Page 44 of The Weekend Getaway

“No, they’ll believe you,” Mia said. “They just won’t care. They won’t bring charges against Phil. They’ll say that you’re lying. That he didn’t?—”

“But he did!” Sarah said, her eyes wild, feral. “Phil Richart … violated me. He can’t get away with that.”

“And he won’t,” Mia said, her heart slamming, forcing herself to focus on what she needed to say, what Alex needed her to do.You have to convince Sarah. “There is a way for you to make sure that Phil gets exactly what he deserves.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Mia said, “You want to make Phil Richart pay for what he did to you, right?”

Nodding, Sarah, wiped the tears from her cheek.

Exhaling, Mia said, “Then you need to make him …pay. And I know how you can do that.”

Walking through the living room, Mia headed for the curving staircase, then jogged up the stairs. She didn’t want to think about the lies she’d told Sarah fifteen years ago. She needed to focus on the lies she’d told today. Had Jason and Chris believed her? She didn’t know. Probably not. But she couldn’t worry about that right now.

Minutes later, in her bedroom, Mia grabbed her phone and sat on the settee at the end of the bed. Time to end all this nonsense about Alex being dead. About his head being cut off. Mia scoffed, thinking of Grace’s wild, ridiculous claims. Maybe it was time to distance herself from Grace. They’d beenfriends forever, but forever was long enough, right? They didn’t have to spend so much time together.

Mia dialed Alex’s mobile number, then put the phone to her ear.

It would be easy not to return calls, decline invitations to lunch, join another Pilates class, frequent a different spa, or?—

Mia frowned. The ringing in her ear was strangely loud. Almost as though she heard the ringing in stereo, as though it was amplified. Mia moved the phone from her ear and stared at it. Or maybe?—

The ringing was still too loud.

As though … it wasn’t coming from her phone. And yet, when she put the phone to her ear, she still heard ringing. What she didn’t hear was Alex answering his phone. Mia fought the panic sneaking into her as she stood, dropping her phone on the settee.

She could still hear the ringing. Walking around the bedroom, she listened. Where was the ringing coming from? Mia turned in a circle, her gaze resting on the bureau drawers. The wardrobe. The writing desk. The king-sized bed. The bed table. The?—

The bed table.

Mia rushed to the small table positioned on the side of the bed where Alex should have slept last night. On the shelf beneath the table, she saw it …

Alex’s phone.

CHAPTER 44

SARAH

Waiting for water taxi at boat dock.

Grace’s text lodged in Sarah’s head, unnerving her. She didn’t want Grace to leave. She wanted her friend to stay on the island, where she could talk with the others and they could figure out what she’d seen in the jungle. And why she believed Alex was dead.

Sarah hurried along the path leading to the marina. The same path she took after the speedboat deposited her at the boat dock yesterday. A walkway through large trees and tangled bushes. Dim and oppressive, the lush, overgrown foliage blocked sunlight and trapped heat. She walked at a brisk, steady clip, trying not to run though the urge to flee compelled her to keep glancing over her shoulder. She felt as though someone might be behind her. As though she was being pursued. Chased. Hunted.

She took a deep breath, kept walking. How far to the marina? The path stretched before her seemed to go on for miles, which couldn’t be true. Just seemed that way. An optical illusion brought on by burgeoning anxiety.

From the memory of bright red blood on white cotton sheets.

But not the sheets she’d just seen on Phil’s bed.

White cotton bed sheets from fifteen years ago.

She’d woke up groggy and disoriented, her head pounding, her stomach flipping. Struggling to open her eyes, she glanced around, trying to figure out where she was. The room was opulent. Like a five-star hotel with luxurious, lush decorations. Elegant and aristocratic. The kind of bedroom for a princess. Or an heiress. One of her rich classmates whose family owned oil companies and football teams.

What the hell was she doing there?

And why was there so much blood? And so many bruises? On her face. And her arms. What had happened to her?

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