Mr. Rook Page 16

  Shit. I had to tell Rook. But then, what would he do? What could he do? Confronting a man like Warner was a death sentence. Taking the wait-and-see approach was even stupider.

  After an hour of heavy thoughts, I came to the conclusion that there was only one way to get out of the mess I’d made. I had to fix it. Alone. I would have to make this particular “investment” unattractive. And knowing the little bit that I did about Warner Price’s business, I could only assume two things turned him off: Bigger badder Warner Prices or federal investigations. Meaning, I would tell him I believed that a more powerful fish underpinned the island and that they were already under investigation for the sorts of offenses that Price wouldn’t want to get near—drug trafficking, money laundering, bribing public officials, and the like.

  Sitting up in my bed, I ran my hands over my hair. The chances of Warner Price buying my story or allowing me to walk away, even if he did believe it, were slim to none. He wasn’t the forgiving type.

  “Jesus. I’m a dead woman.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Early the next morning, a siren blasting from hidden speakers inside the house woke me. Rook’s ominous voice filled the air. “Esteemed guests, this is your host, Mr. Rook. We have been informed that Tropical Storm Mary has been upgraded to a category four hurricane. For your safety, we are evacuating all guests from the island. A US military plane is in the area and will land in approximately fifteen minutes. You are to report to the reception building immediately. Please leave behind any replaceable items, as we will reimburse you along with fees for the unused days. Your safety is our only concern. Please make your way now.”

  My heart slammed into my chest. A category four? I didn’t know crap about hurricane rankings, but a four sounded really bad.

  I scrambled to gather my things and get them into my suitcase, but none of it really mattered. Clothes, toothbrush, shampoo and conditioner—I could buy more.

  Screw it. I went for my backpack. The only thing I needed and wanted was my wallet and car keys for the drive home in NJ.

  I slid on my jeans, a tee, and my trusty black flip-flops and headed straight for the door. I didn’t know if Rook had been watching or waiting, but Tattoo—I mean, Gerry—was waiting right outside in a dripping wet golf cart.

  “This way, Ms. Brenna!” he yelled.

  Carrying only my backpack, I ducked from the bucket-sized raindrops pelting my head. “Holy crap!” I panted, hopping inside. “I hope this golf cart floats.”

  “Nope!” Gerry hit the gas—or electric—whatever—and the cart took off. “I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve lived here for eight years,” he yelled.

  “Thanks! I feel so much better now,” I yelled back.

  Gerry ignored me and took the gravel path leading to the little bridge. On the other side was the resort area of the island, including the reception building and airstrip.

  “Can we make that?” I asked, with some serious doubt. The bridge, made of wooden planks, wasn’t much wider than the cart. The issue, however, was the giant waves slamming into the wooden pillars that held it up. In some spots, the waves curled right over the damned thing.

  “Do we have a choice?” Gerry screamed.

  I shook my head no, leaned forward, and gripped the handle on the dashboard.

  “Hold on.” Gerry punched it, and the little cart hit the planks, the tires vibrating against the boards like a machine gun beneath our feet. We made it halfway and then the sound of spinning rubber filled the air. I assumed that the two inches of water now covering the bridge might have something to do with it.

  “Sonofabitch.” Gerry gassed it one last time and then turned to me. “We need to run.”

  The wind picked up, blowing the roof so hard that the cart began to lift on my side. The damned thing would likely fly the moment we hopped out.

  “Ready?” he said.

  “Ready.” I jumped and began hauling ass, stumbling three times. Why the hell did I wear flip-flops?

  We made it to the other side as a ten-foot wave splashed over the bridge, collapsing the canvas canopy of the cart. It wouldn’t have killed us—I didn’t think—but it would’ve hurt.

  “Come on, Ms. Brenna! The plane will be here any moment, and it won’t wait long.”

  We scuttled down the gravel walkway that had turned into a stream.

  “How did Rook get the US Air Force to come and pick us up?” I asked, jogging toward the runway and the reception building.

  “Not to worry!” he yelled. “They will come.”

  “I’m sure they will. But I was asking how a man like Rook has such wonderful friends.”

  “You don’t get to be Rook and not have a few allies,” Gerry panted.

  I ran up the steps of the white house with the dark shutters that served as their reception. Once under the overhang, I doubled over panting. “Dear God, I need to exercise more.”

  “Will you be all right?” Gerry yelled, not bothering to seek shelter. “I have a few more guests to look after.”

  “Go. I’ll be fine!”

  He ran off toward the bungalows.

  I entered the house, where the sound of frantic chatter filled the air. Everyone looked like dogs who’d been dumped in a pool—unhappy and wet. Only a few had suitcases with them.

  One of the receptionists handed me a towel and then told me we’d be departing in a few minutes. “Be ready,” she said. “There won’t be another plane out of here until the hurricane has passed.”

  “Thanks.” I nodded and got to the task of squeezing water from my hair. I immediately noticed Mrs. Day at the front of the line, her sour face all puckered. She had the look of a woman who didn’t care if the rest of the world died a tragic, excruciating death. We were invisible to her.

  “Ohmygod. Can you believe this? What luck.” A blonde woman, still wearing her yellow duck pajamas, spoke to a brunette in a huge pink sunhat. Both belonged to my group, but I didn’t know their names.

  “Don’t complain,” said the brunette. “At least you got to have your date. Mine was supposed to be today, and even with the refund, who knows when I’ll get a chance to come back? It took a year of planning just to get away from my husband.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” said the blonde. “Because my fantasy literally changed my life. Rook arranged for me to say goodbye to my father.” Her eyes began to tear. “I mean, it was amazing. They knew everything about him, how he died, what he loved to talk about. They matched his face and voice—I hardly knew it was an actor underneath all that rubber. I mean, yeah, I knew it wasn’t him, but there was this split second when it felt like my dad, like I was home again.” She shook her head. “It was amazing. That’s all I have to say.”

  I leaned forward. “Sorry for listening in, but I don’t remember you sitting with the VIPs. Did Rook upgrade you, too?”

  “VIPs? I didn’t know such a thing existed,” the blonde said. “I paid for the regular package.”

  But Rook had told me that only the VIPs got the closure fantasy, or whatever he called it.

  I nodded, feeling outraged. Why would he lie about that? And it hadn’t simply been a casual comment where he might’ve misspoken. He’d mentioned it several times and made a huge deal about upgrading me to VIP, too.

  “Are you absolutely sure that Rook didn’t upgrade you?” I asked the blonde.

  “No. This was my fantasy from day one. I paid fifty thousand dollars like everyone else.”

  My heart began thumping inside my chest. Why would he lie? Why? I suddenly wondered what else he’d lied about.

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed a woman in green with short hair step behind me. I wouldn’t have thought a thing about it, except that she’d been leaning in and listening to the other women speaking, too. She then stepped away, like she wanted to avoid a bee.

  I flashed a glance over my shoulder. Though she looked ahead, I could tell by her posture and the jerky movements of her eyes that she was faking her obliviousness.<
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  Weird. I started to face forward again, ready to discard her nervous reaction and chalk it up to the impending hurricane-doom, but then two things caught my eye: One, I didn’t recognize her. She hadn’t been on the plane ride here, and I hadn’t seen her once during the week. There weren’t that many of us in our group, so it wasn’t like I’d miss a face. Second, she wore a red butterfly pendant around her neck. The table of five VIP women had been wearing them on welcome night.

  My eyes darted to her alabaster face. She looked so young. Nineteen. Twenty at best. Whereas the other women wearing the necklaces had all been in their eighties.

  “Ms. Brenna, I have your laptop and cell phone from the safe.” Julie handed me a giant Ziploc bag with my things.

  “I completely forgot about those. Thanks.” I shoved them into my backpack.

  “Can I bring you a bottle of water for the flight, too? There might not be any refreshments on the plane. But there will be men in uniform.” She smiled and winked.

  “Thanks.” And then I saw them. Four more young women standing behind me. Red butterfly necklaces. Flawless skin. Everyone dressed like…like…

  I stepped back, bumping into the blonde woman who’d been in front of me. It can’t be. The five young women all wore blouses, long skirts or shorts, and orthopedic Velcro shoes. Something a more mature woman might wear, not a twenty-year-old.

  The five women stared at me, their eyes wide. The one in green. It’s her. It was the same woman in the green dress who’d been having some sort of tiff with Rook on welcome night. Her nose, lips, and eyes all looked the same.

  But she’s not eighty.

  “Ms. Brenna?” Julie grabbed my arm. “I assure you, everything will be fine. We’re well ahead of the worst of the storm.”

  I nodded absentmindedly, exchanging glances with the women, while my mind began plucking out every single oddity from the moment I’d first stepped foot on this island. The cheek swabs, the way Rook selected me and lied about the VIP fantasy, the strange dreams, the shark attack, Rook being a monk and seeming to grow older over the course of a few days. And now, these women.

  My conclusion led me smack into a brick wall. I pinched my brow. None of this makes any sense. But at the end of the day, the women standing before me had been changed.

  Something was going on here. Something crazy. And Rook had spent the entire week trying to distract me. Not only that, he had been pushing me to mentally close the door on Cici forever.

  Because he didn’t want me digging. He didn’t want me asking more questions. Goddammit. I didn’t want to believe it, but I couldn’t ignore the enormous pile of festering lies and peculiarities.

  And I let him distract me. He merely had to dangle his sexy body and handsome smile in my face to get me to look the other way. I hadn’t even challenged him about Cici’s death. I had been too grief stricken, too needy for comforting. And fucking Rook knew exactly what I needed. Just like he knew what everyone else on this island needed. I had been no different.

  I turned to Julie. “Where’s Rook?”

  “I don’t know. I think he’s making sure everyone is accounted for.”

  “I need to see him.”

  “But—he could be anywhere, and he told me you have to get off this island. It’s not safe.”

  “Me. He said me specifically?”

  She stuttered, “We-well, I mean, everyone has to go.”

  She was lying. I knew it.

  “Where is he?” I growled.

  She hesitated. “He’s monitoring the situation.”

  “You mean he’s in that underground command center.”

  She nodded.

  Was he watching us now? I bet that fucker is. What a goddamned manipulator.

  I bolted for the door and stormed down the path toward the bridge. Once I got there, I saw the golf cart exactly where we’d left it, being pummeled by the waves sweeping over the bridge. I didn’t care if the ocean swept me away. I didn’t care if I died. But I would not fucking leave here without the truth.

  I charged across the bridge, unable to avoid the next powerful wave. It slammed me down and drove my body into the railing. Pain shot through my shoulder and hip.

  Motherfucker. That hurts. The wave subsided, and I stumbled to my feet. The swell of the next wave headed straight for me. Adrenaline kicked in and I ran, slipping and sliding over the wet planks until I made it to the other side. I continued going, my hands and legs pumping, my body drenched with seawater and rain.

  I made it to the small building beside Rook’s house and charged down the stairs. A river of water flowed down the big drain at the bottom, and the loud hum of a generator vibrated the cement wall. Pumps for the water.

  I jumped over the grate and slammed into the glass doors. “Where the fuck are you!”

  Rook stood to the side of the empty cubicles, next to the room with the monitors. He knew I’d be coming.

  “Stephanie, what are you still doing here?”

  I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to call him on every single piece of bullshit he’d fed me this week, but then a calmness washed over me. He wasn’t going to tell me the truth. He would never come clean. From the second he’d met me, he’d only told me what he wanted me to hear and let me see what he wanted me to see. That was what my gut told me. It also told me this island was much more than “sacred land.”

  All right. So if I wanted the truth, and he wasn’t going to give it to me, I would just have to steal it. But I need more time. I need him to trust me. And could only think of one possible excuse for staying.

  I smiled. “I hear you have an opening.”

  Rook jerked back his head.

  “Well, you said you’d do anything to help me, and I want a job. I want Mrs. Day’s position.”

  “But—”

  “But what?” I pushed back. “I have nothing to go home to, and I love it here. I also know what you do behind the scenes, and I guarantee I won’t let anyone slip through the cracks like she did.”

  “But, Stephanie, you and I—”

  I held up my hand. “You don’t have to worry about that. You’ll be nothing but my boss from here on out.” A lie. He was a man who tempted me like no other and made me lose control. But none of that mattered anymore. None of it compared to my anger. From this moment forward, Rook would be my pawn. I would lie to him, manipulate him, and get what I needed. Fuck this beautiful bastard of a man. Whatever the hell was going on here, he just lost his wall. I would know everything. The world would know everything.

  He stared into my eyes. “You really want to work for me?”

  “You said you’d do anything. You promised to help me.” Rook wouldn’t want to break his word. He lied easily, but took his vows seriously. I knew that much.

  Shaking his head, he slid his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed. “Yes.” He sighed with exasperation. “If it’s truly what you want. But you understand what you would be doing, what working here would mean?”

  Yeah, that you’re fucked. Because I’m done with trusting you.

  “Yes. I understand,” I replied.

  “Then welcome aboard.”

  TO BE CONTINUED

  (But keep reading for two short stories and clues about part two, PAWN.)

  MEG PERDUE

  As my baby girl marched across the stage in her cap and gown, I knew I would never experience a moment prouder than this. My little Jenny wasn’t graduating with honors, but she was graduating. It was a hell of a lot further than I’d ever gotten in life.

  “You go, baby! Woo! Mommy loves you!” I yelled over the stuck-up, snot-nosed crowd who looked at me like I was insane. Or trailer trash.

  Well, to hell with them! I hadn’t survived twenty-four years of that no-good, shit-for-brains, cheatin’ husband for nothin’. Oh, no. I believed that the good Lord had a plan for us all, and if we were brave enough, we’d be rewarded.

  My hand slipped into my pink suede Gucci purse and stroked the thick envelope inside. That�
��s right, baby! Meg’s goin’ to paradise! Papers had been served to my pathetic husband, Ron, who’d been caught cheating on me with not one, but four underage prostitutes by the private investigator I’d hired.

  Best twenty Gs I’ve ever spent! I placed my fingers in my mouth and whistled loudly. “Go, you go, baby!” My little Jenny was all grown up now and with the settlement from Ron, I had more than enough to last us both a lifetime. Ron Perdue, bite me!

  At least I’d done somethin’ right. I’d married well and raised one hell of a sassy daughter. She would never, ever take shit from no man and nothing made me prouder.

  Jenny took her place in the crowd of graduates, glowing like a Chernobyl chicken egg. After this, she’d be spending a week in Spain with her friends and then starting a new job in New York City.

  New York, I sighed with contentment. Who wudda thought that a poor, uneducated girl from the middle of nowhere Alabama, working at Waffle House, would have a daughter who’s going to be a big fancy fashion designer.

  I took out my phone and snapped a selfie like Jenny had taught me. I then hit that little envelop thing and sent it to her with a message, So proud of you! Now gotta run and catch me a plane! See you in a week, baby. Take lots of pictures of Spain!

  I’d already told Jenny I would have to run straight to the airport after she got her name called. Besides, Ron was taking her and a few friends out for dinner. I was doin’ everyone a favor by not sticking around and spitting in his face.

  I made my way to the parking lot and got into my pink Mercedes. I had purchased two new LV suitcases for this trip, because I wasn’t about to throw fifty thousand dollars of new designer clothes into Ron’s old suitcases. Hell no!

  I hit the freeway, heading for the private airstrip just south of Newark, and my mind started whirling and spittin’. You see, I wasn’t anything like Ron—dirty, rotten bastard. I’d been faithful for the first ten years of our marriage and then I’d refused to let him touch me for the rest. Hell, I might be uneducated, but I wasn’t stupid. That man was about as clean and faithful as a sewer cockroach, and I wasn’t about to get some sort of disease from one of his trashy women.