by Rachel Woods
“You know you want it, bitch,” he said, his voice a low growl as he reached into his boxers and exposed himself. “You should have let me have it by the waterfalls. Now, I’m gonna give it to you good, baby. I’m gonna enjoy putting all twelve of these inches into you.”
Shocked and terrified, I struggled to fight, but I felt defeated and deflated. Feeling the head of his penis near my opening, I screamed out my protest. Trying to summon the courage to fight him, I resumed my assault, whacking my fist against his chin and his jaw and his shoulder.
“It’s okay if you fight me, baby,” he said and then smiled. “We can have our own little rape fantasy. The hotel offers that, you know. Some of you nasty sluts like to be knocked around while you’re being—”
A piercing, high-pitched scream cut through the air, and then a horrified voice said, “What are you doing? Get away from her!”
Grunting his rage, Sam rolled off me. Confused and trembling, I struggled to sit up. Eyes wide with shock, a maid stood in the bedroom doorway. Lumbering toward the frightened housekeeper, Sam yelled, “Get out the way!”
Frozen, the panicked young maid shook her head, but she was slow to obey his orders. Sam made her pay for her shell-shocked hesitation. Grabbing her by the throat, he slugged her and then shoved her toward the wardrobe near the door. Crying out, I crawled toward the edge of the bed as Sam took off, running from the bedroom. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood. Wobbly, I grabbed the robe I’d draped over a chair at the dressing table this morning, put it on, and stumbled to the maid. Slumped against the wall, she was stunned and moaning, her lip split and bleeding.
“It’s okay,“ I said, tying the sash around the robe and then kneeling next to her. “I’m going to call security. You’re going to be okay, all right?”
Trembling, the maid stared at me, still confused. Standing, I ran toward the desk in the corner, grabbed the phone and punched the zero button. “Hello, this is Quinn Miller in suite two-oh-four,” I rushed out, my voice high and trembling. “I need security to come to my room immediately! A man just tried to rape me, and he assaulted one of the maids. Please come right now!”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Quinn, are you okay?” Icarus grabbed me into his arms, pulled me into the living area of his small, yellow house, and closed the door. “Did that son of a bitch hurt you?”
“No, he didn’t,” I assured him, staring into his eyes, caught up in the comfort and protection I couldn’t find anywhere except in his arms. “He tried to, but he didn’t.”
Sighing, Icarus said, “If that bastard had—”
“But, he didn’t, okay,” I said, not wanting to think about Sam’s attack.
It was a few minutes after nine. I was exhausted, but still jittery and jumpy from Sam’s attack and from being questioned first by the senior hotel management and then by the hotel security team and finally by the St. Mateo police, who were more suspicious than sympathetic.
Detective François, who showed up to take my statement, asked me if Sam’s attack had something to do with the fact that I’d accused Sam of working with Henri to blackmail me. The detective thought I’d confronted Sam, with no viable evidence to back up my claims, and Sam had retaliated because he wanted me to stop spreading rumors and lies about him.
Once the police left, I called Icarus, who’d been texting me for the past four hours. I hadn’t been able to respond because I’d been going through the St. Matean Inquisition. Icarus found out Sam had broken into my suite and attacked me, and he had invited me to his house because I’d been temporary displaced at the hotel. My suite was, officially, still considered a crime scene and would be for the next day or so. The hotel didn’t have another suite available, so they’d offered to provide a suite for me at their sister property, the Hibiscus, but I told them I’d made other arrangements.
After Sam’s vicious attack, I didn’t want to spend the night alone. I was still on edge, still rattled from the things Sam had told me, disturbing things I didn’t want to accept or believe—things I couldn’t ignore.
Icarus walked me to the couch, and we sat down next to each other. Reluctant to leave his embrace, I leaned against him, tucking my legs beneath me.
“Thank God, the maid came to clean your room when she did,” he said, kissing my forehead.
“I am thankful to her,” I said. “I just wish Sam hadn’t hit her.”
“Were you in the room when Sam broke in?” Icarus asked. “Or did you walk in and catch him?”
“I was there,” I said.
“What did he want?” Icarus asked. “What did he say to you?”
“Sam admitted that the burner phone you found at Stazia’s house was his,” I said. “He said Stazia stole it from him and saw the threatening messages to Henri, and she tried to blackmail him.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Icarus exhaled, rubbing his jaw. “Blackmail was what the alliance was all about.”
“Sam insisted that he was just trying to scare Henri,” I said. “He wasn’t really going to kill him.”
“We need to tell Tavie about this,” Icarus said. “And Detective François, too.”
I thought about Sam’s accusations against Icarus. I wasn’t really in the mood to discuss any of Sam’s wild, baseless claims, but I couldn’t ignore what he’d told me, or pretend it didn’t matter, or that my doubts about Icarus hadn’t been reignited.
“I need to ask you something,” I said, snuggling against him.
“What?” He tightened his arms around me.
I hesitated, not knowing how to speak the questions I needed to know the answers to.
“Quinn …” Icarus prompted.
“Before Sam attacked me,” I began, a slight tremor in my voice. “He said some things to me.”
“What do you mean?” Icarus asked. “What things did he say to you?”
“He said that, um …” I cleared my throat, and then said, “He said … nothing. Forget I even brought it up.”
“I can’t forget it because I don’t think you would have mentioned it if it wasn’t important.”
“But, it’s not important,” I insisted. “Just stupid lies I didn’t believe, that I would never—”
“But those stupid lies bothered you, didn’t they?” Icarus asked. “Because now you’re wondering if maybe those stupid lies are really true?”
“No, I don’t—”
“What did Sam say about me?” Icarus asked, his voice rising.
“He was trying to implicate you, saying you could have killed Henri,” I rushed out. “He said you wanted the blackmail money.”
“That’s bullshit!” Icarus said, staring in disbelief. “Tell me you didn’t believe him.”
Trembling, I looked away, not knowing what to say, or what I believed, or—
“Quinn!” Icarus jumped up from the couch, glaring at me. “You cannot believe that I killed Henri for that blackmail money.”
“I don’t want to believe that!” I told him. “But, I …”
“But, you do? Even though it doesn’t make sense?” He shook his head, his expression solemn. “If I really wanted the blackmail money, I could have gotten it before Henri got his dirty hands on it. After I had you deposit the money into my account, I could have flown to the Cayman Islands, withdrawn the cash, and then taken off with it. You never would have seen me again.”
“I don’t believe you killed anyone,” I said. “But when Sam told me those things, I started to have doubts because he said you and Stazia—”
“Me and Stazia what? Did Sam tell you we were scheming to kill Henri and take the blackmail money?” Icarus asked, sitting next to me. “Since I found out Stazia delivered that damn blackmail letter to you, I have been trying to find her and make her tell us—”
“Sam said you and Stazia used to be together.” I stared at him. “Is that true?”
Icarus stared at me, saying nothing.
“He said the two of you used to hook up,” I said. “You w
ere some kind of friends with benefits.”
Sighing, Icarus rubbed his jaw and looked away.
My stomach twisted. “So, it is true?”
“We hooked up once,” Icarus said. “It was a long time ago. We weren’t friends with benefits. And I wasn’t working with her to steal the blackmail money from Henri. And I didn’t kill Henri.”
“I know that,” I said.
“No, I don’t think you really do,” Icarus said, taking my hands in his and leaning toward me. “I know you still have doubts. How could you not, with Sam Collins trying to make you think you can’t trust me, telling you that I’m lying to you, trying to make you think I blackmailed you? I am going to show you that you can trust me.”
Leaning forward, I pressed my lips against his, and when he embraced me again, I allowed him to comfort me and protect me, even though I wasn’t sure I was entirely safe in Icarus’s arms.
DAY EIGHTEEN
Chapter Thirty-Six
“I need to talk to Icarus,” Doris said. “I know he ain’t here because I don’t see his Jeep, but you know where he went?”
“Doris, hi,” I said, stepping out on the porch, closing the front door behind me. Despite the overhead awning, it was damp and steamy, the atmosphere humid from an early morning thundershower. The concrete steps were still slick, and water had collected in puddles where the porch floor was uneven. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she said and shrugged, but her frown told a different story—as did the greenish-purplish bruise near her right eye.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“Ran into a fist,” she said, her wry smile wavering. “Stazia’s.”
“Oh my God,” I said. “Stazia hit you? Why? Wait, when did you see her?”
“Early this morning, I caught Stazia in Henri’s house, sneaking around, looking for something,” Doris said. “One of his neighbors called me and said somebody breaking into your brother’s house. So, I rush over there and find Stazia. I confronted her, asked her what are you doing in my brother’s house? She attacked me and even snatched Henri’s medallion from my neck and hit me with it.”
I winced when Doris pointed to a nasty scratch above her left eye.
“She took the medallion when she left,” Doris said. “Probably try to pawn it but I don’t think it’s real gold.”
Sighing, I said, “Doris, Icarus is at work. Why do you need to talk to him?”
“I need to ask him something very important.” She folded her arms and shook her head, nostrils flaring, as though she was still struggling not to cry. “I want to ask Icarus if he killed my brother.”
“Why would you think Icarus killed Henri?” I asked, curious, a bit worried.
“That’s what Sam Collins say.”
“When did you talk to Sam?”
“Yesterday. Last night.”
“Did Sam tell you what he was doing yesterday afternoon?” I asked. “Did he tell you he broke into my hotel room and tried to rape me?”
“What?” Doris looked shocked, but skeptical.
“He broke in to look for a burner phone that Icarus found at Stazia’s place,” I said. “The phone had some threatening messages on it that Sam sent to your brother on the day Henri died. Messages where Sam threatens to kill Henri.”
“You think Sam killed Henri?” Doris looked aghast, disbelieving. “That can’t be right. Sam and Henri was like brothers.”
I felt a slight vibration against my hip. Removing my cell phone, I glanced at the screen, noting the small envelope icon—a text message.
“You had told me you was going to find who really killed Henri since you claim you didn’t do it. But, ain’t heard nothing from you, don’t know whether you found nothing out about who really killed my brother,” she said. “So, I decided, if you want something done, you gotta do it yourself. So I say, I’m going to tell the cops what I been thinking about who might have killed my brother.”
“And what have you been thinking?”
“I been thinking about Stazia,” Doris said. “I think she was looking for that blackmail money in Henri’s house this morning.”
As Doris explained why she now suspected Stazia of killing her brother, I accessed the text. As I stared at the message, my heart slammed.
my name is Stazia. u dont know me but i need u 2 meet me. i want 2 tell u the truth.
With shaking fingers, I typed my reply: the truth about what?
Nervous and apprehensive, as Doris went on and I waited for the reply from Stazia, I checked the text log, wondering if Stazia had texted from the 0007 phone. When my suspicions were confirmed and I saw the last four digits, 0007, I nearly leaped out of my skin.
Minutes later, my phone vibrated, signaling an incoming text.
i can prove Icarus killed Henri. meet me at the spa bungalow @ 3. i am very serious. my life is in danger and i need someone 2 trust. i know u been looking for me. i have been hiding from Icarus. please meet me 2day.
“Doris, listen,” I stopped her. “I’ve got a work situation I have to take care of right now, I’m sorry.”
After Doris left, I went back into the house, anxious to call Icarus about the text from Stazia. Pacing Icarus’s small living room, I willed him to answer but got voice mail. Instead of screaming my frustration, I left him a message to call me immediately.
Dropping down on the couch, I tried to calm down, but I couldn’t. Stazia had texted me from the 0007 phone. Which meant she had also sent the fake messages from Nick Presso, trying to trick me into thinking Icarus had forced him to lie about Sam killing Henri. The elusive Island girl must have realized her text from Nick hadn’t worked, so maybe she thought I would believe a claim straight from her.
Icarus responded twenty minutes later with a text. He would be tied up chauffeuring all afternoon but would end his shift at four o’clock, an hour after the time Stazia had requested to meet.
“Can you get off any earlier?” I asked, after he answered my call.
“Unfortunately, no,” Icarus said. “Text Stazia back and tell her you can meet at four thirty.”
“What if she doesn’t want to do that?”
“Quinn, I don’t want you to meet her alone,” Icarus said. “I don’t know what the hell she’s up to, but I’m sure she’s desperate and scared, and that’s a dangerous combination.”
“You think she might try to hurt me?” I asked, thinking of Doris’s bruise.
“She might try to take you hostage,” Icarus said. “If she killed Henri, and I think she did, then she probably wants to get off the island and she might try to force you to help her.”
After promising Icarus I would text Stazia to request a new meeting time so I could wait for him to get off work, I ended the call with every intention of keeping my promise. My emotions were all over the place, and I couldn’t think rationally. Panicked, I knew Stazia would leave if I didn’t show up at the requested time. I didn’t think I could risk letting Stazia slip away again. There was nothing logical about meeting her alone, but since logic had abandoned me six months ago, I decided I would meet the mysterious Island girl by myself.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Stazia …” I called out, twisting the knob of the large bamboo door and pushing it open. “Stazia are you in here? It’s, um … it’s Quinn Miller. You sent me a text asking me to meet you at three o’clock and I’m here. Stazia, are you here?”
What the hell was I doing? Why had I come there? Why had I been so quick to meet with Stazia? I couldn’t even be sure that the text really was from her. I shouldn’t be here, I knew. I was trespassing on the hotel’s property, meeting a former employee who’d been fired but somehow was able to get onto the property and unlock doors. I shouldn’t have come here. I should have texted Stazia and requested a later meeting time. I should have waited for Icarus to go with me to the spa bungalow. I should have gone straight to Octavia’s office and showed her the message, but …
i can prove Icarus killed Henri.
> i want 2 tell u the truth.
Staring at the text, reading the words one by one, something had come over me, and I wanted, more than anything, to question the elusive, mysterious woman. I wanted to interrogate her, like the old Quinn would, and find out what she really knew about Henri’s murder.
Unlike Icarus, I didn’t think Stazia had killed Henri. Definitely, she’d been lying when she’d claimed Icarus had killed Henri. I had a feeling Stazia knew who might have murdered Henri. Sam Collins had said neither he nor Stazia had been sent to pick up the blackmail money, but apparently Henri had lied to both of them. He’d told Sam that Stazia had picked up the money, and he’d told Stazia Sam had been sent to the money drop. I doubted Henri had picked up the money himself. He’d sent someone to the Golden Lizard Beach locker room. Who? And could that person have killed him?
“Stazia …” I said, knowing I should turn around and get the hell out of the spa bungalow. But I couldn’t leave. I had to find out the truth Stazia wanted to tell me.
From the brochure Liberada had given me about the spa’s services, I knew the bungalow would be deserted in the afternoon. Most of the treatments were done in the early morning or in the late afternoon. The staff of massage therapists and estheticians was given a “siesta” of sorts before beginning their second shift.
I walked into the bungalow, feeling as though I was losing my mind. Definitely, I was not thinking clearly because if I was I wouldn’t be here. I was making all the wrong decisions today, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
Beyond the rainforest, the sun had been hot and bright, but the spa bungalow buildings were nestled between the thick, waxy branches of banana, bamboo, elephant leaves and dozens of other flowering bushes and shrubs, and surrounded by branches and climbing vines. The terrarium-like atmosphere blocked the sunlight and the rooms were cool and shadowy, somewhat mysterious, allowing an almost mystic eeriness to swirl through the air.
