by Paul Draker
She needed to wash her hair, too. How would that work?
“Hey, Blondie.” Travis’s voice came from nearby.
She slowly pulled her feet out of the water but she didn’t turn around. His boots clumped to a stop on the rock right behind her.
Too close.
“Thought you might be interested in this,” he said.
Still seated, she turned her head. Her eyes widened. Travis stood less than a foot away, his belt buckle at the level of her face. The thumb of one hand was hooked into the pocket of his jeans, his fingers trapping a red and white plastic bag against his thigh. Beef jerky.
“Oh my god,” Jordan said. She reached for it.
Instead of releasing the packet when her hand closed around it, Travis tightened his fingers to hold it in place.
“Yep, I thought we might be able to work something out…,” he said, bringing his belt buckle an inch closer to her forehead. “…first.”
They were alone. Even the seagull was gone now.
She looked up at his face. He was grinning, but his eyes were cold. Distant.
Her gaze dropped to his boots. He shifted his feet wider. The silence stretched to fill the air between them.
Then she laughed—a high, bubbling tinkle of genuine amusement.
“Oh my god, that’s just so pathetic,” she said. “The saddest part is, you’re probably serious.” She pulled her feet under her and stood up in one quick motion, almost smacking him in the jaw with her head.
He stumbled back a step but didn’t release the beef jerky. His mouth twisted into a snarl.
“This ain’t some safe little sorority house, Blondie, where you can just mouth off to me like that.” He looked left and right. “This island’s a dangerous place, and I don’t see anybody in charge. Accidents can happen. People can get hurt.”
Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, they can. How about I yell rape, Travis?”
She took a fast step toward him, and he backpedaled. Shoving her face into his, she spoke in a fast singsong hiss: “Oh my god, guys, help, he tried to rape me, oh my god, he hurt me, oh, I’m so scared, help me…” She raised her voice. “How about we try that?”
With a savage jerk, she tore the bag of beef jerky from under his grip.
Stepping back, he raised both hands, palms out like a traffic cop. “Now, wait just a minute—”
Jordan threw the bag in his face. Hard. The smack of plastic on skin echoed from the rocks. “Pick that up and get lost, you disgusting slimebag. Before I actually get mad.”
Travis scooped up the beef jerky and backed away fast, boots slipping and skating on the rocks.
She glanced down at the kelp. No matter how gross, it was only seaweed—like the wakame salad at sushi places. Let them all think she was starving; she could eat that.
Travis’s voice echoed off the rocks. “You’re a fucking bitch.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” she called after him. “Truly no idea at all.”
CHAPTER 55
“Young lady, come here.” Veronica gestured toward the open doorway. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Even though Camilla knew she had done nothing wrong, she had trouble meeting Veronica’s eyes. She followed her out of the blue team’s house, and together they walked to the edge of the bluff overlooking the main beach.
She calls Jordan by name, Camilla thought. Why am I always “young lady”?
Barks and yelps drifted up to her ears—the seals on the beach below jostled and pushed, huddled together, settling into their places for the night. A chill breeze blew off the channel, and the skin on her arms shrank into goose bumps. The sunset lit Veronica’s face beside her, painting her pale eyes yellow-orange.
Camilla started. “We’ve somehow gotten off on the wrong foot—”
“Right.” Veronica cut her off. “I had a talk with Brent. About you.” She looked away, shifting her piercing gaze toward the mainland, and her lips compressed.
“Why?” And what business of yours is it to talk about me, anyway?
“Brent’s concerned about you.” Veronica continued to stare into the distance. “He told me Travis tried to push you around, but you stood up to him. He thinks you antagonized Travis unnecessarily.”
Camilla stared at her in surprise. Brent was unhappy with her? But she had thought…
“Brent and I don’t agree about that,” Veronica said. She placed a hand on Camilla’s forearm for a moment—a kind gesture, almost affectionate. Veronica continued to scan the distant shore across the channel, but her eyes were softer now, defocused. There were faint lines at the corners.
“I think I might have misjudged you, Camilla.”
Veronica pointed across the water at something—Camilla wasn’t sure what. Then she crossed her arms. “Most of the women I take in at Safe Harbor are silent victims,” she said. “They’re afraid, which is understandable, but their abusers take advantage of that fear—often for years and years, until something finally snaps.”
She turned and met Camilla’s eyes. “If Travis ever bothers you again, you talk to Brent and me about it. But don’t ever be afraid to stand up for yourself, either. A woman’s got to be self-reliant.”
Camilla felt something relax inside her. She smiled at Veronica, glad to have finally earned her respect. What Veronica did for a living every day—it made her own job in animated film seem so frivolous and self-indulgent.
“Come on, let’s head back before we miss something,” Veronica said. “But I’d like to talk more later—get to know each other a bit. Jordan likes you a lot, you know.”
Camilla’s face split in a big grin. She and Jordan got along great, but she had never been sure how Jordan really felt about her. Following Veronica back toward the houses, she could see movement through the plastic-covered windows of the red team’s Victorian quarters—everyone was probably gathered there now, hoping to hear from Julian. A faint orange glow flickered in the windows, throwing shadows on the plastic sheeting. Someone had started a fire.
She turned to Veronica. “I want you to know I really respect the work you do.”
“Thank you.” Veronica pursed her lips, holding the Victorian house’s door open for her. “But don’t you also do something similar, for children?”
Camilla nodded. She didn’t like to talk about her foundation, her kids, but she would have to overcome that now, wouldn’t she? One of the implications of Vita Brevis’s publicity was that she would have to take an active front-person role, speak in front of crowds and cameras. And if she managed to win the five million dollars—ten million counting the matching grant—she would be able to make a real difference in the lives of so many more. She swallowed.
“Tell me about it,” Veronica said, stepping into the hallway.
Camilla realized that this was perfect product placement opportunity. The hidden cameras were rolling. Oh god, she should have thought about this, had something prepared to say…
“I take kids who have lost both their parents to Disneyland,” she said. “It’s easy to lose hope when you’ve had everything snatched away from you. What these children need more than anything is—”
“Disneyland?” Veronica’s voice turned harsh, rising in pitch and volume. “That’s your big contribution? Disneyland?”
The murmurs of conversation next door stopped. Camilla froze as faces appeared in the archway. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out, and she knew that the cameras were getting all of it.
“You don’t understand…” Again she heard Avery wishing he were dead, and her eyes began to sting. She could see all their little faces in her mind’s eye right now—a whole parade of her kids, pale and quiet. Some were defiant at first, most only sullen and withdrawn, but she reached them all in the end. She held them through their tears, taught them it was okay to laugh again, to be happy again. The bond she shared with her kids was special, forged in her own childhood pain, and right this second, she was failing every single one of them. She forced the wor
ds out. “What they need is a reason to believe again.”
Veronica snorted. “And you give this to them how, exactly?”
“I take them on rides…” She stopped, realizing how lame that sounded. “I mean, the ones where—”
“Rides? Really.” Veronica swept an arm behind her, glaring. “I’m saving women’s lives out there, and you’re going on rides? What are you, seven years old?”
Behind Veronica, pale ovals filled the gloom beyond the archway—Brent, Juan, Jordan, Lauren, Mason—all staring at the two of them. Mason seemed to be grinning. Camilla’s eyes blurred, and she couldn’t make out expressions anymore.
“How dare you patronize me!” she shouted at Veronica. “You don’t understand what it’s like. They… I…”
She drew a deep breath and tried to compose herself. “No, wait. Listen, why don’t we just—”
“I think I’ve heard quite enough.” Veronica’s voice was a calm, velvety purr now. Turning her back on Camilla, she pushed past the others and disappeared through the doorway.
Following her into that room was hard, but Camilla made herself do it.
CHAPTER 56
Camilla studied the scoreboard, avoiding the eyes of the other contestants. Her face still felt hot. She refused to look at Veronica, who stood nearby, talking easily with Natalie and Lauren. Part of her wanted to shrink into the floor and disappear, but the back of her neck was tight with anger. The way she had embarrassed herself and made her charity foundation look like a joke… well it hadn’t been an accident.
Veronica had set her up.
Camilla wanted to march over to her now, say the things she should have said the first time, instead of babbling about rides like she was brain-damaged. She would talk about the kids. How their little faces would light up, their dull eyes would become bright again. How Walt Disney’s imaginary magic could turn into real, healing magic.
But she knew what would happen if she tried. Veronica’s silvery, contemptuous gaze would freeze her, and her words would dry up in her throat. Again. Then Veronica would say something patronizing in that velvet voice edged with broken glass—maybe ask her if she was feeling all right, or if she perhaps needed to go lie down for a bit—and Camilla would look even sillier. So instead, she focused on the scoreboard while her face burned, and tried not to hear the conversations around her.
Camilla’s thirty-five wasn’t a surprise; she had kept track of her score in her head as she scanned the caches. But she was surprised to see that only Jordan had a score higher than hers. Sure, she had looked like an idiot in the hallway with Veronica, and Julian would certainly play it up for laughs in the final edited footage. But if she did manage to win the grand prize, then none of that mattered, did it? Her foundation would get the money regardless.
And if she won, Veronica’s Safe Harbor women’s shelter would get nothing. That didn’t seem fair. Right then Camilla decided: if she won, she would share the money with Veronica, donating a substantial portion of it to Safe Harbor.
For now, though, she would keep that decision to herself. Before opening her mouth again, she would wait for the perfect time and plan the right words.
Veronica had really hurt her, but Camilla had set herself up for it, too.
Mason dropped to sit on the floor next to her, and leaned back against the wall. “Relax,” he said. “It’s just a game.”
“Oh god, I must’ve sounded so…” Realizing she was probably still on camera, she composed her face. “Veronica shouldn’t have done that to me. We’re teammates!”
“For you, it’s always about the team, isn’t it?” Mason smiled and patted her knee. “I’m guessing Julian probably isn’t your biggest fan right now.”
“Well, right now I’m not his, either… Wait a minute—why would Julian be mad at me?”
“Today was supposed to be an individual competition, but you turned it into a cooperative event instead. You had all ten of us work together to get the water and the food.”
“Oh, that was all my doing?” She playfully shoved his shoulder. “Shut up. Now I know you’re just messing with me. Besides, how else could we have done it?” But then again, maybe she had acted as a catalyst for the others…
“And don’t mind Veronica too much,” Mason said. “All of this is harder on her than she’s letting on.”
Camilla’s gaze roamed the room to settle on Brent, who was working on Lauren’s leg. She watched him apply several butterfly bandages to the gash on Lauren’s calf with abrupt, angry motions. His face looked red.
“Brent’s been moody ever since we got back, too,” she said. Was he mad at her? She needed to talk to him and find out.
Mason must have seen something in her face. “Lighten up,” he said. “You’re taking things way too seriously. And don’t worry about your team so much.” He winked. “Remember, the grand prize isn’t a team award.”
CHAPTER 57
A half hour had gone by, and it was almost dark outside now. In the central room of the Victorian house, people came and went, waiting for Julian to make another on-screen appearance. A small fire crackled in the fireplace, putting out a meager warmth that Camilla barely felt. Next to her, Jordan sat against the still-damp wall, looking listlessly at one bandaged foot. Camilla wanted to talk to her, but she didn’t look up.
After several minutes, Jordan spoke, her tired voice barely loud enough to hear. “There’s a place up in Calistoga called Solage. They have a great spa.”
Camilla nodded. “I’ve been there, after biking Boggs Mountain. Got a deep-tissue massage, swam in the mineral pools… Oh god, can you imagine being there right now instead of here?”
“We should go,” Jordan said. She turned her head sideways, resting it on her knee, and smiled. “Just the two of us. After all this is over, let’s plan a girls’ weekend up there in wine country. I did some articles about the Napa wineries two years ago. They’ll remember me—they’ll roll out the red carpet for us.”
Camilla smiled back. “I’d love to go.” Jordan’s eyes sparkled with friendliness, but Camilla could see dark crescents beneath them. How long had it been since she had eaten?
Jordan tipped her head back against the wall. “We’ll let them valet-park the Lamborghini we’ll be driving, since one of us is going to win this thing.”
From where he sat on Camilla’s other side, Mason spoke. “Since you’ll be able to afford it, will you take me, too?”
“Sorry, sir,” Camilla said. “Girls only.”
“I’m hurt.” Mason stood up, then winced and bent over, hands on his knees. “Ouch! I really am hurt.” He rubbed his lower back.
Camilla remembered how the blinded seal had knocked him to the sand… the seal they had killed. She looked down at the damp floorboards. Here she was, just a couple of hours later, talking about going to the spa with her new friend, while the poor seal lay dead on the beach.
Brent crossed the room toward them, frowning at Mason. “Is your back injured?”
“Not really, but this must be what getting hit by a bus feels like,” Mason said. “I hope Julian doesn’t intend for us to mix it up with one of those monsters again.”
“Does this hurt?” Brent probed his back brusquely with strong, practiced fingers. “No? Well, you got off luckier than that seal did.”
Shame tightened Camilla’s cheeks. “I feel so terrible about what happened,” she said. “Nobody wanted for it to die. It was sort of an accident, wasn’t it?”
“It was no accident.” Brent’s raised voice brought conversations around the room to a halt.
Mason laughed. “So you’re saying I deserve a penalty for using the spray Julian himself gave us? He’ll take five of my points for harming the wildlife? Hey JT, maybe I shouldn’t have sprayed that seal. What do you think?”
“Points? Penalties?” Brent shook his head, looking disgusted. “No, I’m saying that it’s a miracle somebody wasn’t killed or severely injured out there today.” He turned to address the whole room.
“And what about when one of us does get hurt?”
“If it’s a real emergency, I’m sure they’ll send someone,” Camilla said. She didn’t like the uncertainty she heard in her own voice.
“I’m a doctor,” Brent said. “Believe me when I tell you that in a life-or-death medical emergency, the outcome is determined by how quickly a patient receives appropriate care. So how long do you think it’ll take the first responders to reach us out here? An hour? Two?”
Camilla dropped her eyes, knowing that Brent was right. But she had abandoned Avery to be here—her kids were counting on her to win. What was a little danger compared to what those kids had suffered? Especially when she weighed the risk against how much she’d be able to help them if she won…
“And it’s not just the lack of basic safety.” Brent tapped the on-screen scoreboard. “It’s these stupid little competitions themselves. They’re presented so innocuously, all fun and games. But they’re ugly. Julian’s designed them to bring out the worst in us. To set us at each other’s throats, make us take crazy risks. By putting the food where it was, he deliberately set things up so a violent confrontation with that animal was inevitable.
“This whole thing is criminally irresponsible—I think you’re all just too blinded by the money to see it.”
Mason straightened up from his pained crouch. “Very melodramatic, Brent.” His voice was light and friendly. “I think you’re probably right that OSHA might not approve of some of the dangerous working conditions here. Hmm…” He rested his chin in his hand in a parody of thinking. “But you know what?” he said suddenly, grinning. “I think five million dollars is pretty decent hazard pay.”