The Missing

by Kiersten Modglin

  The Missing

  Kiersten Modglin

  Copyright © 2021 by Kiersten Modglin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  www.kierstenmodglinauthor.com

  Cover Design: Tadpole Designs

  Editing: Three Owls Editing

  Proofreading: My Brother’s Editor

  Formatting: Tadpole Designs

  First Print Edition: 2021

  First Electronic Edition: 2021

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Enjoyed The Missing?

  Don’t miss the next release from Kiersten Modglin

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Kiersten Modglin

  To my PawPaw Chet—

  for teaching me to survive in the woods long before I was old enough to have ever survived in the woods.

  “Maybe there is a beast…

  Maybe it’s only us.”

  William Golding

  Chapter One

  The sun was a liar. It sat high in the sky, shimmering with warmth and happiness. Paradise, it seemed to scream. Welcome to paradise. It gave no warning of what was to come.

  I’d spent most of the morning lying on a lounge chair that was equally close to the beach and the cabana, where a man dressed all in white had been refilling my drinks as quickly as I could empty them.

  I’d been fighting with my husband that morning, about work, as always. Because who brings their wife on a tropical vacation and plans to spend most of each day in the room at the resort, so they don’t get behind?

  Psychopaths, that’s who.

  So, I sat and I sipped drinks and read on my Kindle, and I tried to pretend that I wasn’t bored out of my mind and all alone on a vacation that was supposed to be perfect.

  I’d built it up in my head as perfect, anyway. But as soon as we’d arrived, I realized that wouldn’t be the case. As usual, my husband was too busy, too popular to fit me into his schedule.

  The thing about sitting alone at the beach is that people either think you’re very sad—and they give you that pitiful expression somewhere between a sorrow-filled frown and an encouraging smile whenever they walk past you—or they assume you’re very lonely and try to sit next to you and strike up a conversation. I was in the mood for neither.

  That’s what I assumed was happening as the man jogged up the beach toward me. I tried to look away, to hope that he was headed in another direction, but he kept his body aimed straight for me, his smile growing as he drew nearer. He was tall and fit, with tanned skin that said he either lived in the area or worked outdoors a lot. He wore a pair of khaki pants and a lime green T-shirt, with dark sunglasses protecting his eyes from the sun. I looked up, shielding my own eyes and preparing to tell him that I was just waiting for my husband, thankyouverymuch, when his question interrupted me.

  “Would you like a free boat ride?”

  I furrowed my brow at him, so confused by the question that had come from nowhere. “Excuse me?”

  “Boat,” he said, his accent—I assumed Mexican? Cuban, maybe?— was thick, his finger outstretched, pointing toward the boat in the water. Boat was an understatement. The thing was a small-sized yacht, blasting music while a few people danced on its upper deck. “Would you like a ride?”

  I sat up straighter, laying the Kindle in my lap. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand… You want me to ride in your boat?”

  He laughed, putting a hand to his chest. “Not my boat. I work on it. We have an extra spot…if you want…”

  I looked around, waiting for him to laugh and say I was getting pranked. “Why me?” Because I looked pathetic, sitting alone on the beach, most likely.

  Sure enough, he gestured around me. “You are the only one out here by yourself, and we have an extra spot. Just one. My captain says to offer it to someone.”

  I eyed him. “Where are you going? The boat, I mean.”

  “Just around the coast and back.” He pointed to the drink next to my chair. “Free booze, music, ahh, it’ll be a lot of fun.” He shimmied his shoulders, snapping his fingers as he danced to the music from the boat.

  “Is it like a private event, or…”

  “No, Señorita. We didn’t get fully booked today, so sometimes the captain lets us invite a few extra people. We’re just looking for one more.” He glanced back toward the boat. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go… I can find someone else. I just thought you looked bored.”

  I stared at the Kindle in my hand and lifted the beverage to my lips, finishing the last of it. The people aboard the boat appeared normal.

  No, correction, they looked like they were having fun. Something I desperately needed to do.

  “Can I invite my husband?” I pointed behind me. Not that he’d go…

  The man glanced toward the boat again, and I saw a group of crewmen dressed like him coming out onto the decks. “No, Señorita. I’m sorry. We have to leave now. It’s okay… Maybe next time?” He waited.

  I chewed my bottom lip, thinking for a moment. The waiter from the cabana approached me, a drink in his hand. What would that make it? My sixth for the day? I shook my head, handing him the empty glass. “No, thank you. I’m done for now. Charge the drinks to my room, and this is for you.” I pulled the twenty-dollar bill from my phone case and handed it to him as a tip. “Can you do me a favor, though? If my husband comes looking for me, can you tell him I went on a boat ride? Tell him I’ll be back in a few hours?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the man said, tucking the cash into his pocket. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  With that, I turned to the grinning man, tucking my Kindle and phone into the oversized pocket of my bathing suit cover and following his lead toward the boat.

  When we reached the dock, he gestured for me to walk across the metallic ramp and onto the yacht. I did so slowly, my footsteps heavy and loud, the alcohol and the heat beginning to wear on me. I hadn’t noticed the buzz before, six drinks wasn’t much compared to what I normally drank in an evening, but when you added that to the heat, apparently it hit harder.

  As I neared the edge, feeling even unsteadier, two men appeared with their hands outstretched, to help me climb aboard.

  “Welcome aboard, beautiful,” one said. I stared at his thin mustache and dark eyes, offering a small smile. The man who had invited me jumped onto the deck with ease—no hand holding for him—and they immediately began untying the ropes that had been holding us to
the dock onto the sides of the boat.

  I walked forward.

  “Drinks and music are upstairs, Señorita. Facilities downstairs,” I heard the man call, and I nodded, waving a hand over my shoulder at him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  As I walked across the deck, the sun seemed warmer on the boat, its rays beaming down on me. I looked back at the shore. I don’t know why I did it. I knew he wouldn’t be there, but somehow… Somehow I had hope that he’d have sensed me leaving. That he’d been keeping an eye on me from the window of our room and that, upon seeing me getting on a strange boat with strange people, he might’ve shown a little concern. I pictured him running across the beach, a hand in the air as he shouted for me, but it was just a mirage. Not even the good type of mirage. I knew this one was fake the entire time.

  He would not run for me.

  He would not notice that I’d left.

  There was a good chance he wouldn’t even know I’d been gone by the time I returned.

  About that last part, at least, I was very wrong.

  Chapter Two

  The boat cruised along the coastline, the wind whipping through my hair as the music blared and the drinks continued to flow. I was on my second glass of champagne—pacing myself, I thought—when the first of the boat’s passengers approached me.

  “This seat taken?” He gestured to the padded bench seat next to me, where I could sit with my back pressing into the railing, looking out over the ocean as we sailed.

  I looked at it and back at him. He was young, probably mid-twenties, with wild and wispy black hair and long, pale limbs. He looked to be from Southeast Asia, and when he smiled, just part of his upper lip raised as he stared down at me with dark, kind eyes.

  I shook my head slowly, allowing him to take the seat. When he did, he rested an arm on the metal railing behind us and looked out over the water. “Nothing like it, is there?”

  I inhaled deeply, trying to pretend I was enjoying the view, rather than obsessing over whether or not my husband had yet noticed my absence. “It’s beautiful.”

  He looked back in my direction, his eyes meeting mine in a way that, if we were in a movie, he might’ve whispered, “No, you’re beautiful.” But, we weren’t in a movie and I was twice his age, so instead, he just smirked at me and nodded.

  “Where are you from?”

  “You wouldn’t have heard of it,” I said simply.

  “Try me.” His grin widened.

  “Leiper's Fork, Tennessee.”

  He stared at me for a moment, so long that I thought he might be going to say that he did, in fact, know my tiny little town. Instead, he grinned finally. “Is that near Nashville?” That was usually the question, because everyone only knew Tennessee because of Nashville or Gatlinburg.

  “Sort of,” I said, unable to hide the small smile on my lips. “You? Where are you from?”

  “Here,” he said. “Well, Florida. I grew up in Naples; moved to Key West when I graduated.”

  I didn’t know if he meant high school or college.

  “And, let me guess, you’re a lifeguard now?” I gestured toward his plain, white T-shirt and red trunks. All he was missing was a dot of white zinc on his nose.

  “Close,” he teased. “I’m an offshore diver.”

  “How is that close?”

  “Well”—he pulled one leg up under his lap—“instead of saving one life, I save thousands. Without me, this beautiful ocean you’re enjoying would be filled with oil.”

  “You’re solely responsible for that, then?” I quipped.

  He studied me for a moment too long, and I worried that he hadn’t read my sarcasm, but then the smile returned. “Yep, it’s all on me.”

  “Well, I guess thanks are in order, then.” I tipped my drink toward him.

  He sighed dramatically, placing his arms back around the railing. “All in a day’s work.”

  I laughed, my face burning from his attention. It’s not that I was attracted to him—I was a married woman, after all—but the combination of alcohol and attention I hadn’t seen from a man, any man, in years had me feeling giddy and light. Like the fizz at the top of a champagne flute.

  “So, what about you? What do you do?”

  I thought for a moment. There was a time when I could’ve answered honestly, proudly. But those days were long gone. Instead of answering, I looked out at the water, realizing for the first time that I’d lost sight of the shoreline in the distance. I tried to shove down the sudden unease at being in the middle of the ocean surrounded by strangers.

  What had started out as a stubborn, fleeting urge to get back at my husband had turned into something real. Here I was, in the middle of the sea, with no one I knew having a clue where I was. I pulled out my phone, planning to text my husband and let him know where I was, but I had no service. I groaned. Suddenly, I felt very foolish indeed. I swallowed, batting back tears as I felt them forming in my eyes.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts. I glanced his way, having nearly forgotten he was there, still waiting on an answer as to what I did for a living.

  “Sorry, I—I’m just realizing this was a stupid idea.” I tucked my phone back into my pocket. The heat I felt on my face wasn’t coming from the sun any longer, but rather the embarrassment and worry swelling inside of me.

  “What was?” he asked, leaning toward me as the wind picked up.

  I put my head in my hands, mortified that I was suddenly having a breakdown aboard the fancy vessel in front of this carefree, entirely too-handsome man. “I shouldn’t be here right now.”

  He chuckled, as if I were making a joke. “Well, sorry, sweetheart. It’s a little too late to decide that.”

  I furrowed my brow at him. “This was a stupid decision. I don’t even know anyone on this boat, and I…” There was no point in continuing to rant. He was right. I was here, and I was staying until the boat ride ended.

  He tipped his bottle of lager toward me. “Hell, I don’t know anyone on here, either. That’s half the fun of it, isn’t it? Total freedom.” He winked. “Live a little.”

  I scowled but didn’t say anything else. It wasn’t worth the argument. Besides, he was right. And even if he wasn’t, there was nothing either of us could do about it. I’d have to wait until we returned to land, which, as the sun had begun to sink closer to the horizon, I had to believe would be soon.

  At realizing I wasn’t going to argue, he said, “What are you in such a hurry to get back to anyway?”

  “My life, maybe?” I scowled, a bite to my words.

  “What part of this isn’t your life?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. “You’re living it, aren’t you?”

  “Just forget it.” I pulled my legs up onto the seat with me, wrapping my arms around my knees. I can’t explain it. I don’t know why the nagging feeling that something was going to go wrong had filled my insides with such vengeance, but as we watched the endless ocean, the gap between us and the shore growing larger and larger, my inner voice screamed that I’d made a terrible mistake.

  Finally, the man gave up, walking away from me with a simple shrug. He made his way across the deck, toward the only other girl on our boat. She was younger and outgoing, her short, black curls flowing in the breeze as she danced to the music that I’d all but tuned out. He began dancing behind her until they were both laughing so hard they had to stop.

  I couldn’t help staring at them with envy. I’d been carefree once, too. What had happened to that girl?

  Life.

  That was the answer. Life and a mortgage and a husband and responsibilities. This was the first thing I’d allowed myself to do in so long that felt free and reckless. I struggled against the worry, trying to bring myself peace.

  I stood from my seat, making my way across the deck and toward the bar and, as I did, the boat rocked with a big wave. I grabbed hold of the wall, just as everyone braced themselves. A bottle of beer slammed to the ground and rolled across th
e floor, spilling the wheat-yellow beverage as it went.

  Just then, the engine stopped.

  My heart sped up, my throat suddenly dry as I looked at the bartender, and then around at the others. Everyone seemed just as confused as I felt.

  “What the hell happened?” one of the men called. A dozen or so of the people from the deck—crew members, I realized, despite their casual clothing—disappeared below deck.

  I stared at each of the remaining faces in silence, my breath loud in my ears as chills swept over my arms. Finally, my gaze fell back to the bartender just as a few members of the crew reappeared, following two men in uniforms that matched the man who’d invited me. Their stern expressions looked official.

  “It’s okay,” one of them said, holding out his hands in a gesture of reassurance. “Nobody panic. We’re having an issue with the engine. We can fix it, but we need to get to the nearest port in order to do it.”

  Relief cascaded over me, but it was watered down in an instant as he went on, “There’s a port a few miles ahead. We’re going to ask you to bear with us. Once we port, you’ll have to disembark until we’re able to get it fixed.”

  “So, you aren’t taking us home?” the young Black woman with short hair asked, her voice shaky.

  “Unfortunately, we’re too far to make it back safely. We need to make it to the closest port.”

  “Which port is it?” the man who’d been talking to me earlier asked, obviously well-versed in the area.