Swept Away

by Christy Barritt

  As the sun warmed my skin, I turned over on my blanket and stared at the pictures of the various contestants. My gaze went to Vivian first. She was classically beautiful with an upturned nose, dark hair swept back from her face, and a slender build. The article listed her as a flight attendant who was twenty-four years old and from Southern California.

  Beside her was Joey’s photo. She was a twenty-five-year-old schoolteacher who enjoyed small town fairs, cow-tipping, and tractor races. She came from a large family and loved dogs.

  I scanned the rest of the contestants. As typical for these shows, the producers had cast a tomboy, the life of the party, the sweetheart, and the older woman.

  The bulk of the article was about the show’s star, Ricky Stamos. Ricky owned a successful bar in Texas. He was thirty-two years old, and he’d never been married. He had a movie-star smile, and, just looking at his pictures, I could tell he had swagger.

  “Anything interesting?” Riley asked, putting his book down for a minute.

  “Not really. Just trying to relax.”

  He looked over my shoulder. “By reading about the show being filmed next door?”

  I shrugged. “Coincidental.”

  His “uh huh” clearly stated that he didn’t believe me.

  “The first episode comes on tonight . . .” I added.

  He pulled down his sunglasses. “Please don’t tell me you want to watch it.”

  “You don’t?” I batted my lashes innocently.

  “It will only build your interest in this case.”

  I shook my head, trying to convince myself as much as I wanted to convince him. “No interest. You’re crazy.”

  He gave me another skeptical, “Uh huh.”

  I turned back to the magazine. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to soak up some sun.”

  “Do you need more sunscreen?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?” he asked. “I’ve heard it’s easier to get burned the farther south you go.”

  I waved him off. “I grew up at the beach. I’m fine.”

  Just because I had fair skin and red hair and burned easily as a child shouldn’t be a matter of concern. I’d slathered sunscreen on when I’d gotten out of the water. Besides, one of the articles in Star Touch was about how toxic sunscreen could be. I’d been in the sun all summer, so it wasn’t like my skin was still fresh and untouched.

  I turned back to the magazine and studied the various contestants.

  What kind of self-respecting man or woman would go on a show like this? Were some people actually sincere in their desire to meet the love of their lives? Or was this a matter of desiring fifteen minutes of fame?

  Why were women abducted?

  Serial killer? I sure hoped not.

  Human trafficking? Oh, Lord, please no.

  As leverage by someone relying on the goodwill and concern of loved ones? Possibly, but as far as I knew there was no ransom note yet.

  Certainly there were other reasons, but what?

  It didn’t take long for my thoughts to go back to Vivian. What could have happened to her? Had she staged her abduction? Had the show staged it? Was she secretly rich royalty?

  The crime seemed so strange. So strange because it appeared there was no way it could have been premeditated. Not when the walk was spontaneous.

  Halfway through my ponderings, I felt a shadow block my UV rays.

  I looked up and spotted a man dressed in cargo shorts and a casual button-up top standing over me. He wore sunglasses and had spiky blond hair that used more gel than a high school production of Grease.

  He had to be with the show. He looked like the showbiz type.

  “Excuse me,” he started. “You two are the ones using this home this week, correct? I was hoping to ask you both a few questions. Sorry to interrupt your fun.”

  I sat up and exchanged a quick look with Riley.

  “Who are you?” Riley put his book down and bristled.

  I’d lost count of how many interruptions we’d had so far in our time here. Was this the third? If I included Joey, it would be the fourth . . . maybe. Why couldn’t people just leave us alone?

  The man flashed a smile, and I was pretty sure his teeth were so white and shiny that only my sunglasses had protected my eyes. “I’m Trevor McManus with Elite Security. My associates and I have been hired to look into the abduction of Vivian Gray.”

  “Elite Security?” I questioned. The man had my full attention.

  “We’re a private investigation firm based out of Miami.”

  “And you came all the way out here in order to work this case?” I clarified

  “The show wanted to hire only the best. That would be Elite. I can humbly say that we’re the cream of the crop. Ex cops, military, Special Forces. You name it.” He flashed his award-winning smile again.

  “What can we do for you?” Riley asked.

  “I was hoping to ask you some questions. I understand you talked to Joey last night.”

  “That’s correct,” I said. “We were the closest house so she ran over, trying to escape from the men.” I eyed him suspiciously. “What’s this have to do with anything?”

  “Can you recount exactly what she told you?”

  I didn’t see where it would do any harm, so I launched into what had happened. Leaving this investigation in someone else’s capable hands seemed like the perfect way for me to let it go and avoid any more of these interruptions. They could single-handedly save our honeymoon.

  The man nodded as I talked, taking some notes on a pad of paper.

  “Did either of you see anything? Did you happen to spot the boat on the water?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No, we were sleeping up until the moment Joey pounded on our door.”

  He tapped his pen against the paper and nodded. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Here’s my card in case you remember anything.”

  I took it and used it as a placeholder in my magazine.

  “Any word on Vivian?” I asked. Maybe I should use the role of innocent, frightened bystander more often. It seemed so much less assuming than pushy investigator. Maybe I’d been approaching getting answers the wrong way all along.

  “No, not yet.”

  “That poor girl’s family,” I continued. “No ransom demands.”

  “No, ma’am.” His expression showed nothing. Nothing.” He shifted. “Well, have a nice day. Oh, and you might want to put on some sunscreen, ma’am. Your back is looking a little burnt.”

  “Your skin is the same color as the siding of the house, Gabby.” Riley squinted as if just looking at my back caused him pain.

  “You’re so romantic,” I murmured as I stared with contempt at myself in the bathroom mirror.

  Riley stood behind me. We’d just come inside after being at the beach for most of the day. My hair was windblown and crazy. Irritating sand clung to my legs and feet. But those things were nothing compared to my skin. My very, very red skin.

  I attempted to move the strap of my bathing suit a couple inches so I could see for myself how bad the damage was, but just touching it caused my skin to revolt in a major owie moment. Not only that, but my sunglasses had left white circles around my eyes, and I looked like some kind of oddly colored raccoon.

  “How did this happen?” I muttered, staring at the stark white line as it contrasted with the crimson of my skin. I looked like an American flag. I just needed to paint my face blue and add some white stars.

  “Lack of sunscreen?”

  “I put some on!” Bless his heart for not saying, “I told you so,” when he had every right to. He’d asked me if I should reapply it at least three times, but I’d ignored him.

  Riley shrugged. “You’re not one who usually sits out sunbathing. Maybe you forgot how much sun you could handle.”

  “I usually don’t have time to sit and do nothing.” I resisted the urge to touch my skin again and wallow in the pain I’d caused myself. “I haven’t spen
t that much time on the beach since I was a teenager.”

  He stared at my back and frowned. “I hope it doesn’t blister.”

  Wasn’t this just great? A sunburn on my honeymoon. That might put a damper on things.

  “Look, how about this?” Riley started to rest his hands on my shoulders but stopped himself. “I’ll run to get some aloe and pick up something to eat. We can stay in tonight and watch a movie or something. Maybe by tomorrow your skin will feel better.”

  I nodded, knowing he was being kindly optimistic. “Sounds good. I’ll get cleaned up while you’re gone.”

  After he left, I washed off all the sand. Even the cool water hitting my skin made fire shoot through me. Toweling off had been excruciating. Staying naked seemed preferable to getting dressed, but I wasn’t the type. What had I been thinking?

  I knew exactly what had happened: I’d gotten distracted with thoughts of the mystery playing out around me and had neglected my poor skin and all my sensibilities.

  By the time I carefully put on some sweatpants and one of Riley’s T-shirts—one of my most unattractive outfits and not what I’d planned on wearing for my honeymoon—Riley was back. He’d brought some soup and salads from a nearby deli.

  We sat down in front of the TV to eat, and I hoped this wasn’t a glimpse into our future. When we turned it on, Looking for Love played out across the screen. I hated to admit it, but my heart raced when I realized what it was.

  “I didn’t think they aired reality shows until they were finished filming the whole season,” I muttered.

  “Looking for Love is a little different in that everything airs a week after it’s filmed. It cuts down on the amount of editing that takes place,” Riley said before eating a spoonful of his seafood chowder.

  I wasn’t sure how he knew that, but maybe it was common knowledge and I was clueless.

  “I can’t believe they’re airing this after everything that’s happened . . .” It seemed so insensitive. Despite that, I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen.

  The opening episode had the cast meeting Ricky for the first time at a fancy mansion in LA. Just as I’d thought, Ricky came across as the guy every woman wanted. He was handsome and charming and said all the right things to make the ladies swoon.

  He wasn’t the settling down type. That was plain for anyone to see. It didn’t matter how many times he said otherwise on the screen. I knew because I’d met his type before. I’d dated his type before, for that matter.

  When Vivian came on the screen, my heart jerked into my throat. She was just as beautiful as I’d imagined, with classic good looks. I watched carefully, noting how she was demure and sweet around Ricky. As soon as she was around only the women, however, she became aloof and snotty.

  “Maybe Joey was telling the truth,” Riley said.

  “Or it could all be in the editing.” I tried to eat my soup, but I was too hot. I decided to pick at my salad instead.

  “True.”

  The camera panned to Joey, who stood in the background at the meet and greet, giving an ice-cold glare to Vivian. It was more than that, though. Joey seemed nervous. Her gaze skittered around when she was alone. As soon as someone talked to her, she turned into the girl-next-door whom Riley and I had met.

  Interesting.

  When the show cut from the screen, Wally came on to tell viewers about what happened to Vivian. He urged anyone with any information to call a number on the screen. They were also offering a reward for anyone who knew anything. At least the show had the decency to do that.

  “Can you imagine if our dating life had been aired for everyone to see?” Riley asked, putting his empty bowl on the coffee table.

  “That would have been horrible. We would have never survived. Love is hard enough without an audience critiquing every word, action, and possible ulterior motive.”

  “It’s true. Some things should just be private. Add to that the way these people are edited—they become more of a character than a person. They fall in love in the most extraordinary of circumstances, a reality that real life can never replicate.”

  Our dating story hadn’t been smooth, and it had been filled with many ups and downs. But the downtimes had taught us the most about each other’s characters.

  “You have to learn how to love when the going gets tough,” I said. “It’s easy to love in the good, extravagant times.”

  “I agree.”

  I leaned forward and kissed his lips.

  He reached to pull me closer, but when his hands hit my back, I nearly jumped off the couch as fire spread across my skin.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “But I may have single-handedly ruined our honeymoon.”

  Or my preoccupation with the case had, at least. Which still meant that I’d ruined it.

  When would I ever learn?

  The next morning, the doorbell awoke us.

  I buried my head under the pillow and immediately gasped as it hit my shoulders. Sunburns stunk. Sunburns on honeymoons stunk. People showing up at the house whenever they wanted stunk.

  Riley groaned beside me. “This place is Grand Central Station. Why can’t people leave us alone?”

  “Tell me about it.”

  A few minutes later, we scurried downstairs and pulled the front door open. Old Yeller stood there.

  “Can we help you?” Riley said.

  Chief Yeller looked serious—there were no smiles or friendly greetings to be seen, nor was he touching his hair and face nervously. He did blanch when he saw me, however. Must have been my raccoon eyes.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, can I come inside a moment?” he started.

  Riley glanced at me before pulling the door all the way open and stepping back. The lines on his face looked tight and drawn, like he was anticipating the worst. “Sure.”

  Old Yeller stepped inside and held up a paper. “I have a warrant to search the premises.”

  “On what grounds?” Riley asked, snatching the paper from his hands.

  “We have evidence connecting this property with the missing woman.”

  “What . . . ?” I gasped. I hadn’t seen that one coming.

  “Do you mind?” Yeller nodded behind us.

  “Be our guest,” Riley swept a hand to the side as an invitation to the police officers who approached.

  We moved aside as three other cops also came inside.

  “What do you think is going on?” I whispered as the men began opening doors and drawers and looking behind everything possible.

  “I have no idea.” Riley’s gaze remained on the officers.

  He looked worried, I realized. There must be some pretty strong evidence for the police to get a warrant to search the property. I couldn’t imagine what that might be.

  A few minutes later, Yeller came back downstairs, holding an evidence bag with something inside. “You ever seen this before?”

  I looked more closely. It was a black sandal.

  “I’ve never seen it,” Riley said, before turning toward me. “Is it yours?”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s not.”

  Yeller studied us both with a dogged gaze. “Well, it was in the guest bedroom upstairs.”

  I still didn’t see what the big deal was. “Maybe it belongs to the house’s owner, Mr. Murphy. He and his wife kept some of their personal belongings here at the house.”

  Yeller narrowed his gaze. “This belongs to Vivian.”

  My eyes widened. Yet another one I hadn’t seen coming. “Vivian hasn’t been here. Not that I know of, at least. I don’t see how that would even be possible. Riley and I have been here almost the whole time.”

  He lowered his head, almost like he was trying too hard to look tough. “Are you sure about that?”

  I nodded, not liking where all of this was going. “Positive.”

  “I also noticed you have a gun,” Yeller continued. “It was in the nightstand in the master bedroom.”

  “I have a concealed carry permit from Virginia,” I told him
. “Florida is a reciprocal state—I checked before I left. The permit is in my purse, and I can get it for you if you’d like.”

  “I would like that.”

  “Can you tell us what’s going on?” Riley asked.

  His eyes glimmered as he observed us in a moment of contemplation. “We found the boat used in Vivian McDonald’s abduction. It was abandoned up near Caladesi Island.”

  My heart quickened. “Where’s that?”

  “Not far from Clearwater and Honeymoon Island State Park.”

  I wasn’t exactly certain where those places were from here, but I assumed they were fairly close. “That’s good news, right?”

  “She wasn’t on board. One of her shoes was.” He held up the black sandal he’d found upstairs. “It matches this one.”

  My quickening heartbeat traveled all the way up to my ears, thumping with a deafening beat.

  “You’re saying that one of Vivian’s shoes was found on the boat and the other in the house? In this house?” Riley asked. He sounded as confused as I felt.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Yeller said. “I’m also saying that the owner of the boat where the shoe was found is also the owner of this house. Would you know anything about that?” He stared at both of us, watching our reactions.

  “Absolutely not.” Riley’s voice took on a lawyerish tone. “We weren’t aware Mr. Murphy had a boat, and, even if he did, we weren’t entitled to use it.”

  “I’m going to need to give the house’s owner a call to verify that,” Yeller said.

  “Of course. Go right ahead.” Riley spouted off his number.

  Yeller dialed his number and, a few seconds later, began muttering in the phone. The conversation was indiscernible from our end, however, filled with lots of grunts and is-that-rights. Anticipation mounted across my back every time Yeller glanced back at us.

  When Yeller hung up, he turned toward us. “Mr. Murphy doesn’t know anything about anyone staying here. Now, would you care to explain yourself? Or I’d be happy to take you down to the station.”