by Ava Benton
My heart sank when I heard the way she said the name. As though she were giving voice to a curse she’d rather not speak aloud.
“I guess it would be too much to ask that he be infamous for doing great charitable works?” I asked, dreading what I would find inside.
“Just look at the file,” she asked, unamused.
I opened it, and the sight of a dead body greeted me. A man with half of his face blown off, in a black-and-white police photo. Another of a body in a garbage dumpster. Two bodies in a car, both of them shot through the head as they sat in the front seat. Another, and another, and more after that.
“This is the handiwork of Mr. Davison, then?” I asked, my stomach turning at the grisly images.
“If not his direct handiwork, definitely that of his close associates. Likely performed at his command,” Mary mused, leaning against her desk with her arms folded across her chest. “This is merely the tip of the iceberg. He has his hands in more illegal, violent, shady deals than even the most experienced members of the intelligence community are aware of. It’s his job to be discreet, after all—the crimes we’re aware of were mistakes, slip-ups.”
“And it was his Jeep which Alan found on the cliff.”
“Correct.”
It still didn’t add up for me. “What are you saying, then? That this girl stole his car? Or was she one of his associates?”
I couldn’t believe that. Not her. I’d told myself countless times since bringing her to the resort that she could be a violent criminal, but that didn’t mean I wanted to believe it. Was she capable of being part of his world? Was she—God forbid—his girlfriend?
I hadn’t seen a photo of him yet. He could be a young man, or she might be the type to cozy up to an older fellow for his money or connections. The thought nauseated me.
“You could use the word ‘associate,’ I suppose,” she replied with a grim smile. “He has a daughter, who by all accounts is twenty-five years old. Savannah.” She tapped the file. “There’s a photo of her in here.”
Damn. It was even worse than I thought. No wonder she didn’t want to say anything about herself.
I flipped through, hoping against hope for some sort of mistake but knowing Mary too well to believe any such thing to be true. She was thorough, if nothing else.
And the girl photographed with a tall, stately looking man in what had to be a two-thousand-dollar suit and dark sunglasses was definitely the girl I’d just dropped off in her room.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered.
She was dressed up for some sort of event, her hair pulled into a twist, diamonds at her ears and throat, wearing a sleek dress and looking like a wealthy, pampered princess.
“So she’s this monster’s daughter,” Gate confirmed. “And we’re harboring her here. Great. I’m sure he won’t come looking for her or anything.”
“If they had a falling out, he wouldn’t,” I suggested, though even I knew I was reaching at that point.
Men of the sort Mary described didn’t let go of what was theirs. I was sure of it, because I was that sort of man, too.
“She would be the one to ask about that,” Mary reminded me. “If he’s going to come for her, we need to know. We have to be prepared.”
“We can just tell him she isn’t here.”
“Naturally—and we would, if he were to appear at our door today,” she assured me. “I don’t know what the truth is behind why the girl tried to kill herself, but something tells me her relationship with him couldn’t possibly be a positive influence in her life. I wouldn’t send her back to him. Even so, if he finds out we lied…”
“You would have to leave the island.”
“Oh, most definitely—granted, we’d have to leave and go back to home base at some point, regardless, but I would rather do that on my own terms. When I’m ready to go.”
“You must talk to her, find out the circumstances under which you found her.” Gate winced a little as he spoke, showing me how hard he was trying to be diplomatic. “The time for coddling her is long since passed.”
The dragon roared within me. “Don’t you think I know that? I just tried to talk to her, to level with her for once. She shut me down.”
“Now that she’ll know we know something about her, it might not be so easy for her to do that again,” Mary suggested. “We know her name. We know that her mother passed away under mysterious circumstances when the girl was only eight years old.”
“Mysterious?” I grimaced. Not the word one would want to hear when it came to one’s mother’s passing.
Mary nodded. “Yes, it looks as though a rival had her killed—or killed her instead of her husband. She was driving his car the night it mysteriously exploded.”
“Wow.” I tried to imagine how devastating that must’ve been for a little girl. “And she was left with him as the default parent. What a prize.”
“Yes, I’m sure she’s been through quite a lot.” She sighed, leaning back on her palms with her gaze fixed on the ceiling. “To do what she did, or tried to do, took a lot of guts. Suicide isn’t the coward’s way out that so many people like to believe it is. I can only guess how tightly he controlled her life, or tried to. She may have decided she’d had enough, or she could’ve found out just what Daddy does for a living and decided she couldn’t live with the knowledge. This isn’t a case of a kid acting out. She was crying out. Determined to affect change in her own life, by any means necessary. And now, she’s afraid to tell us anything. Push too hard, and she’ll clam up even tighter.”
She wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t already considered as I sat there, trying to put the pieces together.
Savannah.
She didn’t look like a Savannah.
What did a Savannah look like, though? What did a criminal’s daughter look like? I never would’ve guessed it.
The girl in the photo was who I would’ve expected—sleek, sophisticated, high-maintenance. In control of herself, commanding the respect of those around her. The girl in the bed was someone completely different. Natural, fresh, in the light, cotton dresses the others had loaned her from their shopping trip with Martina when we’d first brought them to the island. With her hair down and not so much as a touch of makeup, she could’ve been any girl who made her home on the islands.
“What are you going to do?”
They were both looking at me, waiting for some sign that I hadn’t entirely shut down at the information I’d just been presented with.
“Why does this fall squarely on my shoulders?” I asked, though I knew it was a stupid question before it was even out of my mouth.
She was mine. We were meant to be.
Even Mary felt that I had a special responsibility in this.
Neither of them bothered to answer.
10
Savannah
“It’s so nice to hear your voice now,” Ainsley gushed. “I was worried you might never speak at all, and we would never know if you needed anything.”
“I could’ve written—though, not with this thing on my arm.” The cast made grasping anything in my dominant hand almost impossible.
“That’s true, I suppose.” She curled up in the chair beside the bed while I ate the modest meal prepared for me in the resort kitchen.
No, they were definitely not operating as a normal establishment—unless the chef and the entire staff were out sick.
Not that it was bad, by any means, but one expected more than cold cut sandwiches and what tasted like canned soup from such a luxurious looking place.
She seemed like a nice girl, the way all of them were nice. And she, like Miles, made it sound as though she hadn’t had much experience with outsiders. That was the word she’d used. It was refreshing to be around outsiders. What did that mean? I hadn’t asked. She had gone right on with whatever it was she was saying at the time, which I had stopped listening to because of that one specific word.
Were they some sort of cult? The idea had taken root and spr
ead throughout my imagination until it loomed over every interaction with them. So many of the pieces fit. The secretiveness, the way they didn’t allow outsiders into their resort. Or was it a compound? The fact that they had medical supplies right there, on-site. They didn’t need to leave the island for contact with the rest of the world unless absolutely necessary.
Would they ever let me go? Not that I knew where to go if they did, but I didn’t enjoy the idea of being held prisoner, either. I might as well have stayed behind and let Antonio be my jailer if that was how life was going to turn out.
“What do you do for a living?” she asked, twirling a long, auburn curl around her fingers.
That was another thing. So many of them bore a resemblance. Like one, big family.
I made a concerted effort to pay attention to her and not to the theories swirling around in my head.
“Hmm? Oh. I don’t do anything for a living, not really. Or, I didn’t. I guess I’ll have to when the time comes.”
“You lived with your family?”
“Yes.” I looked down at the bowl on the tray, where bits of chicken and noodles swam in broth.
“Where are they? Don’t you think they’re looking for you?”
And this was why I shouldn’t have started talking. I should’ve stayed mute, the way I’d planned to.
But Miles had drawn it out of me, damn him. He was going to ruin everything for me, whether he knew it or not.
My silence must have struck a chord in my companion, because she clicked her tongue.
“I let my mouth get away from me sometimes. Everyone always says so. You must forgive me—it’s none of my business. You don’t have to answer any questions which make you feel uncomfortable.”
“Thank you for that,” I breathed, meaning it with every fiber of my being.
She brightened, then got right back on track. “So. If you had to do something for a living, what would it be? What do you like to do?”
Why was it so difficult for me to admit?
Papa’s sneer danced across my memory in answer to that question.
I decided I’d better get used to claiming my place in the world if I ever hoped to succeed. This was as good a place to start as any.
“I’m a writer,” I admitted, suddenly feeling quite shy.
Her eyes lit up. “You are? I’ve always had great respect for people who can string words together.”
I couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re pretty good at it.”
There were times when I asked myself whether she’d taken a breath recently, she talked so much.
“I don’t mean in that way,” she laughed, and that laugh warmed my heart.
She had a sense of humor about herself, a maturity which seemed to extend well past her age. She couldn’t be much older than I, with her smooth skin and bright eyes.
“I mean using words to create a story others want to read.”
“Between you and me, I don’t know if anybody would want to read one of my stories. I’ve never published one, or even tried to.”
“Oh, I bet you would make a wonderful writer.”
“How so? What makes you think that?”
She shrugged. “I have a very keen intuition. Everyone in my family does.”
That was another thing, the way she kept mentioning family. It led me to believe that my theory about many of them being related was close to the truth. They all seemed so nice, too. I didn’t want them to be strange or threatening.
“From your lips to God’s ears,” I chuckled, picking at my sandwich.
“What sort of stories?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Fantasy, mostly. I like making the rules in new worlds. There’s so much freedom in it. And the underdog can discover they have powers far beyond their wildest dreams, you know? They can turn the tables and win the day, no matter what the odds are.”
“I often like to imagine different worlds and people,” Ainsley agreed with a wide smile. “It isn’t easy when you’ve been cut off from others.”
There she went again. I had to be careful as I navigated the conversation.
“I was cut off, too,” I admitted.
“I can tell.”
“How?”
“Because you wanted to build a new world, through your stories.” She tilted her head to the side, and her smile became a sad one. “It’s all right. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“And you know how that feels?”
“Somewhat,” she admitted. “But there’s enough magic in my life to keep me from seeking out any more, if you know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t know what you mean.”
She chuckled. “Another time, perhaps.”
Damn it. How did she regain control so quickly? I didn’t know what I was getting into when I spoke with her. One minute, she played the dizzy, somewhat flighty young chatterbox. The next, she was grave and wise. Who was she? Who were any of them?
A sharp knock at the door made us turn our heads, and Miles stepped through.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch.” He made a move as if to step back outside.
“No, no, it’s all right. I’m finished, anyway.”
Ainsley collected the tray with a broad grin and all but winked at me before leaving.
She had an idea about the two of us. While I had to admit I felt closer to him than to anyone else here, I was hardly ready to buy a white dress. Not when I didn’t know anything about him or the circumstances of his being there.
He seemed to prowl the room, walking back and forth with no clear purpose. He kept his hands in his pockets, balled up into fists. He wouldn’t look at me.
“Is there a reason why you came in?” I prompted, watching him.
“I wanted to make sure you were all right, after what happened earlier.”
“What happened earlier?” I asked, like it didn’t matter at all. Like I hadn’t cried, all alone, before Ainsley brought my lunch. “Oh. That. It’s all right.”
“Is it?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. I didn’t like that look, or the way he kept pacing. Something was up.
“Why don’t we stop wasting time and get down to it?” I asked, folding my hands as best I could.
I had seen Papa take control of a room in this way so many times before. Never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined I would imitate him in a tight spot. Good thing he wasn’t around to see it.
“Get down to what?”
“You came here for a reason. Out with it, please. I’m going crazy, waiting to see what you have to say.”
“Now that you’re speaking, you certainly seem to have a lot on your mind.” He sat where Ainsley had just sat minutes earlier. “Why did you pretend not to be able to speak?”
“I wasn’t pretending anything. I just didn’t want to speak.”
“Why not?”
“Because… I don’t know,” I lied.
He narrowed his eyes until he was squinting at me as muscles jumped in his tightened jaw. “Because you didn’t want us to know who you are? Savannah?”
It was over.
Any hope of escaping my life dissolved like a cloud of smoke around my head. All that was left was Miles, staring at me through those slits which used to be eyes. He breathed heavily, almost snorting. Like an animal.
A chill ran down my spine.
“So you know,” I whispered.
“I know. I know the Jeep belonged to your father.”
“Damn it. You went looking for it?”
“Not me, personally, but someone else. Did you honestly think none of us would try to learn something about you? If only to reach out to your loved ones?”
“If I had any loved ones, do you think I would jump off a cliff?” The words hung heavy in the air once I spoke them. One of us had to say it, I guessed, and it was only right that it be me. “I tried to kill myself. Why do you think that is?”
“How would I know? You haven’t spoken about it.”
“And I don’t ha
ve to.”
“You’re right. But you should at least have been honest about your name—unless you were that afraid he’d come for you.”
His bluntness took my breath away. “You have no idea how bad things could get. What do you think it would take a person to do what I did? What would it take for you to go that far?”
We stared at each other for what felt like ages, silent except for the sound of our breathing. There was a fire behind his eyes that terrified and intrigued me all at once.
I didn’t want a man like him anywhere near me—I’d had enough of that intensity, the possessiveness. I felt it coming from him in waves, pushing me away while pulling me in.
The spell broke when he spoke. “I don’t know. Quite a lot, I would imagine. Nothing I would want to go back to, if my attempt was unsuccessful.”
Another knock at the door, and I was glad to hear it until Martina appeared.
Her deep frown set off warning signals in my head.
“Miles. Gate wants you right away.”
He glanced at me as he went to the door. “Wait here.”
“Where else would I go?” I whispered with my heart in my throat.
Something was wrong, and I couldn’t help but worry that it had to do with me.
Only I was truly trapped this time. There was nowhere for me to go, no way for me to get there.
I couldn’t walk. I could hardly work myself out of the bed and into the wheelchair with one good arm—and I couldn’t navigate with one arm, either.
Just relax. You’re being ridiculous.
Maybe I was, but I had been burned before. Whenever I’d started to trust that things were getting better, life would rear up and smack me down.
And there was nothing I could do to protect myself.
All I could do was wait for somebody to come back.
11
Miles
“Two cars,” she whispered as we hurried down the hall. “Mom’s in her office, monitoring the security feeds. Klaus and a few of the others are on their way. Gate, Alan and Tamhas are waiting out front.”