Lone Raven

by Kristi Belcamino

That’s when I knew. I was going to die.

  Then just as fast, I was released from the ocean’s grip, out of breath and completely disoriented. Eyes wide, I searched for the surface, terrified I would use my last energy to swim toward the bottom. I kicked frantically and after a few seconds, emerged on the surface, gasping for air.

  I wasn’t going to make it. I needed help. I squinted to see if the person on the bluff was still there. Again, I tried to raise my hand, but I was too weak.

  I needed every ounce of energy I had left to fight. To survive. To live.

  But I knew fighting the riptide head on was a death sentence. I swam parallel to the shore. I’d been dragged so far south of the bluff, that the figure standing there had grown as small as a pinprick. But I swam north, not trying to get closer to shore, only attempting to escape the riptide. Exhausted, I had to stop and tread water for a few seconds. Then, I’d float on my back, hoping with all my might a wave didn’t crash down and suck me under during my brief respite.

  Finally, I realized the sucking feeling had lessened. And I’d somehow made it close enough to the shore so that I could see who was standing on the bluff watching me.

  Marc.

  “Help,” I screamed, but my voice was raspy and hoarse. “Help.”

  He stood preternaturally still. Watching.

  Soon, I was close enough to barely make out his features. His eyes were black holes.

  And then, he turned his back on me and walked away.

  It took me several more minutes to get to the shore. Every few feet, utterly wiped out and not sure I could swim another inch, I’d stretch my legs down, hoping my feet would touch sand. When they finally felt the bottom, I burst into tears.

  When I made it to the shore, I crawled out of the water and collapsed, crouched against the side of the bluff, hugging my knees and shivering, my teeth chattering uncontrollably.

  That’s when I knew. Without a shadow of a doubt. Marc was a killer. And he knew I knew.

  Chapter Eleven

  No service

  Soaking wet and shivering, I yanked my clothes on back at the campfire and turned to Austin who was sitting on an ice chest drinking a beer.

  “Where’s Marc?” My teeth were still chattering.

  “Huh?” he seemed confused.

  “Where. Is. Marc?”

  “He took off with Laine.”

  “Where’d they go?” I reached down and grabbed my bag. I pulled my cell phone out. The words No Service were still splashed in the top corner of the screen. Apparently, the girl at the phone company hadn’t passed on my message after all.

  “No idea.” Austin wrinkled his forehead. “He said don’t wait for him. He’ll be back tomorrow night.”

  I sagged with relief. “Give me your keys.”

  Again, he looked confused.

  “I’ve got to run an errand in town.”

  Handing me his keys, he looked concerned. “Do you need me to come? Is something wrong.”

  I flashed him a smile. “No, but thanks. Girl stuff.”

  “Okay.” That shut him up.

  In the Porsche, I cranked up the heater full bore until I stopped shaking.

  When I got to town I would stop at the first hotel I saw.

  Pulling onto the main drag I saw I had two choices: the Todos Santos Inn and The Hotel California. Of course, I stopped at the stucco façade of the latter. My mother had played that song endlessly when I was a kid. It was imprinted on my mind.

  There was a pay phone in the art deco lobby. Just like the 1980s in America. I had to call collect and worried when I heard the crackling across the phone lines as the operator asked Sal if he’d accept my call.

  “Sal?”

  “Gia? Where the hell are you?”

  “Baja. Listen I don’t have time. I need you to search something for me.”

  I rattled off the names I’d seen on the missing poster. Steve and Jessica Carlton. Also, a woman named Cassie Martin.

  I told Sal I’d call back in an hour and hung up. I spent the next hour trying to get through to someone with half a brain at my cell phone carrier. I was given the same run around. Finally, when I realized it was time to call Sal, I gave up and called Sal back collect. He reeled off the details he’d learned.

  Jessica Sala’s husband had died two years earlier, and her family said that six months ago she met Steve Carlton. They married within weeks and she changed her will, signing over everything to him.

  When they both disappeared, the family was suspicious.

  They’d hired private investigators when the police said there was no wrongdoing. Meanwhile, Steve had withdrawn as much money as he could before they froze the accounts and put the will in probate. He was out of cash.

  It explained why he’d hooked up with Cassie. She was loaded. But where was she?

  “I can’t figure out what he’d get out of killing Cassie. It makes me think she might be alive still,” I said.

  “I’ll contact her attorneys.”

  “Okay. If all goes well, I’ll be flying home soon.”

  “I’ll have a ticket waiting for you in Cabo, open-ended.”

  “Thanks, Sal.”

  He hung up.

  Driving back to the beach, my instinct was to warn everyone that Laine was in danger.

  I needed to make sure Marc really was going back to Austin’s yacht tomorrow night and then I’d call the authorities and alert them to his whereabouts and my suspicions about him. But where was Cassie? I needed to find out first. But I had no idea how to do that.

  What I really needed to do was tail Marc. Follow him. See where he went. Maybe even leave a trap for him so he would take me to where she was. Then, a thought struck me. What if Cassie was back at the campground in Mulegé? I had no way of knowing.

  What if I was making something out of nothing? She could be back in her Mercedes RV with her little dog.

  But something deep inside, some gut instinct, told me I was right on the money.

  Marc was hiding something. And women around him were mysteriously disappearing.

  When I arrived back at the beach, the sun was setting.

  Austin’s friends were gathered around a big bonfire, passing around a bong and taking long pulls off bottled beers.

  When he spotted me, Austin grinned. He swayed from side to side. Drunk. But obviously happy to see me. It made me feel bad. I was using him. And he really liked me. I hadn’t thought he was capable of liking anyone other than himself. I thought we were just fuck buddies.

  Despite myself I smiled at him. He was a spoiled man-child, but he was actually kind of sweet. He pulled me into the circle and wrapped an arm around me. When I shivered, he grabbed a blanket and draped it over my shoulders.

  “Did you get your errands done?”

  “Yes.”

  He waited for more. I sipped the beer someone handed me.

  Then, I saw with a shock that Laine was on the other side of the bonfire. I searched the faces around the bonfire and then exhaled in relief.

  Marc wasn’t one of them.

  A guy with long hair got out his guitar and played Bob Dylan’s “Knocking on Heaven’s Door.” We all sang along. I pretended to be participating but was really just looking for an opportunity to take Laine aside and grill her as to Marc’s whereabouts.

  Watching her under my lowered eyelashes, I felt bad for her. She seemed upset. She pounded beer after beer. Once, during a rendition of Love and Rockets “No New Tale to Tell” it even looked like she was swiping away a stray tear or two.

  It was late and the fire was merely embers when I got my chance. I’d passed on the bong and nursed my beer all night long. Austin was too drunk to notice I was stone cold sober.

  Laine got up, mumbling something about a “potty break.” She tripped and nearly fell into a couple.

  I jumped up. “I need to go, too.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Third-Wheel

  The bathroom was across the parking lot. A wooden stru
cture with toilets, sinks, and showers.

  Waiting until we were out of earshot of the others, I cleared my throat.

  “Did you have fun with Marc today?”

  She shrugged.

  “Where’d you go? Anyplace fun? I’ve never been here.”

  She was quiet for a minute. I stopped walking. “Is something wrong?”

  Tossing her hair, she shook her head.

  “What is it?”

  “I just feel sort of dumb,” she said. “He took me to a hotel in town. And then left. Same old story. I was dumb to think he might actually like me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  We were silent for a minute. I decided to wait to bring it up again until we were walking back across the parking lot. We were heading back to the beach when I tried again.

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “No.”

  Disappointed, I sighed a little too loudly.

  Jerking her head sharply, she said. “What? You like him?”

  I tried to cover. “No. I’m just hoping he’s not headed back to the boat tonight. I wanted a little private time with Austin. He’s sort of a third-wheel. That’s why I was hoping he’d hit it off with you.”

  “Oh.”

  After a minute, she said in a low voice, “He didn’t say where he was going, but when he thought I was sleeping, I heard him on the phone.”

  I tried to act blasé.

  “I couldn’t understand everything. He was speaking in Spanish, but I heard him say something about going to Mexico City this week. But I also heard him say he had to take care of some business first. I’m hoping he comes back here tonight, but I don’t think he’s going to.”

  I took her arm and drew her to a stop. “Laine, I have to tell you something.”

  She scrunched up her face.

  “If he comes back, don’t go with him. Anywhere.”

  “What?”

  “I think he might be dangerous.”

  She jerked her arm away from me. “I knew it. You’re just jealous.”

  “No,” I said, sighing. Why did people keep saying that? I was the least jealous person I knew. Maybe. “I swear I’m not jealous. He’s bad news. You seem nice. I don’t want you to get mixed up in something that’s over your head.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why would I make this up?”

  She opened her mouth, but then closed it again. Then she shrugged. “You probably want to have sex with him.”

  “No. I already did. I have zero interest in that. Trust me.” It felt like the truth, but remembering how my body responded to him, I wondered.

  Laine was open-mouthed at my comment. I reached for her arm, “I’m sorry. But I am worried that he might hurt you.”

  “Get away from me, you psycho bitch.”

  Maybe I should’ve left out the part about having sex with him.

  I watched her storm off toward the bonfire. It’d been stoked back up and was now ten feet tall shooting sparks into the dark Mexican night. When I arrived back at the campsite, I saw Laine talking to Austin. She was gesturing toward me and looked angry.

  Uh oh.

  He shot a glance my way. I smiled at him, but he frowned.

  Not good.

  Leaving Laine with her arms crossed, he headed my way.

  “Why would you tell her Marc is bad news?”

  I touched his arm. “Austin, I think Marc is hiding something.”

  “You had sex with him?”

  “He didn’t say anything?” I thought men shared that shit all over the place.

  “No.” He said it in a quiet voice, and guilt spread through me. He was hurt. Angry, but also hurt.

  “It didn’t mean anything. And it was before you.” I searched his eyes. He was looking past me, back at the bonfire, which reflected in his eyes.

  “I don’t know you at all,” he finally said.

  He was right, of course.

  He jerked on his jacket and took off, saying over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  For a second, I hesitated. I glanced at Laine, now surrounded by others in the group who were patting her and casting evil looks my way.

  If I stayed here, Marc might come back and then I could … what? Confront him? Follow him? It was a long shot. My best bet was to go back to the yacht with Austin and hope that Marc really was returning to the docked ship tomorrow night.

  Chapter Thirteen

  One Slice

  Austin woke me the next morning by seducing me with kisses. I played along until he wrapped his large hands around my neck. Seconds before I made a move to kill him, he released me.

  I pretended to go back to sleep. When I got up later, he was sulking in the lifestyle room, playing video games and watching football. He could pout about me sleeping with Marc all damn day. Fine. Better for me.

  But I was a little worried it was more than that. In the middle of the night, I’d woken and he wasn’t in bed beside me. I crept upstairs and heard him talking. When I rounded the corner, clutching a blanket around me, he was holding his phone by his side.

  “Who was that?”

  “No one. Go back to bed.”

  I was wary, but half asleep, so I did.

  Although the late-night call had me worried, there was nothing to be done until Marc returned to the yacht tonight. The alcohol and hot sun had made me sleepy. For now, I’d rest. I’d gauge the situation later, when Marc arrived.

  But then I woke up to Austin holding a knife to my breast. But it wasn’t until I saw Marc with a knife to Dante’s throat that the panic set in. He was already here. And he’d kidnapped Dante. That was where he’d gone last night.

  My mind raced. My body yearned to disable Austin, but I couldn’t risk Marc using that knife on Dante. It was my own switchblade. I glanced at Austin. He had my dueling knife. They’d been in my bag. I wondered if that meant Austin had seen the missing person poster.

  Marc looked like a madman. His hair was unruly, and his jaw was unshaven.

  “You should’ve minded your own business.” His words were deadly calm. My heart raced with fear. One slice and Dante was dead.

  I sat up, hastily strapping my bikini top back on. I was trying to delay the inevitable. I needed to stall a few seconds to come up with some plan to save my best friend. I needed Marc to think I was no threat. I reached for my drink, took a large gulp, and plastered an expression of nonchalance on my face. But my eyes behind the sunglasses were clocking the distance between us. The pressure of the knife on Dante’s throat turned the flesh around it white.

  Marc glanced at his watch as if he were expecting somebody. Or something.

  “What?” I looked over, slurring the word and then accidentally-on-purpose, spilled my drink everywhere. “Oh shoot.”

  Austin still stood between me and Marc. My dueling knife hung at his side. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was a little unsteady on his feet. Drunk. Or stoned.

  I was doubly glad I’d only taken a sip of my third drink. I felt the energy surging through my limbs, ready to fuck something up. To kill the man who was threatening Dante’s life. But I remained loose-limbed, nonchalant.

  Stumbling, I reached toward Austin, keeping one eye on Marc, holding my breath. But Marc didn’t move.

  Austin drew back from me. I righted myself a foot away from him. Good. He wasn’t going to fight me. “What’s going on, honey?” I slurred my words. Still ignoring Marc.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the muscle in Marc’s jaw working.

  “Why are you holding a knife to Dante?” I blinked in exaggerated confusion. “I thought you guys were friends.”

  “Drop the fucking innocent act, Gia,” Austin’s voice was shaking. “I called Marc last night. He told me about you?”

  “What about me?” I acted confused, furrowing my brow.

  “You are trying to frame him. For your boyfriend, Dante.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.” It was the truth.

/>   “Your friend here is killing women. He’s the one who killed Marc’s wife. He is just pretending to be gay.”

  I burst out laughing. Real laughter.

  Austin raised his hand and slapped me. It took all my willpower to let the hand connect with my cheek. If I’d wanted to, I could have grabbed his wrist and flipped him over onto the deck. Instead I reeled back. I needed Marc to relax his grip on the knife just a little before I acted. I’d been scrambling to figure out just how to get him to do that.

  Then it came to me. I’d disable Austin, take my dueling knife and throw it at Marc. My aim would have to be perfect. And it would all have to go down within seconds. If Marc reacted by cutting Dante’s throat, it’d be over before it started.

  And it would take more than just hitting my target. The blade would have to sink into Marc’s arm enough to disable him, but not so much as to go through and penetrate Dante’s chest. Fuck. I’d only been studying Gladiatura moderna for two months.

  But I didn’t know if I had any other choice.

  Watching the blade against Dante’s neck, though, gave me a small measure of hope. The pressure had relented slightly. The skin was no longer white. I’d ignore Austin and go straight for Marc. He had underestimated me.

  He thought I was shitfaced and no threat. His eyes went to his watch again. I looked away before he could tell I saw.

  “Hurry. I don’t have time for this nonsense,” he said.

  “What’s going on? Is Dante coming with us to Costa Rica?” I said, running my fingers through my hair. Any and all semblance of insouciance was necessary.

  “You won’t be going anywhere.” Marc’s voice was cold.

  That’s when I heard the creaking of the dock and distant voices. Marc heard it, too, and turned. I followed his gaze. Two men were on the dock, heading our way. They were about two hundred yards away. They’d be here in minutes, if not seconds.

  With his head turned to the dock and his attention distracted, Marc’s grip seemed to lessen on the blade. It hung slackly in front of Dante’s neck. The men drew closer.