Dominic
If I thought six days and some hours were long, that’s nothing compared to the twelve hours and thirty-seven minutes it took from L.A. to St. Cecilia. And the flight is nothing compared to the forty-some minutes it takes from the airport to the resort. Normally it takes about twenty-five minutes, but the weather’s horrible with storms and torrential rain that also caused takeoff to be delayed.
“Relax. She isn’t going anywhere,” says Antoine.
“I know.” That’s why I can’t relax.
My right heel keeps bobbing up and down, betraying my tension. I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell Elizabeth when I finally see her. I practiced a speech all those days I waited for information about her whereabouts and during the flight, but the words seem to have vanished now that I’m about to face her.
Maybe it’s a good thing the drive’s taking longer. It might give me the time to come up with something perfect to say—or do—to fix all this.
“I reserved a villa next to hers. Unless she hides in her room for the rest of her stay, there’s no way she won’t run into you,” Antoine says.
“Thanks.”
“What are friends for?” He shoots me a serious look. “I know you think that she must not like you anymore, but I say she still must have some feelings if she gave you the portrait.”
“It was a token farewell, nothing more.” But I recognize the significance of her gifting me the portrait now.
“Then give it back. Reject her farewell.”
I choke back a laugh. If only it were that simple. “It might not be enough.”
The portrait rightfully belongs to her, and she might not think my giving it back would be sufficient to make anything right. She might always look at me and see the man who should’ve believed her from the beginning but failed. Telling her about seeing Yu-Jin would likely upset her more—it required another person to make me listen.
How could I listen to a stranger, but not the person who’s dearest to me? That question would surely cross her mind, too.
Our driver finally pulls into a modern seven-story building that spreads out before us like a lazy giant. Located on a pristine strip of white beach, Aylster Resort is stunningly luxurious, with tall columns of marble and crystal set off by palm trees and the sea beyond. The water was a sparkling jade expanse on the website and brochure, but the horrendous weather has turned it dark and churning. Red flags have gone up on the beach, warning both tourists and locals to stay away.
The check-in is efficient, with a serving of ice-cold sweetened fruit tea for us to sip while a clerk clicks around on her computer. She never once fails to smile or keep her voice sweet. Maybe being around people like her—and beautiful natural surroundings—will make Elizabeth more amenable to seeing me.
After handing Antoine and I key cards, she takes us to our villa through beautiful paths winding through the huge resort grounds in a covered car. “We would normally walk, but with the weather like this, I thought it’d be more comfortable this way,” she says.
Unlike what I imagined, all the villas are spaced fairly far apart to give maximum privacy to their guests. The woman explains all the amenities and features of the resort as we drive slowly past them, then sighs regretfully. “Weather’s usually very pleasant around this time of the year, so I’m not sure why we’re having this storm. But the news says it’s going to clear by tomorrow morning. If you’d like, we have an extensive menu of in-room spa treatments. We’re running a stormy-day special, so they’re all twenty percent off.”
“Thanks,” I say, doing my best to appear relaxed and not at all torn between impatience and dread. Impatience because this is taking so long. Dread because I’m still blanking on the speeches I’ve prepared.
When we arrive at the villa, there’s already someone in a uniform—a short-sleeve top in turquoise and matching slacks—waiting for us by the door with a huge umbrella.
“That’s Manuel, your butler,” the front desk clerk explains.
“Welcome to Aylster Resort,” Manuel says with a wide smile, placing the umbrella over us. He’s nothing like the clichéd butlers you see on TV shows, his manners fluid and friendly, his sun-browned face open and warm.
He takes over from the woman and leads us into the two-bedroom villa. Our bags are already waiting. “I’m here to take care of whatever you need, starting from unpacking to arranging for tours and dinner plans to…well, the sky’s the limit.” His grin widens.
As affable as the man is, I’m not really in the mood to listen to him or use his service. I’m not here to relax and laze around on the beach.
“Thank you,” I say. “My friend and I are exhausted from our trip, so if you don’t mind, we’ll like to just chill for a couple of hours.”
“Certainly, sir. If you need anything, just pick up the phone and dial zero.”
Nodding, I hand the man a hundred-dollar bill—a prepayment not just for excellence, but discretion as well.
Antoine flicks an index finger left and right and speaks before Manuel can leave. “I noticed that there are villas on both sides of ours.”
“Yes. But only one is occupied at the moment. A very sweet American lady.” Manuel smiles. “I saw her a couple of times on the beach.”
“Neat. It’s always nice to run into someone from your own country when you’re traveling.”
I almost snort. Antoine isn’t at all big on running into people on vacation. His idea of heaven is a desert island with a hot, willing woman, great food and lots of booze.
“Unfortunately, most guests are keeping to themselves in the rooms or in the bars today.” Manuel’s dark eyes swing upward. “Really unfortunate weather. I’m sorry you arrived in the middle of it.”
“Where are the bars?” I ask quickly. Elizabeth loves to drink. If she can’t go to the beach, she’s likely to hit one of them.
“Let me show you on the map.” A few minutes later, Manuel leaves, having pointed out all the places we can get alcohol on the resort property.
“I’m going to check out the bars,” I say.
“Do you want me to look with you?” Antoine asks.
“No.” I inhale, girding my loins. “I can handle it.”
“Good luck. She seems like such a gentle soul. She’ll listen to you.”
My throat tight, I nod, then take off, grabbing one of the complimentary umbrellas from the coat closet. Although the umbrella’s sizable, it proves worthless in this kind of storm. Bursts of strong wind drive water sideways from all directions, and I’m soaked from chest down within minutes.
Giving up, I fold the umbrella. I’m instantly drenched, but I couldn’t care less.
The resort has five bars, spread around. One of them is a swim-up bar, which is, of course, closed. The other four are busy, but I don’t see Elizabeth in any of them. The bartenders also confirm they haven’t seen her today.
Is she staying in?
The villa comes with a well-stocked bar. It’s possible.
I head back, braving the increasingly fearsome wind. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and I grimace. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.
After almost ten minutes at a brisk pace, I pass the spa. I step in to see if she’s there—just in case—but the receptionist says she’s not. Disappointed and annoyed I can’t locate her, I leave and walk faster. Soon I find myself in front of the entrance to her villa. I ring and wait, but nobody answers.
Is she napping? No. She always struggled to fall asleep. Has she somehow seen me from one of the windows and decided to ignore me? It’s a possibility.
I walk the fence around her villa. It reaches all the way to the beach. All the units have direct access to the beach, but for security, all the fences come with gates that lock automatically.
The sight of her gate propped open causes me to frown. She couldn’t have gone to the beach, not in this horrendous weather. Then I start to wonder…
She has her share of stalkers and sociopaths. One of them sent her a vacuum-sealed puppy not too long ago.
Dread accelerates my heartbeat. I push the gate out of the way and walk inside to the private plunge-pool area. “Elizabeth!”
Nothing.
“Elizabeth!” I call out louder.
Still nothing.
Putting my hands above my eyes, I stick my face against the glass panes on the huge French door leading to her living room and peer inside. I don’t see any sign of her.
I pull out my phone and call Antoine.
“Already done talking?” he says, his voice somewhere between disbelief and sympathy.
“No. I can’t find her anywhere. Already been to all the bars, the spa…her villa. Nobody saw her. Nobody!” I plunge my hand into my hair and clench hard. “The gate to the beach was left open, though.”
“She went to the beach in this weather?” I can practically hear his jaw drop.
“I don’t know.”
“Is she a strong swimmer?”
“She can swim, but the sea is awfully rough.” I eye the huge waves pounding against the sand. There’s no way Elizabeth’s crazy enough to swim in that kind of water. “I’m gonna search the beach just in case.” I’m praying she isn’t in the water.
“If you take the beach to your right as you step outside, I’ll take the opposite. It’ll make the search go faster.”
“Thanks.”
I hang up and walk out. The dress shoes I’m wearing aren’t conducive to moving fast across soggy sand, so I toe them off, along with my socks, leaving them propped against her fence.
I start jogging. The gust blows in from my left, and rain hits me hard, some of the water dripping into my ear. Everything around me is hazy from the torrential downpour, and I swear under my breath.
No matter what, Elizabeth isn’t suicidal or stupid. Maybe she found shelter in one of the stores. Maybe she’s watching the stormy sea from under a palm tree or something. There’s no way she went anywhere close to the water.
“Elizabeth!” I yell. “Elizabeth!”
The stormy wind swallows my words, no matter how loudly I cry. Frustration bubbles in my chest. God damn it. What I wouldn’t give for a better weather than this…
After what feels like an eternity of moving along the beach, I spot a man dragging someone along the sand, maybe some ten yards ahead. The unconscious person is female, her blue wrap dress more or less transparent. Something about her clothes reminds me of Elizabeth’s from Hawaii. I start to run toward the two, just in case. Maybe she did get swept up by the ocean, and the good Samaritan pulled her out.
The other man’s head snaps up, his gaze swiveling in my direction. The visibility’s still poor, but something about him feels vaguely familiar.
He starts hauling her away faster. Fuck. That’s no good Samaritan.
My insides encased in ice, I run as quickly as I can. Wet, soft sand sinks underneath my bare feet, slowing me down. That motherfucker has to be one of her stalkers—maybe even the one who sent her the puppy. I try to get a good look at him, so I can identify him and throw him in jail, where he belongs.
Something green and brown suddenly smacks me in the face, making my eyes tear. Crying out, I stumble backward, then put a hand over my stinging forehead and nose. A palm tree branch rolls on the ground at my feet, then flips away in the wind. Grit and sand get into my eyes, and I rub them roughly with impatience.
When I blink a couple of times to refocus, my vision is way too blurry. Shit. I’ve lost my contacts, and I’m not going to find them.
Fuck this. Identifying the perp is secondary. I need to get Elizabeth away from that psycho.
He drags her behind some large black rocks. Then I see that he’s hidden a sea kayak there. What the hell? He can’t use that in this weather.
Apparently the asshole disagrees. He dumps Elizabeth behind him on the kayak, her body folding weightlessly. He starts maneuvering his paddle, trying to get away. But nothing can best the terrible rage of the stormy sea.
A particularly large and powerful wave arches, barreling down toward the beach.
My heart sticks in my throat as the wave breaks over Elizabeth.
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Kristen
A hot new contemporary romance standalone from the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Nadia Lee!
