Beach Thriller(96)
Chapter 59
Holly
Holly left the office and saw Ethan coming down the stairs looking crestfallen, and for good reason—no Jade.
When he reached the bottom step, she showed him a picture of Conrad’s referral form.
He took one look and gulped. “Jesus—this guy sounds unhinged.” Ethan’s eyes flared. “We have to find her. Maybe we have to shake Conrad’s tree a little harder. Let’s get back to Gail and Serena and regroup.”
They didn’t have to go far. Both women were hovering on the steps near the front entrance of Miramar. From up above the party lights cast an ominous glow as though the beach were on fire.
“Gail, Serena, what are you doing up here?” Holly hissed, noticing that both women had left their drinks and their posts. “Where is Conrad?”
Her friends exchanged worried looks.
Gail spoke for the team. “Holly, we tried, we really did. We were hanging around the tiki bar—having a nice conversation—when an alarm went off on his phone, and he just took off—didn’t even excuse himself—and rushed up the stairs. We followed, even though we were worried he might notice, but that guy was on a mission.”
Serena chimed in. “We thought he was coming after you, but he disappeared through a door in the hall. We tried the door, but it was locked. Totally creepy.” Both women winced.
So did Ethan. “I have a good idea where Conrad went,” he said, his eyes darkening. He guided them into the foyer, and pointed to the teak door with a seashell doorknob—the entrance to the tower. “That’s the one place I was never allowed to go. That door is always locked.”
Holly had thought they’d checked everywhere on the first floor, but they’d blown right past this one, partially obscured by balloons and directional signs for the bathroom.
“How the hell are we going to get in there?” Holly felt stress building in her chest.
Ethan cracked a smile and pulled a multi-tool from his pants pocket. “You leave that to me. I’m cheaper than a locksmith. I’ve had to open my fair share of old lockboxes and car doors. The older the lock, the easier it is to open. An ancient castle door shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Gail, Serena, I need you both to provide some cover—try to keep people from seeing what we’re doing,” Holly said.
“What exactly are you going to do?” asked Gail.
Holly stood tall. “We’re getting into that tower—and we’re getting Jade the fuck out of here.”
Chapter 60
Jade
My head lolls forward, straining my neck. Every sensation and sound feels distant, as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. The gas generator hums along, but it could be in another state for all I can tell. My senses aren’t completely dulled; I’m acutely aware of the foul smell of wine, urine, gasoline, and mildew all mixed together. My vision dims, but the broken bottle I’m wielding as a weapon remains sharp and clear.
My busted wrist burns as if I had put it on the stove. Waiting is the hardest part. It’s a different kind of torture than physical pain—a strain in my gut that won’t let go, twisting my insides every which way. And what am I waiting for? A chance at freedom, not knowing if I’ll die before I get my shot.
What I can’t do is cry. The tears are gone, all dried up. But a bottomless pool of regret swims inside me. I’ve spent so much of my life angry, pissed at my parents, my misfortune. Now all I want is to live. To be part of a family.
Holly. Her name gives me hope. She’s the first person to make me feel like I belong, like I matter. I’m gutted at the prospect of exiting this world like Elizabeth Ward—helpless, alone, irrelevant.
I don’t matter anymore. Funny how this happens just when I start to believe I could be important to someone else. But that’s how things always go for me.
Do I pray? I don’t think I know how. Still, I send up a plea to the heavens. God, give me one chance, one last shot. I envision using the broken bottle to kill my would-be murderer. My lips move, whispering the words: One shot … one shot … please.
I’m leaning against the door when I hear it—a prayer answered. A click in the lock. Is it just my imagination? No, the door shifts, pressing into my back. I’m so weak, so exhausted, but this is my only chance.
I slide to my left. Whoever enters will see an empty room until they turn in my direction—then I’ll be there, ready to pounce. But I can’t stand up. I try, but it’s no use. My muscles have no strength left. I’m running out of time. The door swings open. The room blurs into a haze. My eyes aren’t ready for the low light from the hallway that fills my cell.
I’m still on the ground as a shadowy figure enters. It’s Conrad, I’m sure, but with my blurry vision, he looks smaller and weaker. Am I just giving myself false hope?
Fear saws into my bones. The figure halts abruptly, facing the window. Conrad looks confused; he glances around but doesn’t see me hidden in the shadows. I summon a burst of strength, pushing my feet into the ground as I ready my weapon.
One shot. One chance. Live … I want to live.
The figure turns, finally seeing me. I focus on the eyes of my target, wide with surprise, the whites expanding like an explosion. I don’t hesitate—not for a second. Spitting out a disjointed war cry, uttered from a place of deep fear, I hurl myself forward, the glass bottle aiming for the throat. I imagine the bottle is glued to my hand. I won’t let go. It’s sharp as a razor blade, good enough to maim and, hopefully, to kill. I must be quite the sight—wild, frantic, radiating fury. Nothing is scarier than someone out of her mind with desperation.