTERELEVEN
FLORENCE
I’m not sure Blake will survive this.
As we sit at the bar, watching for a man who may or may not ever make an appearance here again, I find myself studying him. He seems to be crumbling—imploding before my very eyes. I’m not sure I’ve seen him have a drink all day. He certainly hasn’t eaten. With the blazing Mexico sun pouring in through the large windows, I worry he won’t make it much longer if I can’t get him to consume something.
I flag down a bartender and order us two waters, pushing his glass toward him. “You should drink something.”
He picks it up, swirling the liquid around slowly, lost in thought. Setting the glass down, he turns to me. “She wouldn’t have left me.”
I’m not sure if it’s a question or a statement.
I shake my head, resting a hand on his arm. “She loves you.”
