Chapter 3
Kitt
I stand beside Fiona, praying to God no one notices how badly I’m shaking. Keeping my hands hidden deep in the pockets of my blue fleece pullover, I keep my eyes glued to the tops of my boots.
Fiona shakes her head, saying, “I cannot believe this,” for what feels like the hundredth time. Only, the “cannot” sounds more like it’s spelled the way they say it here, cannae. I love the Scottish accent and I try to dwell on the cadence of his speech as the inspector addresses our small, gathered crowd.
I look up at the man who’s speaking, arranging my face in a mask of calm.
“Again. My name is Detective Inspector Collins and if you have any—” He pauses for a moment, his dark eyes scanning the crowd. They land right on me. I swallow hard and clear my throat, looking away as he continues. “Any information at all, please contact me day or night. My number will be on the board in the big room. Any fact, no matter how trivial it may seem, could help us figure out who committed this horrific act, leaving one man dead and a building destroyed.”
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
I make eye contact with Detective Inspector Collins, or DI as they say, here. My stomach flips upside down. I’m going to be sick. Or pee my pants. Maybe both. I feel like he’s looking right in my direction and only in my direction, like he has some sixth sense telling him that I am the only witness to this heinous crime.
When I first agreed with the sexy dangerous man to keep my mouth shut, I didn’t know that a man’s life had been taken.
The tips of my fingers brush over my chin, thinking of his touch. Warmth creeps up the back of my neck, remembering his piercing eyes, his gravelly voice, his rough hand. Shame fills my chest as that heat seems to find its way between my thighs.
“Stop it,” I hiss.
Fiona shoots me a curious look.
I shake my head. “Sorry. Just scared.”
“Do all Americans talk to themselves out loud?” Her reddish brows narrow at me, but not unkindly.
I confess. “No. Just me.”
The junior detective standing next to Collins shoots an annoyed look in our direction. Fiona and I stop talking, straighten our spines, and stand at attention.
I try to focus, to look interested and innocent, but all I can think about is his face.
And murder.
Right now, Carol Ann is in town at the local morgue with one of the teachers and a dead body. As she’s distantly related to the man who died, she’s the one who has to identify the body.
Just before a police officer escorted her away, she warned us that tonight we’re going to be “drinking loads of wine after I get through this creepy shit. I’ve never seen a dead body before!”
Lucky girl. Wish I could say the same.
I have to go to the police. If it was just a prank with a homemade firebomb, if it was just property damage, maybe I could keep my word to the dark man with the bright blue eyes.
But murder…
A human being losing their life—changes everything.
Hiding out and pretending I didn’t see what I saw is just not an option for me. There’s no way I could live with myself if I didn’t tell the cops what I know. Not only could I not live with myself, but I also want to talk.
I can’t let a man control me or intimidate me into doing the wrong thing. I’m not a weak woman.
I won’t let him win.
The moment DI Collins dismisses us, I grab Fiona’s arm. “Fiona, come here. We need to talk.”
I pull her over to the garden shed.
She crosses her arms over her chest, leaning against the wooden door. “What’s wrong?”
Everything? I’ve witnessed a murder… How do I start? “I—um…so listen…” My stomach sinks and my mouth dries up. The words won’t come.
I sink down onto the ramp that leads up to the shed door. Crossing my legs, I sit there, burying my head in my hands.
Fiona crouches down next to me, her hand rubbing circles on my back. “Sweetheart. What’s wrong? I mean, besides the fact that our research center is gone, and a man died.” Even though I’ve only known her for a matter of days, a week on this island is like a month and she already feels like one of my closest friends.
“Sit down,” I say, my voice tight with unshed tears.
“Alright.” She takes a seat next to me, her hand still doing that nice circle thing. Little tingles dance over my skin, calming me.
“Fiona.” I catch her pretty green eyes, filled with warmth. Her brows knit with concern. “I was there. Last night. I saw the whole thing.”
“No!” Her hand slowly rises to her mouth, covering it. She openly stares at me. “Say it’s not true.”
“It’s true. I swear.”
She grabs my hands in her cold ones. “Tell me you’re joking. Like it’s a bit of American humor. A wee practical joke? Isn’t that what you say?”
“No. I’m being dead—” The word makes my stomach flip-flop again, thinking of the man who was trapped in the burning building last night. “I’m being totally serious, Fiona. I was there.”
“What happened? Wait—” Still holding my hands, she glances around. Students are grouped in small clumps. Some wipe away tears, others have already moved on, chatting and laughing as if nothing’s happened.
Standing, she pulls on my hands to bring me to my feet. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk. Let’s go to our room and lock the door.”
I’m shaking as I stand, my knees feeling weak, like I’ve just run a marathon. “Okay.”
Once we’re settled in our room, I tell her everything. The moment I finish relaying the trouble from last night, Carol Ann returns, oddly stoic considering what she went through. She quickly gives us the rundown of what she had to do, how the mortician held the hem of the white sheet that covered the body, then asked her if she was ready. When she nodded, he pulled the sheet back, revealing the face of Calvin Smith, a local man and third cousin to Carol Ann, who had no reason for being in the center that night.
“Why are you two locked up in here?” she asks when she’s finished.
I tell the story over again, ending with, “I’ve got to go to the police station in town and report this. Can you two come with me? Carol Ann, can you drive us?” There’s a bus line that runs from our place to town. “I don’t think I’m up for a public bus ride right now.”
I look from Carol Ann to Fiona. What little color that was in their faces has drained away. They look anywhere but at my face. I wait for one of them to speak.
Fiona’s answer finally comes in a shaky whisper. “You cannae go. Absolutely not.”
Carol Ann grabs my hand and leans in so close I can smell her patchouli-scented perfume. “It’s not safe.”
“I know he said I had to stay quiet, but a man died! I can’t?—”
“Shh!” Fiona and Carol Ann look at one another, then Carol Ann shushes me again. “Shh! No one can hear this. No one can know.”
“Okay.” I lower my voice. “But what they did was wrong. I’m going straight to the police station and I’m going to tell them exactly what I saw.”
Fiona’s cold grip tightens. “No, you’re not.” Her hand feels icelike through the material of my long-sleeved tee. “Kitt, look at me.” I glance up, my gaze locking with hers. There’s a haunted look in her green eyes and her bottom lip trembles.
Fiona isn’t just scared.
The girl is terrified.
Ice travels down my arms, forming a frozen rock in the pit of my stomach.
I turn to Carol Ann, thinking I can talk some sense into her. “But your cousin was murdered.”
Carol Ann speaks slowly. “I think I know who stopped you on the road last night. You don’t know who you’re messing with. These are very, very bad men. If they told you to stay quiet, they will hurt you if you don’t listen.”
“What about the police. Can’t they protect me?” I think of crime movies I’ve seen. I know the issues the LAPD has had with corruption but still, I’d think they could keep a witness safe. “Can’t they put me in a safe place? Hide me somewhere till they’ve arrested the men?”
The girls exchange a knowing look.
“No.” Carol Ann gives a hard shake of her head. “That’s not how it works out here.”
“How does it work?” I ask.
“Out here, our men carry out their own form of justice. There are laws, laws of the land held up by the men who live here.”
“Then why does DI Collins even bother coming out here?”
“The police try, but they often don’t get far,” Carol Ann says.
“And the police department is staffed by locals. You’re not going to say a word, sweetheart,” Fiona says.
Carol Ann stands from the lower bunk where we three have squeezed. She talks as she paces the room on the soles of her white Doc Martens boots. “You’re going to forget what you saw.”
“How can I, Carol Ann? A man was?—”
She stops me, lifting her hand, open palm facing me.
“Like Men in Black.” She raises and lowers her hand in front of my face, making a buzzing sound. “See? I’m erasing your memory. Last night never happened. You never saw those men.” She’s a natural leader, and now she’s taking charge, planning. “We’re going to take long, hot showers, get cozy, zip our mouths, and watch old Sex and the City DVDs on the uncomfortable blue couch in the big room?—”
“And make daiquiris,” Fiona adds, her head bobbing with a decisive nod.
“Brilliant, Fiona!” Carol Ann claps her hands together. “That’s exactly what we need to erase your memory. Daiquiris.”
Fiona nods. “Aye. Sex and the City and strong drinks. Golden.”
“Silence,” Carol Ann adds, her eyes heavy on me, “is golden.”
I agree to their plan. I take a long, hot shower. Shave all the hair off my body—an indulgence I’ve not had much time for since arriving. I smooth a sweet-scented sugar scrub over my skin, exfoliating till I have dolphin skin, a weird thing I like.
Afterward I take my time, drying every inch of my skin with a fluffy towel. Blow-dry my hair out smooth and silky and pull on comfy black leggings and a long-sleeved tee and sweatshirt. Tug my UGGs over my socks to keep my feet warm.
The entire time I’m preening, I’m telling myself that I’m staying in tonight. That I’m not risking everything by sneaking off to the police station later on.
We go to the big room and while the girls mix drinks in the kitchen, I manage to snap a pic with my phone of Collins’ card from where it hangs on a bulletin board. Fiona and I settle into the lumpy blue couch.
I don’t know that I ever remember having DVDs and it’s funny watching Carol Ann load the disc into the machine. She joins us, me in the middle. I’m on edge, tense energy flowing through me and keeping me wide awake and restless.
I’ve never been a fan of the series and now, it’s almost impossible to focus. When the episode ends, before the next one can come on, I stand up, stretching. “I’ve got to go to the restroom. Be right back.”
Fiona pops up from the couch, headed toward the kitchen. “Alright. We’ll refill the drinks.”
Buzzing on rum and busy trying to find the remote control to pause the DVD, Carol Ann doesn’t give me a second glance.
I leave the room, stepping out into the wide, empty hallway. There’s no one around so I sprint down to the women’s restroom to save time. Taking the single handicapped stall, I lock the door behind me.
My heart thumps as I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial Collins’ number.
His deep, thunderous voice answers on the first ring. “DI Collins.”
“Hi there, um. My name is Kitt and I’m calling you because, well...” I take a deep breath. Just spit it out already. “I was there last night.”
“The American from the research center. You’re saying you’re a witness?”
“Yes,” I say.
“It’s urgent that we speak as soon as possible.”
“I was the only witness to the crime. I saw a truck. A Toyota?—”
“Wait,” he interrupts. “Before you share any details, we need to get you to the station where we can properly record your statement. I’m sending you a car. I’ll call this number when the car arrives. Until then, just stay put in the lodge.”
“Okay, will do.” The plan feels safe enough to me. Straight from the lodge to a car with a cop inside, to the police station where surely, I won’t be in any danger, then I’ll be escorted back here.
Where I’ll beg my friends for forgiveness.
But how to get out of here unnoticed? I leave the restroom, walking down the long hall that leads back to the big room. When DI Collins calls to tell me the car is here, I’ll just make like I have a call coming in from home that I have to take and step outside. Hopefully, the daiquiris will have dulled the girls’ sense of determination to keep me put and I’ll make it out no problem.
Back on the couch, I’m sitting there, spine straight, pretending to laugh at the right parts but on the inside I’m a tight, spiral-bound spring of nerves. Finally, my phone dings.
A text, not a call. I look down. One word.
Here
I pop up from the couch way too quickly. “Guys,” I say, slipping the phone in my back pocket. “I just got a text from home. I need to go call back. Don’t pause it.”
Luckily, their eyes are glued to the screen. Fiona smiles to herself. “Okay, but be quick. This is the good part. Mr. Big.”
Guilt following me like a cloud, I leave the room, headed to the front entrance of the building. I grab my down coat with the fur trim from where it hangs from a hook on the wall. The heavy doors of the threshold are before me. I grab the handle, realizing I have a choice. I can push down on this handle, open this door, step out into the cold, dark night, and do the right thing.
Or I can go crawl back in my bed.
I’m in a new country. Entangled with a dangerous man. The sole witness to a murder.
Where I come from, young women don’t bow down to good-looking men who cup their chin as gentle as a kiss while they threaten their existence.
I grip the handle and push the heavy, windowless door open, stepping over the threshold. The loud thud of the door closing behind me is eerily final. The wind whips my freshly washed hair around my face, momentarily blinding me. Pointlessly, I try to tame a strand, tucking it behind my ear.
Pulling my coat tighter around my shivering body I look out into the dark night.
There’s no detective waiting out here for me. No vehicle with the word POLICE written along the side to let me know I’m safe, engine running, warm inside with a uniformed man waiting inside to escort me to a police station.
It’s a red Toyota truck. Him leaning against it. A single red rose in his hand.
He stands there, that corner of a smile on his handsome face. Bulky arms crossed over his massive chest. Nothing but a black tee shirt in this freezing cold night yet he looks as if he’s radiating heat. Long, muscular legs in light, worn-in blue jeans crossed casually at his ankles, and those heavy boots I remember from the road last night.
He gives me that crooked smile I’ve become so accustomed to even though I’ve only seen his face a few moments in this life, and he twists the stem of the rose. The blood-red bloom turns, slowly…
My life in his hands.
That’s what the symbolism feels like. What else could he mean by it? Showing up here? Bringing such a gift?
“I’ve made a mistake.”
I’ve got to get out of here now.
Unable to tear my gaze away from his face, I go to reach behind me, to grip that door handle like I never opened it in the first place.
Reading my thoughts, he shakes his head no.
“Don’t make me chase ye.”
He follows up the statement with a threat that makes my blood chill to ice.
“You’ll only make it worse on yourself than it’s already gonna be.”