My stomach tightens. But if I want to be different, I have to change.
Plus, I do like the sound of a failproof plan.
“Fine.” Obediently, I start the story from the very beginning.
* * *
—
“I need you,” Phoebe whispers the moment I answer her call.
Elena flashes me an encouraging thumbs-up. We were in the middle of brainstorming plans—most of them too elaborate and outrageous to have any chance of success—when the trill of my phone interrupted us. Obviously, like me, Elena expected to hear something different.
“What?” I wave off Elena’s thumbs-up, my stomach tightening like a clamp. “Tell me what to do.”
“I’m at the harbor in Marina Del Rey. Please hurry, Liv.”
As she gives me the slip number, I jump from the lounger and run toward the server who’s given us our drinks, gesturing for the check. My heart races at the muted tone of her voice. Phoebe, who is always so much larger than life. It’s terrifying to hear her sound so small.
“Are you okay?” I squeeze my eyes shut as I wait for her answer, but I don’t get the reassurance I’m so desperate for.
“Just hurry,” she repeats before the phone goes dead.
“Charge everything to room 214,” I tell the server. “Do you need me to sign something?”
He shakes his head like he’s scared to answer wrong.
“Thank you,” I say, turning to run back to my chair.
It’s unnecessary, though, because Elena is already running toward me with all of our belongings wadded into her arms.
“What’s happening?” Her sunglasses have slid down her nose and are perched precariously on the tip.
“I have to go to the harbor.” I reach to pull my purse from her arm, but she takes a step back, holding it away from me.
“Something’s wrong with Phoebe,” I say desperately.
Rather than respond, Elena begins to run. I follow after her.
“You can’t come,” I call behind her. “It might be dangerous.”
She doesn’t acknowledge me. There’s a taxi outside the hotel, and she manages to whip the back door open despite the mess of stuff in her arms. Sliding inside, she barks “Marina Del Rey harbor” at the driver. It’s a miracle that I make it inside the car before he hits the gas.
“What’s happening?” she asks as the driver lurches into traffic, cementing her inclusion in whatever this is.
“I don’t know.” Sunscreen stings my eyes, and my heart pounds in my chest. What is happening? “I’m worried, though. Phoebe wouldn’t ask for help unless it was bad.”
I think of the time we hiked to the Hollywood sign and she refused to let Mac carry her the rest of the way down after she got knocked off the path by an unleashed dog. We didn’t realize she’d fractured her ankle until the next day.
“We’re lucky we were so close,” Elena says. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. Whatever it is, it’s going to be fine.”
I try to smile at her, but my face feels frozen. If anything happens to Phoebe, I’ll never forgive myself. I lean forward in my seat for the rest of the ride, like my body is a rudder guiding the car. Miraculously, traffic is not terrible.
“You should stay here,” I tell Elena when the driver drops us off in the parking lot. Before the words are out, I begin to run, calling the rest out over my shoulder. “I don’t know what we’re walking into.”
Once again, Elena ignores me, following close on my heels. The orange and pinks of the slowly setting sun bounce off the gleaming white boats, making them look like they’re in danger of catching fire. My sandals slap against the dock as I run faster.
“Phoebe!” I shout her name as I draw near to the number she gave me, panting with relief that the slip is still occupied.
“Liv?” She appears at the edge of an upper deck, smiling down at me. With a champagne glass in her hand and a white dress that flutters in the wind, she looks like the kind of woman who’d own this two-story yacht, not be held hostage on it. “You made it! Come on up.”
Relief crashes over me, making my knees go weak, but I manage to scramble on board. Elena comes with me, our arms brushing against each other, sticky with sweat and sunscreen. Despite my lingering panic, I find myself pausing for a moment to take in the covered sitting area with its navy-blue cushioned bench seating and adorable wooden table.
“If this is some kind of prison,” Elena says, echoing my thoughts, “your friend could do worse.”