Mr. Corporate (Mister #3) (16 page)

Tori huffs out some air, silent, but defiant. I let her stew. She’s coming. I know she’s coming. She won’t stay here alone.

“What if they come looking for us and we’re gone? I think we should leave a note.”

“We’ll deal with that later. And no,” I stress. “We’re not leaving a note. Just do what I say and things will be fine.”

“What do you mean, later? And why no note? No. No, no, no. That makes no sense.”

“It does make sense, Tori. You just don’t have all the information.”

“Then tell me,” she growls. “What are you keeping from me?”

“I’m making a decision and that’s the end of it. We’re leaving. So put on your bra and panties and let’s go. The low tide will be here in like an hour. We don’t have much time if we want to take advantage of that.”

“How do you know all this shit anyway? Since when are you an expert on tides?”

“I told you,” I say, starting to lose my patience. “I worked on a boat for seven years. This is common knowledge for sailors. The pilot said it was low tide when we landed yesterday, and the tides are regular. They come at regular intervals each day. Can’t you just do what you’re told for once? I mean, unless you’ve got some secret tidal training I don’t know about. But I’m guessing not, because if you did, you’d know I was right and we wouldn’t have to argue about it.”

I stuff the last of the gear into the bag and seal it up.

“You’re taking one of those knives?”

“All of them,” I say. “We need to hunt, right?”

She huffs out more air and rolls her eyes. “You’re some kind of survivalist now? Please.”

“Yeah, well,” I say under my breath. “I’ve been in survival mode since I was seven. It’s nothing new for me. Now let’s go.”

I’m only half right about everything I told Tori, but it’s enough. The trek from our island to the new island takes four hours. It’s not more than two miles away and it takes four hours. She balked at the edge of the beach. So I pointed to the storm, still stirring in the northern sky, and threatened her with a high tide if she didn’t get her South American ass in the water.

She swam to the first sandbar, which was more than a couple feet submerged, so I was wrong about that. But she was still able to touch the bottom for about two hundred yards, so the part I was right about was the only thing that counted.

It kept her going, and that’s all that matters.

But once we got to the edge of that sandbar and she realized the moment of truth was upon her, she panicked. I’m talking full-on panic attack with hyperventilating and fearful eyes, and claims that she was going to die.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her this way.

I hate it.

I’d rather see her with another man than see her so scared.

We had to stand there on the edge of the ocean, the water swelling higher and higher as we waited for the episode to pass. I had to coach her constantly while we swam to the second island, which still had land above water, but the low tide was over by then and the ocean was rising fast. When I pointed back to our island she was shocked that so much of it was hidden under the waves.

“See,” I said. “We would’ve died over there.”

She got her fear under control after that and swam to the third island without comment, even though it was a struggle from start to finish. I was actually scared that time. She’s not a strong swimmer. Nothing like me. I know what to do with an angry sea.

I wasn’t sure she could do it. I really had doubts. All I thought about as we swam, the waves tossing us and pulling on us, was that I would never be able to live with myself if something happened to her. But there was an inflatable floatation belt in with the scuba gear, so I put it on her, tethered us together, and pulled her to the last island.

So here we are.

“Where’s the building?” Victoria asks. It’s raining again. Really starting to come down hard, but we’re soaked anyway, so it hardly matters.

“It’s in the middle of the island.” We’re sprawled out on the beach waiting for our heavy breathing to even out. “I’ll go look first. You stay here and then when I know it’s safe I’ll come back for you.”

“Like hell,” Tori says, standing up. “I’m not staying here. And if you try to make me, I’ll follow you into those trees. I do not care what danger is in there. I’m not staying here on this deserted beach alone. Fuck that.”

I have to laugh at her defiance. Even though I want to get to the building first so I can try to figure this shit out, I know she’s firm on this. So I just say, “Suit yourself. But when the natives attack, don’t blame me.”

Tori grabs my arm, squeezing tight. “Do you think there are
people
here? That we’re… like… trespassing?” Her eyes search mine, looking for reassurance.

“No. I don’t. I think whoever owns this place has a lot more sense than we do. This hurricane has to have been on the news. People who own islands keep track of that shit. No one wants to be stuck out here during a hurricane.”

She lets out a long breath. “Yes. That’s probably true.”

I hold out my hand and Tori looks at it for a second. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go together then.”

She smiles, rolls her eyes. But she does take my hand. We walk the beach in the worsening storm looking for a footpath. The trees and brush are thick, so there’s no real chance of making a new path. Not with the mud and the rain, and the gusting wind.

We find one a little way down the beach, half hidden in the blowing palm trees. And once we get in under the windbreak canopy of leaves, we follow the narrow trail in silence. It leads to a lagoon with an empty boathouse, and from there we find the path to the main house.

Which is a lot nicer than the piece of one-room shit we just came from.

And the power works.

“Why does the power work here?”

“People with money, Tori. They can do whatever they want.”

“Must be nice,” she says, irritated. “But that’s not an answer.”

“I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

But I’m humoring her. The power is on because a motion sensor porch light activates when we come up to the front door. Which means people were here not too long ago. They have a sturdier system than the last island, that’s all. It lasted a little longer.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

“There’s a radio!” Tori says, her voice excited after many hours of sadness and fear. “Look!”

And yes, there is a radio right there in the mud room. I scan the area for leftover shoes or coats. Something, anything to tell me if people are here or not.

But I see no signs.

Tori runs over to it and is about to turn it on when I grab her hand away. “What are you doing?” she asks.

“We don’t need to call now. They can’t help us and it will just make people worry.”

“You’re crazy. People are looking for us, West. We need to let them know we’re OK.”

“We will,” I say. “But not yet. Let’s just check this place out first.”

She huffs some air and squints her eyes at me. But I didn’t say it as a command. It was a suggestion. So she’s not mad. I think I just set all her little alarm bells off though.

“It’s pretty nice, right?” I say, trying to get her mind off my new anti-radio stance.

Tori looks around and takes a few steps towards the great room.

It’s like any well-furnished room you’d find in a vacation home. High-beamed ceilings, dark wood tables, built-in cabinetry, and dark marble-tiled floors. There’s even a flatscreen TV, for fuck’s sake.

I look around, warily. Something is very, very wrong with this trip. Why was Victoria brought in for this contract? Was Liam behind this? Is he getting even for some old wound between him and my father? Was it the pilot? Who does he work for? Mysterious?

This is where the panic starts to take hold of me. I’ve had that thought in the back of my head since yesterday and I’ve been pushing it down and pushing it down.

But there it is.

Mr. Mysterious.

I think this is about him. Maybe even worse than that. Maybe he’s the one behind all this bullshit. He did refer me to that pilot. He did give me that tip about Wallace. The house back on that island had Paxton Vance written all over it. The set-up, the seclusion, the guns.

I look over at the dry bag on the floor and wonder if I should get rid of them. What if he’s used them in some crime? What if they are murder weapons? I mean, all us Misters play it cool about him.
Oh, he’s so mysterious.
Like we’re rolling our eyes about his quirky eccentricities and not wondering how many people he’s killed since college.

But I know what I’m thinking every time Mysterious shows up, so I know Nolan has to be thinking the same thing. He’s a suspicious bastard. Even more than me. Something is off about Pax and we all know it. I would not put it past him to sell us out.

Hell, maybe he
did
rape that girl back in college? Maybe it was him all along. And then when the arrest warrant came who was there? Match and his stupid friend Five. Is it a coincidence that Match and Mysterious are the best of friends these days? Really? Pax has always been a man who hates people, but now he and Oliver are BFFs?

I don’t buy it. Those two are doing business.

And I’ve been suspicious about Match for a while now. What kind of man runs an online dating site and never has a girlfriend? No. They are up to something and this trip proves it. I’m stuck out here—Victoria Arias is stuck out here—because Paxton Vance gave me bogus information.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Tori asks from across the room. She’s got a remote in her hand and the TV comes to life. “Holy shit. We’ve got HBO and everything. Whose place do you think this is? Some rich movie star? Silicon Valley tech mogul? What if we’re in Peter Thiel’s doomsday bunker?” She laughs like this is ridiculous.

I don’t laugh. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to set this place up. Except I don’t think it’s the PayPal billionaire’s island. I think whoever owns this island probably owns the other one too. And I think I’m on a first-name basis with whoever that is.

“Jesus, West. What are you daydreaming about?” Tori puts the remote down on the coffee table and walk towards me.

I paint on the smile and head for the dry bag to keep myself busy. “Nothing, really. Just thinking about how lucky we are to have found a safe place to ride out the storm.”

“Shit, do you think that hurricane is still coming this way?”

“I hope so,” I mumble under my breath. Because if it’s not, someone will come looking for us very soon.

“What?” Tori asks. “What did you just say?”

“I said I hope not. I hope that fucking pilot has called the coastguard for us and they’re arranging some kind of pickup.”

“Yeah, me too,” Tori says, sighing as she crosses her arms. “I’m cold. Does it feel like this place is air-conditioned?”

I look up at the tall ceiling and see massive fans hanging down by long poles. And sure enough, there are vents on the ceiling.

How much money does it take to run this place? Who would leave all this going if they left the island?

“What if someone’s still here?”

Tori and I come to the same conclusion at the very same moment. We look at each other and I see the fear in her eyes as I start shaking my head. “Nah,” I say, playing it down. “Where would they be? The wind is blowing hard now. And it’s been raining most of the day. If people were here, this room is where they’d be.”

Tori looks around like she needs a moment to talk herself into my lie. For such a wild girl, she sure does have a sweet, vulnerable side.

“Want to check it out?” I ask, reaching to the bottom of the dry bag and grabbing the guns. “Together?” I pull them out one at a time and set them on the floor beside me. When all three are there I look up at Victoria.

“I knew you took them.”

“Yeah? And?”

She shrugs. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

I shrug this time. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Do you think it’s about Wallace? I mean, that was all pretty strange, right?”

I have no answer. “I don’t know, Tori. I’m not sure if it’s Wallace or the people behind the job to get Wallace.”

“Like Liam?”

So she’s been thinking about this too.

“Maybe.”

“But isn’t he a good friend of your family? Why would he set something like this up, West?”

I open my mouth to tell the lie. The lie I’ve been telling since I was seven years old. But I can’t bring myself to say the words.

“West?” Tori prods.

So I make up a new one. “Not good friends,” I say. “Not exactly.”

Chapter Twenty-Three - Victoria