The Lion's Den(89)

Brittani bursts into tears and runs toward the back of the boat.

“Brittani—” I chase after her, catching her arm before she can push open the sliding glass doors to the deck. “I’m sorry. I’m just upset.”

She wrests her arm away from me, her clumpy black mascara streaked down her face. “No you’re not. She was my friend. I’m so glad my sister is sending you home tomorrow. You’re such a selfish bitch.”

Before I can come up with a reply, the deck doors slide open and two men in Italian Coast Guard uniforms enter, almost on top of us.

Brittani and I step out of the way. “Did you guys find her?” Brittani asks immediately. “Is she dead?”

Rhonda rushes over and puts her arm around Brittani. “I’m sorry. We’re all worried. Do you have any news?”

They look at us, nonplussed. “No English,” one of them says.

“Italiano?” the other offers.

Everyone stares at them blankly.

“Uno…minuto.” I’m sure I’m butchering the Italian, but I hold up a finger to demonstrate my meaning.

I head for the bridge to find a crew member who speaks Italian, but run headlong into Summer coming back from her room, dressed in white jeans and a light cashmere sweater, her shoulders covered, her face freshly washed.

“Where are you going?” she demands.

“To get someone who can speak Italian,” I reply. I have no time for her bullshit right now.

“John can speak Italian,” she snaps. “Go back and sit down.”

I stand my ground, glaring at her. “Can you get him now? Time is of the essence, no?”

Just then, the wiry technical engineer comes around the corner. “Luc,” I say. “Do you speak Italian?”

He nods. “A little.”

“Can you please come translate for the Coast Guard?”

Summer bores into me with her death stare, but I ignore her. She grabs his arm. “No,” she says. “She is not your master. I am, and I say—”

“No one is his master, Summer! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

John comes around the corner and immediately assesses the situation.

“Isabelle, go back to your quarters,” he says. “You weren’t there. You don’t have any information the Coast Guard needs. Summer, come with me.”

He steers her back toward their room as I exit in the direction of the stairs, but instead of turning to descend, I proceed past the stairwell to where the others wait in the living area, confirming that Luc is behind me as I enter. Rhonda and Brittani now sit on the couch with Claire and Wendy, all of them obviously exhausted, the Coast Guard officers hovering above them. Everyone looks at me warily.

“I’ve been told to go back to my room,” I announce to the Coast Guard men, “but I’d like to make a statement.” Then to Luc. “Translate, please.”

My heart hammers in my chest while Luc translates and the men confer in rapid Italian. Finally Luc nods. “They say tomorrow.”

I can tell I am about to be dismissed, so I decide to just play my cards. “There are cameras everywhere.” I point out the cameras in the room. I know the feed is likely already deleted, but someone should at least be looking. “You should check them.”

I turn my back and march down the stairs. I’m shaking as I push open the door to my room and almost jump out of my skin when I see Bernard there, going through Amythest’s stuff. He’s holding a black canvas bag and throwing things into it.

“What are you doing?” I stammer.

“We need to find her phone to notify next of kin.”

Bullshit. We filled out contact info for next of kin on the NDAs we signed on the plane. I have her phone in my back pocket, but I’m not about to tell him that. “She probably had it on her,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “She always had it on her.”

He grunts and leaves. It’s not until after he’s walked out that I notice my phone is missing from the bedside table. Motherfucker.

I dart out the door and up the stairs, catching him on the landing of the upper deck with the black bag slung over his shoulder. Everyone turns to look at us. I register that John and the Coast Guard aren’t in the room as I hold my hand out to him. “I think you accidentally took my phone.”

He doesn’t budge.

“The phone you took is mine, not Amythest’s,” I insist, keeping my voice steady but loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’s in that bag and I need it back, please.”

He holds his hands up. “I didn’t take any phone.”

I turn to the others, watching me wordlessly with guarded eyes. “He was in my room looking for Amythest’s phone, and I think he accidentally took mine instead,” I assert. “Unless one of you has it? Because it’s gone.”

No one replies.

“You probably misplaced it, Isabelle,” Summer says icily. “We’ve all been through something very traumatic tonight. Can you please take this drama about your phone elsewhere?”

I want to rip the diamonds from her ears, knock her out, and mop the floor with her overprocessed hair, but I bury my rage and stomp down the stairs to my cell, angry with myself for acting like a child.

I lock the door and stand in the middle of the room, unmoored. I know I should be doing something right now, but I don’t know what. My phone is gone, my watch is at the bottom of the sea with poor Amythest—God, I hope that wasn’t the cause of her argument with Summer. I should never have given it to her. I need to think clearly, be smart. But I feel the walls closing in, and I’m starting to panic.