Page 15 of Close Your Eyes and Count to 10

She turned the phone around and Violet had her eyebrows raised. “O.M.G.,” she mouthed, cheeks flushed. Adele felt herself blush, too, gave Violet a wink.

“What are you guys talking about?” said Blake, annoyed at being left out.

“Nothing, shut up,” said Violet, nudging him with her shoulder.

“Youshut up. Mom, Violet’s being Violet again,” he said without heat.

“I’ll text you when I get settled,” she said, another big wave of anxiety pulsing through her.

“I’ll be keeping my eye on everything,” said Blake, eyes still faintly purple, pushing his new glasses up his nose. “The weather, the other contestants. I’m sending you a WholeEarthNow shot of the hotel site.”

She had no idea what that was.

“You’re a dork,” said Violet. “He acts like he’s running a command center. Like—what’s he going to do from his bedroom?”

“Be good to each other,” she said. “Love you.”

Blake dropped an arm around his sister. Violet scowled at him.

“Love you,” her kids said in unison.

They waved as the screen went blank. That feeling—when they walked into school for the first day, or slept over at a friend’s house, or rode their bikes away down the street, finally one day taking off in your car—it was some mingling of pride and sadness.

She steeled herself. She was doing this for the right reasons. Her kids could handle themselves because she’d taught them how. She could handle this because she’d built herself back up from a woman deceived and abandoned by her husband into a competitor.She was no so-called adventure influencer. But there were plenty of people who had been inspired by her journey.

And that was something.

Gustavo moved over to grab her huge pack and effortlessly shouldered what took all her strength to carry. She should tell him that she could carry her own bag; after all, this was not a vacation. But he was already moving with the agility of the very athletic toward the car, and she trailed behind.

Was she going to be the only mom type on a roster of outdoorsy young hotties and off-the-grid survivalists? It didn’t matter, she told herself as she climbed into the big SUV. She was a survivor. She knew that much about herself, at least.

Gustavo opened the passenger door of the Range Rover, and she climbed in, catching immediately the faint odor of cigarette smoke clinging to the upholstery. It turned her stomach a little, reminded her of Miller. It was the smallest of his lies, that he smoked. But somehow now that stale, acrid scent awoke an irrational anger. She quashed it.

“Why do you think that bothers you so much?” her therapist had asked. “Of everything he did, why do we keep returning to that?”

“Because… I had no idea. I never smelled it, never caught him out on the back deck late at night. How did he hide it so well?”

Adele’s phone vibrated in her pocket, jolting her back into the moment. Before she even looked at it, a tingle of dread. When she glanced at the screen, she saw a number she didn’t recognize and a message.

It’s not too late. Go home. The game is dangerous, and you’re not safe. Go back to your kids.

Who is this?she typed back quickly, feeling her blood pressure go up.

This was not the first time she’d received a text like this. Since she’d been accepted by Extreme,she’d received three. All from different numbers. No answer to her questioning replies. No one picking up when she tried to call back.

Adele stared at the screen another moment. Gustavo tossed her pack in the trunk and slammed it closed with a final thud.

She glanced back at the low concrete airport, the churning waters beyond.It’s not too late.

Was someone messing with her? Maybe even a tactic by Extreme to throw her off-kilter—something for which they were supposedly famous?

Or was it a real warning? If so, from who? Since Miller’s disappearance, she’d received so many nasty and threatening texts that she was actually a bit inured to it. Her number was out there. It had been on the company website. She never changed it. Because—not that she would admit it to anyone—she wanted Miller to have a way to reach her. If he had an attack of conscious, or one of those weak moments Agent Coben talked about, she wanted to talk him in. For herself, for the kids. Even, on some level, for the man she used to love.

Block. Delete. Fuck off.

She stowed the phone, took a breath. She wasn’t going to let anyone get inside her head.

Climbing in beside her, Gustavo grabbed his own phone and stared at it a moment, shook his head just slightly, then pocketed it. He sat a moment, frowning ahead.

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