116 P.M
ANTONIA
Antonia had no idea how long she’d been sitting there in the shade of the overhang on the main deck.
She was wrapped in several towels even though she had been dry for a while now.
She was shivering and hot at the same time, which didn’t make sense to her.
What was happening? Where was Ted? She distinctly remembered watching him swim toward the cave, his arms and legs flailing as if he were terrified of being in the water.
But that wasn’t right. He was an excellent swimmer. He wasn’t scared.
On the far side of the deck, Mercy was slumped to the side, her head on Winslow’s shoulder as he rubbed his hand up and down her arm in long, soothing strokes. Why was she so upset? And why was Winslow helping her?
Miguel appeared next to Antonia and handed her a drink.
He spoke in a low tone. “I thought you could use this right about now. It looks like juice but it’s full of booze.”
She looked at him, confused, not knowing what she wanted. “Should I?”
He sat down beside her and put a comforting arm around her. “Dear God, yes. You nearly died.”
His words bounced off and, on some level, she knew her brain was protecting her from the pain of what had just happened. “What? No, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t remember? Ted shot Travis with the spear gun,” Miguel said gently. He shook his head, his face scrunched up with concern. “But it could have just as easily been you. If Travis hadn’t jumped in the water at the exact moment that he did…I don’t think you’d be here right now.”
She stared at him without saying a word, feeling completely numb.
“Oh sweetie, drink up. You need to kick start your brain.”
“Okay.” She took a long gulp. It was light and tasted like grapefruit but burned a little going down her throat.
The police had boarded the yacht at one point, and they’d all been moved as far from the swim platform as possible so the body could be dealt with.
The body. It hit her again. Everything that happened after she locked eyes with her husband was blurry and mixed-up.
The silence under the water. Muffled screams that grew loud the second her head popped above the surface.
Blood darkening the crystal-clear water.
She was being yanked up by her arms and dragged across the platform. But who did that?
Travis splayed out on the white swim platform, red liquid leaking out and mixing with the seawater on the deck.
He still had the snorkel mask on. It was all so strange.
A dead man with a mask on. The crew kneeling around him with towels and a medic bag.
So much shouting, and Mercy screaming and holding onto him.
Winslow and Miguel gently helping her up and moving her up the stairs.
Charlotte. That’s who pulled her out of the water. It was Charlotte, of all people. She was clutching Antonia and saying something that made no sense at all. Something about Ted. And then they stood together, watching him swim away. Where was he going?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a nice-looking young man with a thick accent who was introducing himself as Detective Novak.
He was dressed in a short-sleeved button-up shirt and linen pants, as if he were attending an afternoon wedding instead of a crime scene (was that what this was?).
It was all so odd to her. “Dr. Dawson? How are you doing?”
Antonia looked at Miguel for an answer.
“She’s…slightly catatonic.”
The detective narrowed his eyes at the word catatonic, so Miguel tapped the side of his head. “She’s barely here.”
He nodded, then glanced at the drink and lifted an eyebrow at Miguel.
Miguel blushed. “It’s medicinal.”
“Booze?”
“Yep.”
“It’s probably not the worst idea.”
Antonia knew she needed to say something to the detective.
She wasn’t safe, but she couldn’t remember why she knew that.
Who was she afraid of? Ted? No, no. Not her Ted.
Never. He could be manipulative and cocky and overbearing at times.
Oh right. He was also a lying sack of shit. But he wasn’t evil. He wasn’t violent.
Detective Novak grabbed a chair from nearby, pulled it up in front of her, and sat down. “Dr. Dawson? Antonia? I need you to answer a few questions. Do you think you can do that?”
“I’ll try.”
“It’s very important that you answer me truthfully.”
“Of course.”
He glanced at Miguel. “Do you think you could give us a few minutes?”
Miguel turned to Antonia. “I’m going to be right inside, okay?”
“Thanks,” she said, feeling helpless, like a child watching her security blanket get washed down a river. Come back. Please.
As soon as Miguel left, the detective said, “I’m trying to piece together what happened here today and I need your help.
We have already spoken to a few people who described the incident, but I understand you were the closest person to both your husband and Mr. Bishop at the time of the shooting. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Did your husband have any reason to harm Mr. Bishop?”
Suddenly, it all rushed back to her. The look in his eyes.
The terror. The spear aimed directly at her.
The explosion of air against the water when Ted took the shot.
Her lungs felt like they had collapsed and she had to take a few giant gulps to fill them again.
She bent at the waist, feeling as though her bones had turned to liquid.
Rocking back and forth to get away from the pain, she whispered, “Oh God, he was trying to kill me.”
CHARLOTTE
Charlotte was in her room packing her things.
She was going to get the hell off this yacht and get back to the US as fast as humanly possible.
She’d had enough luxury for a lifetime. She used to think this was what she wanted, but now, having seen how miserable all these rich, shiny people were, she wanted nothing to do with this world ever again.
Her hands were still shaking from what had happened.
Even just being interviewed by the police was terrifying.
She was a witness to a murder. Or was it just an accident?
She had asked the detective, but he said that was up to the prosecutor to decide, not him.
She’d done her civic duty. Answered every question.
She’d even offered to give them the video.
She’d been filming underwater with her Go-pro, chasing a sea turtle, then she’d turned just in time to catch everything.
Ted was following Antonia. As soon as she stopped moving, he took aim.
Antonia saw him. She knew. Charlotte could tell by the way she was shaking her head.
If Travis hadn’t gotten in the way, the last thing she would have known was that she was about to be murdered by her husband.
Charlotte hadn’t wanted to turn on Ted like that, but then again, clearly he wasn’t the man she thought he was.
The sweet, thoughtful, protective man who made her feel safe and loved and seen.
That man could never do such a thing to the mother of his children.
So, Antonia had been right. That man didn’t exist.
Yes, turning on him was the right thing to do.
Besides, she was worried Antonia would tell the police about the affair, and if so, it would make her look like she was in on it.
Like they’d planned the whole thing. And there was no way she was about to spend the best years of her life in a Croatian prison for something she had nothing to do with.
She’d even tried to stop it, by screaming “No!” at him, but it was impossible under the water.
She certainly didn’t want Antonia dead. And there was no way she was going to marry a man who tried to murder his wife.
In her head, she could hear Antonia’s voice: If they do it once, they’ll do it again.
There was a knock at the door, and she hurried to answer it, hoping it was Oliver coming to check on her. She would cling to him and let herself have a good cry. It was all so terrible. And he’d be happy to be her rock right now.
Only when she swung the door open, Detective Novak was standing there. “It seems you forgot to mention that you and Mr. Dawson were having an affair.”
OLIVER
Oliver finally managed to go to his cabin to change out of his blood-stained clothes.
He’d wrenched his back pulling his boss up out of the water.
His muscles were aching and he longed to go soak in the hot tub for a couple of hours, but that was not going to happen, so he would have to settle for a quick shower instead.
The yacht was en route to Mali Losinj, the closest town with a police presence, along with both a police and coast guard escort.
The police boat had picked Ted up. He had been hiding just inside one of the caves and had probably been handcuffed by now, once they heard Charlotte’s account of what had happened.
Oliver stood under the spray of the shower, shocked.
Travis Bishop was dead. He had no idea what that meant for him, but he assumed it wouldn’t be long before Mercy would sell the yacht.
Not that it mattered. Not when a family had been torn apart.
Now that he thought about it, it was actually two families.
At least Charlotte wasn’t going to go back to the bastard.
A few minutes later, he was dressed in a fresh uniform.
He hung up his towel and hurried off, setting aside his sore back along with his own feelings and worries about the future.
He was a professional. Here on duty. He was going to continue serving and caring for the guests until the job was done.
He hurried to the bridge to check in with Captain Ben, who was sipping a tea at the wheel.
“You all right, young Oliver?”
“Fine. I’d like to stay busy. What can I do right now?”
“Go see if anyone is hungry or thirsty.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” he said, turning to leave. Stopping himself, he said, “Hey, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that today is the one exception.”
Ben narrowed his eyes in confusion.
“Today’s bad day at sea is considerably worse than a good day on land.”
The captain shrugged. “Is it really?”