Hours pass in relative shocked silence. Harper reads—this time she turns pages. Camilla and Malcolm whisper almost constantly. Something is up with them, beyond the obvious. Ava and James are in their own little world.
I sit by the window, watching the rain pelt the glass, waiting.
The storm is here.
Reeve and Gibson have been back in the control room, trying to rewire the internet connection. It’s been almost two hours, and nothing is fixed, so it doesn’t look good.
I can hear the wind howling, even over the roar of the fire Malcolm lit. That was a strange moment. Without a word, he got up from where he was sitting with Camilla, lit the fire, and returned to her.
It’s not cold inside.
I guess he’s trying to make us feel more comfortable.
Wind and rain batter the hotel. We’re completely stuck here tonight. Even if we could get word to anyone off this island, no one would risk coming here.
These sorts of storms aren’t typical. We just got very unlucky. I look around the lobby at the other unfortunate humans trapped here with me. We’re missing two. Will and Kenna.
Our earlier decision to not search for her still haunts me.
We’re all scared, though no one will say it.
We didn’t try hard enough to help her.
How do we live with ourselves?
“What’re you thinking of?” Reeve asks, sitting beside me. He has a bowl of chips and salsa that he places on the table in front of me. “None of us are that hungry after everything, but we have to eat.”
I sit up straight, my mouth watering despite my stomach churning over. “How’s it going? Did you fix the wires?”
He winces like it hurts to deliver bad news. “We’re looking for some new wires to replace the old ones. They’re unsalvageable. Gibson’s checking storage. I’m sorry.”
This feels like a waste of time. They’re not electricians. I understand the desire to do something, though, to at least try, even if it’s a long shot.
I’m going out of my mind sitting here waiting.
“It’s not your fault. There’s no spare wire here at all? That seems…suspicious for an island. You’d have supplies, surely?”
“We have some, but we can’t keep a replacement for everything here. There’s not enough room and no one thought we’d have so much damage. We have spares for realistic events, not massive sabotage.”
“Right. Well, that’s a stupid idea.”
Reeve laughs, nodding, and nudges my arm playfully. “I agree. How are you doing?”
“We don’t have enough time to analyze that one. I just want to go home.”
“I’ll do everything I can to get you there, I promise.”
I smile and hope that he can’t see through the doubt in my eyes. “I know you will. I can’t stop thinking about Kenna.”
He ducks his head, and it’s nice to know I’m not alone with my guilt. “Yeah, she’s not been far from my mind either. She was nice. Great chef. Her burgers are to die for.”
I lift a brow.
His face falls. “Sorry, bad choice of words. Forget I said that.”
The choice of the word die isn’t what I reacted to.
As I dip a chip in salsa, I wonder if Reeve caught his use of past tense when he spoke about Kenna.
He keeps his head bowed and sighs.
He said that she was nice. Then again, he also said her burgers are to die for.
I’m overthinking. He probably just misspoke.
Reeve couldn’t have done this. He wouldn’t. As much as I don’t want to believe that I’ve made friends with—and crushed on—a killer, I have to remind myself that I don’t know him.
I don’t know anyone here. It was only yesterday that we met. The only one of them I had any previous contact with is Harper, and that was only a few messages on Insta.
Reeve was the last one to go to bed. According to him, he was still up when I came down. We just missed each other. Unless we didn’t and he was hiding from me.
What if Will was just late and Reeve murdered him after I went into the park?
Would he have had enough time to do all that—hide Will’s body and get back inside before I returned? I only waited by the fire for, like, ten minutes before I briefly went outside. Then I was walking around the park. It’s super risky.
Was he the person I thought I saw when I was out there? He could have been running to get back into the hotel first and avoid being seen.
There are holes in the story, though. Like, why would he kill Will? He didn’t know we planned to sneak into the park.
Maybe I should check Will’s and Reeve’s social media to see if there’s a link.
Reeve doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who spends much time on TikTok, but someone with no socials is totally sketchy.
And what if I stop speculating and deal with facts?
“What’re you thinking, Paisley?” Reeve asks.
“What?” I plaster on a smile and look into his eyes.
“You’ve been holding that same chip for about fifteen seconds and the salsa is about to drop.”
“Dammit!” I hold my palm under the hand that’s about to let bright red salsa drip on Malcolm’s expensive sofa. I take a bite and we’re clear. I won’t have to pay for anything to be professionally cleaned.
“What’s your angle?” he asks.
“Oh. No, I have no clue. It’s annoying, actually.”
His eyes narrow a fraction. “Really?”
Clearly a sudden change in my personality isn’t something that he’s going to buy. I’ve got to be smarter than that. I’m usually fast on my feet, quick to think and make excuses that sound legit.
“Sorry, the trauma of seeing Will…It’s all so crazy. My mind is a little frazzled. I’m not on top of my game.” I back up my speech with a smile, the same one I use when I lie to my parents about where I’ve been.
The “please believe me” smile.
It has a sixty-forty success rate.
“Understandable.”
“What’s your angle?” I ask. “You work here, you’ve been around all the staff. The ones who left when we got here and the ones who’ve stayed.”
He lies back in his seat and crosses his legs at the ankles. “Hmm. Well, I was thinking. Just because those staff members were scheduled to leave, doesn’t mean they did. They have a room. They know the island. It wouldn’t be too hard to slip away and get back to the staff quarters. Or there could have been more on the island from the previous week.”
“You mean since more people were on the island to begin with, someone could have stayed much longer, preparing for this?”
I want that to be true. It’s easier to handle thinking it’s a complete stranger and not someone I’ve spent time with here.
“The CCTV stopped recording from when we got off the boat, right?”
He points at me, smiling. “You’re good.”
There will be footage of everyone who arrived before we did. We can figure out from there who didn’t leave.
“Do you have a full staff list?” I ask, my eyes casting over the lobby.
Malcolm is by the weapons cabinet, staring at it. He’s put on his long coat despite it being warm in here. Camilla hasn’t moved.
“Yeah, of course. It’s not something I’ve seen or would need, but it’s on the server. I can pull it up. People have been coming and going for the last three weeks, though. Things are ramping up now that we’re getting ready to open. We’ve had orientations, practice runs, get-to-know-you days. Those were particularly awful.”
I hate forced games. They’re always so awkward.
“We’ll go back from Monday and tick off everyone who left yesterday. Then go back further if that doesn’t give us anything.”
Reeve nods in agreement. “I need to let Gibson know what I’m doing while he searches for wire we’ll likely never find.”
Malcolm’s spindly shadow casts over Reeve’s face. He folds his arms over his chest. It’s unnerving. I didn’t see him move toward us. “You two look rather serious.”
“Paisley had an idea.”
Malcolm sits at the end of my sofa. He presses his fingertips together like he’s hatching a plan to take over the world. “Oh?”
It’s hard to tell what Malcolm thinks of me. It’s hard to tell what he thinks at all. He’s got a great poker face.
I know I’m not here because he’s a fan; he proved that by not bothering to use my name. We’re all on this island because he thinks we can convince wealthy people to spend their cash here.
Up until last year, I personally wasn’t that wealthy. It was just my parents. Now I can afford to put myself through college all on my own. I’ve gotten tons of messages from rich college students who are studying things like law, crime, and forensic science. People with important parents—successful attorneys and business owners, hedge fund managers and even a few celebrities.
Those are the people Malcolm would love to have here most.
I explain my theory about the perpetrator, Reeve backs me up, and Malcolm finally agrees. It took Reeve to convince him but at least it’s done.
“We do need to know who’s doing this. We can’t just sit here until someone realizes they haven’t heard from us,” Malcolm says, rubbing his lightly stubbled face.
“These guys spend so much time online. Surely someone will start questioning the radio silence soon,” Reeve says.
And people say screen time is bad for you. It might just save our lives.
“Well, wouldn’t that be something,” Malcolm says, raising both brows.
“You don’t like social media?” I ask.
“I don’t like the side effects.”
“Like people knowing about your business?”
“I’m talking about the negatives. Everyone and everything look so perfect online. In reality, people have issues, skin has texture, teeth don’t glow, and stomachs have rolls.” His voice is almost angry, but he controls himself and grins a little too wide.
Okay, he has a point there, but it’s not very helpful to our situation, and his tone was also a bit creepy.
“Do you want anyone else to go with you and Paisley?” Malcolm asks.
The security room isn’t far from the lobby and it’s, thankfully, not underground. Not that my phone works anyway.
“No. Gibson is busy. I’m going to ask Liam to help him,” Reeve says. “Paisley and I know exactly what we’re looking for. Anyone else might just slow us down.”
That’s not strictly true. Wouldn’t it be better for Camilla to go with him? She knows the staff too. But once I’ve seen the staff’s photos, I’ll recognize them. Still, Reeve’s not picking the best sidekick.
Actually, this is my theory. He is my sidekick.
I’m not going to tell him another member of the staff would be more helpful because I want to be the one down there.
“I’m going to grab a coffee before we get started. Want one?” he asks as we stand.
“Er, yeah, thanks.”
Malcolm floats away in the direction of Camilla. He’s always so controlled, moving swiftly and purposefully. It’s weird as hell.
At the bar, Camilla is still a little hysterical, shaking her head and tapping at her useless phone. Malcolm hangs back, completely out of his depth. He has no clue how to handle someone so emotional.
It’s kind of amusing, really.
Someone needs to take that thing off her. It’s not going to work. Mine’s dead after taking a lot of videos this morning. I’ve not had the courage to ask someone to come to my room with me to get my charger. With everything that’s going on, that seems a bit heartless. Our phones have no service anyway.
Since there is absolutely no way I’m going to go alone, I follow Reeve toward the bar and take a seat. He goes behind and starts to prepare two coffees.
Malcolm and Camilla don’t even look my way. He’s moved closer to her and they lean in, huddling together and whispering. They haven’t even noticed that we’ve moved closer.
Camilla shakes her head. Fear flickers in her eyes so acutely that I feel a bolt of dread ripple down my spine.
They’re too far for me to hear what they’re saying, but I can read Camilla’s lips.
Robert.
She’s scared of someone named Robert.
Who the hell is that?
No one here is named Robert.
Malcolm shakes his head, his eyebrows pinched together, but she repeats the name two more times.
Whoever it is, Malcolm doesn’t think he’s in danger…or that Robert is dangerous.
Why wouldn’t they share their concern with us? This Robert could be the person who killed Will and took Kenna. We should all know who this guy is and what he looks like.
“Ready?”
Reeve’s voice makes me jump. I didn’t notice him walking around the bar holding two takeout cups of coffee.
He hands me one. “Thanks. Yeah, I’m ready.”
Reeve leads the way and the second the door clicks shut behind us. I ask, “Who’s Robert?”
“Sorry?”
“At the bar just now, I heard Malcolm and Camilla whispering. She looked petrified and she said the name Robert. Is there someone here with that name?”
“Maybe. We’ll have to check. You said she was worried?”
“No, I said petrified. Whoever Robert is, she’s more than just worried about him. Way more.”
Reeve puts his coffee down and fires up the computer.
I sit in front of the screens and wait as he clicks a bunch of icons and inputs passwords.
He does a quick glance my way. “Whatever you see in here, you need to forget.”
“Got it,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
Sure, he shouldn’t be showing me staff details, but I’m hardly going to publish this information. All I care about is finding this sick asshole and getting home.
Reeve taps on the keyboard and a folder named staff opens. I take a sip of coffee and pray that it wakes me up a little. It’s not even late but I feel like I’ve been awake for days.
There are folders within that one for each staff member. One of the folders that I see as he’s scrolling reads convictions.
“There! No, scroll back up.” I point to the folder. “That one. Who here has a conviction? Is that what that means?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t show you that.”
“Why not?”
“Look, I get where you’re coming from, and I know what’s happening here. But I need this job, Paisley. I don’t have a lot of money, and Malcolm’s taken a chance on me.”
What does that mean?
He doesn’t want to share that information or…
“Reeve, are you in the folder?”
“Dammit,” he says, putting his head in his hands. He looks so defeated, hunched over and ashamed.
Okay. What’s going on?
I don’t move for a minute. He’s still, as if he’s trying not to be seen.
“Hey, it’s okay. Reeve, you can tell me.”
“I didn’t do anything to Will,” he says, sitting back up. This time his shoulders are back, squared. He’s ready to fight. “I’m not the person doing this. I promise you.”
Of course that’s what the killer would say.
My heart thumps harder. I want to believe him. “Please just tell me. I bet I’m imagining something worse than it is.”
He blows out a long breath and looks so sad it breaks my heart. What happened to him?
“Your whole life can change in an instant. One day you’re on track toward college and working your ass off to be an engineer. The next, everything is gone. One mistake, one second, and your world can be turned upside down.”
“What are you telling me?” I ask.
He reaches over, squeezes my hand, and quickly retracts it. “Okay…I got into a fight. In high school I’d hang out with some guys. We’d hit bars and be idiots. One night, this guy was giving us some grief. He started on Gibson and got him to the floor. He was about to get another punch in, but I got there first. The guy hit his head hard when he went down.”
I grip the edge of the chair. “He died?”
“No. He was in the hospital for a couple weeks, but he made a full recovery, thank god. I was charged with assault and spent nine months in juvie.”
What the…
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen. Seventeen when I was released. It’s not been easy to rebuild my life. Not many people are willing to take me on. I was trying to protect my friend. I never meant for the guy to get that hurt.”
I clear my throat. “Okay.”
“You can stop looking at me like that, Paisley. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m not dangerous.”
I stare into his eyes. They’re honest, scared, and searching for something that looks an awful lot like acceptance. Reeve has probably spent a long time having people turn him away because of a mistake he made.
He trusted me with his biggest secret and now he wants to know if I’ll turn my back on him like so many others did.
It’s a lot to ask of someone you’ve known for a day.
“Reeve.” I let go of the chair and put my hand over his. This time I feel a jolt at the contact. “I believe you. My brother has gotten into fights before. It would’ve ruined his life if he was charged for them. Did anything happen to the other guy?”
“His parents were rich,” Reeve replies, patting my hand with his free one. It’s all the explanation I need. Money can fix almost any problem. “Shall we get on with this? I’d really like to get you off this island.”
I sit back, breaking our contact, and wave toward the screen. “Let’s get that list and find this guy.”
He scrolls past the convictions folder and we start to look for names.
“All right. Where are you, Robert?” Reeve mutters, his eyes darting over the screen.
“Check for a Rob, Robby, and Bobby, too.”
He smiles but doesn’t stop clicking and scrolling through names.
It takes less than five seconds to find him. Robert Jenkins.
Jenkins.
That’s Camilla’s last name.
