Page 55 of Shark Cove

“I can’t believe you did all that,” Camille said.

“I just knew your mom was up to something, so I followed her.” Malia spotted a small, rutted dirt turnoff tucked behind a massive boulder outcrop.

She put on the brakes, and the Prius jerked to a stop; she reversed and turned so hard that Camille was flung against the door. Then she gunned the engine to get over a berm like earthen mound she was pretty sure was supposed to keep drivers out.

They lurched over that barrier but were only able to go another hundred feet or so before they reached a cliff encircled by boulders. Malia pulled as far to the right as possible, out of view of the main road. The paint job of the Prius screeched in protest as she took cover behind an overhanging bush. “Oops,” Malia said. “Sorry.”

Camille flapped her bound hands. “Don’t worry about it. Car’s already going to the shop because of all those bullet holes.”

The girls glanced at each other.

A bubble of hysterical laughter rose, bursting out of Malia’s mouth at the same time as one did from Camille’s.

The two flopped toward each other, laughing and embracing.

Malia hugged Camille close and felt the moment Camille’s laughter turned to shaking, then to tears.

She rocked her weeping friend as a storm of emotion broke over them and slowly abated.

“Let me get this crap off you.” Malia took the nail scissors and cut the tape loose at Camille’s wrists. Her friend winced as Malia wrestled the sticky adhesive away, leaving reddened patches of irritated skin on her arms.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a phone, would you?” Malia asked.

Camille cocked an eyebrow. “Really? A phone? I spent the last week in a metal box with a bucket for a bathroom.”

“Holy crap. Did you ever get hold of one, and text me for help at the burner number?”

“No.” Camille got out of the Prius. She stretched her arms above her head, spread them wide, and sucked in great gulps of air. Her friend’s ribs showed clearly under the filthy tee she wore, a fragile bony arch. “It’s beautiful out here.”

“Well, someone pranked the Wallflower then.” Malia frowned. Far below them, just outside the boulders that defined the area, waves crashed the black lava rocks at the foot of the cliff. A passing squall off the coast made a rainbow that scudded by, trailing over the whitecapped sea. “My phone is out of minutes. We need to call MPD and tell them where we are.”

“I can’t walk far,” Camille said. “I feel really weak.”

That was all the warning Malia had before her friend keeled over into the grass. “Camille!” Malia hurried over, squatting down beside Camille’s crumpled body.

Had she been shot?

No, it just looked like Camille hadn’t eaten the whole time they’d held her prisoner: her cheeks were hollow and her hip bones pressed up in sharp angles against the fabric of her jeans. Her face was white, her lips bloodless.

She’d fainted.

“Your mom should be happy, the fat camp certainly worked,” Malia muttered. “Poor baby.”

Malia had no food, no water, no actual way to help her friend. She sat in the grass beside Camille and slid her friend’s head into her lap. She chafed her hand, then smacked her cheeks lightly. Camille came to, eyelids fluttering. “What’s going on?”

“You’re here, with me—Malia. We’re safe now.” Hopefully, that was true.

Camille slowly sat up as Malia kept an arm around her for support. “They tried to make me eat, but I wouldn’t. I was on a hunger strike.”

“Geez, Camille. What did you have to prove? You were kidnapped!”

“I didn’t want to be helpless.” Camille burst into tears. “It was the only thing I could do.”

Malia pulled Camille in for another hug. “No offense, but I think we need to get back to civilization so you can get a bath.”

“I know I stink. It’s so gross . . . Just give me a minute, out here in the sunshine.” Camille lay back in the wind-tossed grass, her eyes shut, her arms spread.

“Tell me what happened,” Malia said. “When we get back, I probably won’t get to see you for days.”

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