I almost stumble but manage to hang on to the towel. I spin to face him, but the door slams shut behind me, and a click signals a lock being driven into place.
I could go to the door and bang on it with my fists and scream to be let out, but what would be the point? At least in here, I’m separated from Don by a locked door and these walls. I look around, hoping for some clothes to materialize, but there’s nothing—not even a closet to look inside. I guess I’m lucky he let me keep the towel. As there’s nothing on the bed—not even a bottom sheet. It will serve as my blanket as well as my clothes.
Outside the window, the sky is starting to lighten, the rising sun pushing back the night. The stars vanish, the dark indigo fading to a kind of hazy gray. We’re on the second story, and I know without checking that the windows will all be locked. Just like with the bathroom, there’s nothing in the room I can use to break the glass. I still go to it, though, hoping the view outside might give me some idea about where I am. But all I can see, spreading all directions, are rows and rows of vineyards, vanishing off into the hills.
I could be anywhere.
Exhausted, I go to the mattress on the floor and curl up on my side, drawing my knees to my chest, as though I’m a small child. Shame at what just happened washes over me. Have I betrayed the others by giving in to Don? Should I have fought? There wouldn’t have been any point. If I hadn’t gone along with what he wanted, he only would have made things harder on me. But that doesn’t wash away the guilt I’m now drowning under.
My shoulders shake as I give in to tears.
IDRIVE FAST, NOT CARINGabout the speed limit. I almost want to get pulled over by the cops. Right now, every cop represents Detective Don Bowen, and the urge to take my anger out on one of them boils beneath the surface.
The sun is rising now, and there’s no sign of the rainstorm that hit the island last night. That we’re starting a new day without Honor in our lives is something I don’t want to think about. At least the early hour means the roads are quiet. There isn’t too much traffic to contend with, though that’s going to change the moment we get near the city.
Brody sits in the passenger seat, his body twisted to watch the scenery go by. We’re both silent, lost in our own worlds of fear for what might be happening to Honor.
It’s a special kind of torture, and, as much as I don’t want to think, I can’t help it. Fury and a crazy kind of jealousy churn within me like a silent storm.
With each hour that passes, my frustration mounts. I don’t even want to stop for bathroom breaks, or to get gas, but they are necessary evils on a drive of this length. We make a quick stop and grab coffee and a couple of breakfast sandwiches and then get on the road again.
“Anything?” I ask Brody as I catch him from the corner of my eye checking his cell phone.
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
We left the other two chasing things from their end, contacting local marinas and car rentals, trying to find out if anyone matching Don’s description was spotted or if they had the name of the boat logged anywhere.
“What about the PI?” I ask.