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He’s right. I stop pounding and step away.
“Wasn’t there a list?” My voice is so high-pitched that I barely recognize it. “Shouldn’t they have checked it twice, like Santa Claus? Like kindergarten?”
“They didn’t seem to track who got on the boat on the way here.” Rhett slicks his wet hair back where it’s fallen in his eyes. He’s shirtless and shoeless, and there are those toes again.
I walk a few steps away. “You’d think they’d scan us or check us off or something.”
“It’s a private cruise.” He leans on the counter, staring out at the rain. A lounger tumbles past. “This is a big storm.”
My stomach clenches. “It’s not a hurricane, is it?”
He shakes his head, sending rivulets down his temples. He brushes them away. “They can’t build that fast. We would have known if one was coming.”
“Did you even look? Did the captain?”
“I’m sure.”
I move next to him, tapping his arm. Dang, it’s like a steel beam. “But you don’t know that, do you? Is it possible that some cocky ship captain, perhaps descended from some other cocky ship captain who steered at high speeds through icebergs, didn’t want to lose a high-paying gig?”
“It’s his neck on the line, too.”
“Yeah, I don’t think the captain of the Titanic thought of that either.”
Rhett has no retort. An eerie creaking sound makes him look up at the roof of the hut.
My anger sizzles into fear. “Are we safe here?”
“I’m not sure.” He heads to the open side to peer out.
I don’t follow him. It’s pointless. The rain is a sheet of gray. The only thing we can see is the occasional passing by of a chair or a bush that has blown loose from the ground.
There’s a crash outside to the left.
I return to the corner of the cabinets and curl back into my ball. I’m going to die, and it’s going to be with Rhett Armstrong!
Long moments pass. There’s a screeching of metal and more crashing. I crawl to the end of the counter and look around it. Rhett isn’t there!
Am I alone? Did he get swept out to sea?
But then he’s back, dripping, shaking water off his arms.
I stand up. “What’s happening?”
“It’s the racks for the kayaks and the life jackets. They’ve blown over. The dock is fine.”
I didn’t think of that. If the dock goes, can they even come pick us up?
I feel sick. I lean over the counter, groaning.
“Are you all right?” Rhett asks.
“No.”
“What’s wrong?”
I peer at him in the gloom. “What’s wrong? I’m stranded on a private island. There’s a terrible storm. And I’m with —” I don’t know what to call him. Evil incarnate? The biggest dick in America? My arch nemesis? “YOU!”
“We’re going to be fine, Bailey. Someone will realize we’re gone. They’ll know where we are. You can probably sue them for mental anguish and add another payday to your last one.”
