Chapter 25
I’ve only been on Empress for a few days, and the new clothes Viv ordered for me from the mainland aren’t arriving anytime soon now, so I’m wrapped in the thick white robe that came with my room when someone knocks on the door.
Grimacing, I glance around, but I’m out of clean clothes. I could slip back into my lounge set, but I’ll need to sleep in that now, since I sweated through my pajamas during the discovery of Carl’s body. There must be a washing machine somewhere, but I haven’t had time to look for it.
The knocking on my door is becoming more like pounding, and I dart over to open it, wishing there was a peephole.
Trey stands in my doorway, face drawn. He glances down, realizes I’m in a robe. He should definitely leave. He should say he’ll come back later. But he doesn’t. He steps around me and slips into my room, even though I haven’t invited him in.
I’m immediately on high alert.
“I finished talking to the twins and Fiona,” he says.
I cross my arms and stand near the door, making sure to leave it ajar. The robe is warm and goes all the way down to my shins, covering up more skin than most of the clothes I brought in my duffel bag, but even so. This feels invasive.
“How are the others?” I ask, hoping to get this over with fast.
Trey’s mouth twists. “Not good. Fiona is absolutely hysterical. Rachel is trying to calm her down. Ashley is…blaming herself, I think.”
I examine the twitch jumping on his left eyelid. “You knew. About the affair.”
He sits down on my bed, and the presumption, the unasked way he plops down, irks me.
It’s technically his yacht—everything in this room is his, but I don’t appreciate it.
“Of course I knew. Carl and I are…were tight. I didn’t approve, though,” he says, looking up at me.
“I’m all for non-monogamy, don’t get me wrong.
I’m not into relationships myself. But the people I get involved with know that.
Cheating on Fee with a girl she’s basically roommates with wasn’t smart. ”
“You put a bunch of young, hot people on a yacht in the middle of the water,” I tell him. “You can’t be surprised that they all started hooking up with each other. That’s the premise of like a dozen reality shows.”
Trey cocks his head at me, placing both hands on the mattress underneath him and leaning back slightly, as if he needs more space to get a better view of me. “You seem…different. From the other day, I mean. When we talked on the deck during the party.”
Duh.
I seem “different” because I’m not starstruck or complimentary or channeling Sage’s extroversion anymore. I no longer care about Trey hiring me or my career path with Royal Yachts. There are other jobs out there; I’ll find one that doesn’t ask for my soul and/or life.
I was so awed by this man when I spoke with him at the party.
I desperately wanted him to like me, see me as capable, so that he would think of me as a long-term employee instead of an influencer.
Now I can’t imagine ever working for him again.
He’s one of those men who thinks the world was shaped around him when he was born.
I don’t want to work for Trey. All I want is to get off this boat and away from these toxic people who might be murderers. More pressingly, I want him out of my damn room.
I shrug. “I’m not a fan of this renegade detective work.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Isn’t it?” I cross my arms and stare at him baldly. “You’re trying to find out who destroyed the bridge so you have someone to blame for Carl’s death. And by what means? Osmosis? Whoever did it isn’t going to be willing to tell you just because you turn on the charm and ask nicely.”
Trey leans forward, his forearms resting on his dark sweatpants, which probably cost more than my monthly rent.
“A man died. I’m checking in with everyone.
I want to make sure you’re all doing okay.
I know you’re new, but these girls were close to Carl.
And if anyone felt guilty and wanted to come clean about the bridge because of it… Well, I want to hear that.”
“I didn’t destroy the bridge,” I say, hoping he’ll leave now. “I didn’t even know it existed until you showed it to me. And I’ll be happy to tell that to the police too when they finally rescue us.”
“Yes, the police, of course. Listen.” Trey gets to his feet and moves closer to the door, closer to me.
I step back so that my shoulders are against the wall.
“I want to handle this matter in-house. I have a very competent security team made up of former military and police officers. I’m sure they will be able to handle this. ”
“Hang on,” I say slowly. “What ‘matter’ are you handling in-house? The destruction of property or…”
“Carl was my friend. My responsibility. I will handle everything.” Trey takes a step closer to me again.
“You can’t do that.” I glance out the open door. The hallway is empty and quiet. The sound of another wave smacking into the side of the yacht comes from behind Trey.
Trey presses, “I trust my men to do a better job of this than the local cops. They’ll prioritize it.”
“I’m no Supreme Court justice, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how the law works,” I argue. “You can’t decide to not involve the police when someone dies on your property. Even if it’s an accident.”
“You can if you’re me.” He smiles then, donning a charming, self-deprecating expression that lightens his features and makes me nervous.
He is only a few feet from me. He smells like whiskey and cologne.
He reaches out and very slowly, very gently, drags a finger down the side of my face.
“You know, you remind me of Viv, a little bit. Sharp tongue. Unafraid.”
“Actually, I’m very afraid,” I say. “I’m trapped on a yacht during a hurricane with a dead body upstairs, and now a man I don’t know at all is cornering me in my own room.”
Trey’s hand freezes and drops from my face.
The immodest glint in his eyes vanishes.
He clears his throat and recites as if speaking from a script: “I’m very sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.
That wasn’t my intention. I only wanted to make sure you were okay.
It’s been a long night. Or very early morning.
Whatever.” He avoids my gaze. “Get some rest. We’ll worry about our next steps when the sun is up.
If the sun comes up. Maybe there will be a break in the weather soon. ”
“Doesn’t seem likely,” I say drily. “Haven’t had a stroke of luck yet.”
“Well, we’re due for one then,” Trey replies, moving to the door.
“Hey, Trey?”
He pauses, suddenly looking hopeful, like I might have changed my mind about having my face stroked by a pompous billionaire. “Yeah?”
I just can’t help myself. I need to know. “Any idea where Elena went? After she quit?”
Trey’s face goes smooth and blank, erasing the guilt and desire. “No idea, sorry. I’m not really clued in on the day-to-day stuff. That’s Viv’s job. Ask her.”
He nods at me stiffly and slinks out of my room, glancing once over his shoulder.
I slam the door shut behind him, fuming. Not only did he try to hit on me when I’m half-dressed, he passed the buck entirely when it came to the sudden departure of one of his employees. What a snake.
The smell of salt rises, clogging my nostrils, so strong and so sudden I nearly choke on it. Breath, somehow cold and damp at the same time, puffs against the base of my neck, spreading goose bumps across my skin.
She’s behind me, I think, heart pounding. And when I turn around, she’ll be there.
The exhales on my nape come faster now, sending ricocheting shivers across my spine. The closed door warps, bulges, expanding outward as salt coats my tongue. The room is a pinhole I am trapped in, pressurizing around me.
My throat is numb, frozen from the outside in. I can almost feel lips, wet, peeling with sloughing skin, hovering centimeters away from my neck.
I can’t take it anymore. I spin around, stumbling, and then pause.
No one is there. The room is empty.
When I glance back, the door appears normal. The salty aroma has lessened, and I notice I’m standing under the AC vent.
“Idiot,” I mutter, placing a hand against my thumping chest. “It’s just the air-conditioning.”
What kind of hallucinations include olfactory elements, though? Maybe I have a fucking brain tumor. I swear I’ve read books that have that as the twist. That’d be the cherry on top of this whole thing. Idea stolen, best friend dead, brain tumor causing creepy visions on a murder boat.
I sigh, pulling fingers through my hair.
I’m being paranoid again. Everything is heightened.
My senses, my emotions. And I think, deep down, part of me wants Elena’s ghost to be real.
To have evidence of a ghost is evidence of life after death, right?
If I knew that Sage wasn’t doomed to eternal nothingness, if I could imagine her spirit roaming the world, getting to do all the things she wanted to do when she was alive, that was a lot easier than accepting she was gone forever.
“Come back,” I whisper to the empty room. “Elena? Let me see you again if you’re really there.”
But my cabin remains free of dripping, drowned influencers.
Wait. Influencers.
I still have Elena’s phone! I know I shouldn’t touch it again since it’s evidence, but it’s the only thing I have to go on. There could be something useful in her messages.
Scurrying over to the end table, I wrench open the drawer and tap the screen, waking her phone up, making sure I don’t touch the phone case or the fingerprint on the back.
I still don’t have her passcode, but all of Elena’s final notifications came through before the hurricane cut off service.
I can only scroll through the most recent banners, social media likes and comments begging her to come back online, but there’s one text nestled among the TikTok and Instagram notifications. From none other than Carl Mumford:
Trey said you went to work with Josiah in Seychelles?? I didn’t get a goodbye kiss ?
“Liar,” I spit, pulling back from the phone. I’m not sure if I’m referring to Carl or Trey or both of them. Both, I decide. Both is good.
Carl was clearly also messing around with Elena, and Trey either lied to Carl or just lied to my face right now. Either way, he wasn’t being truthful about what he knew about Elena’s disappearance.
I straighten, shutting the phone back in the drawer. I want to confront Trey. Shake him until he gives me answers. But, of course, that would be dangerous. And stupid.
A fishy, low-tide odor rises in the room. I imagine an unseen entity standing over my shoulder, splashing water and wet sand from her mouth.
Direct questioning isn’t working. So maybe it’s time for some indirect investigation. Starting with finding out where Trey’s sleeping.
I roll my shoulders down my back, jutting my chin out. The oceanic smell intensifies, despite no evidence of anything in my room that would cause it.
My heart, already broken from Sage, now feels covered in silt and calcified salt. Hard. Buried. I’m trapped here, yes, but that doesn’t mean I have no power.
If I can figure out what happened to Elena, maybe this haunting will stop.
* * *
I’m not afraid of running into Trey in the hallway.
And I’m back in my loungewear, so at least I won’t be half-naked if I do see him again.
When I told him off after he touched my face, he had done what I had expected—put his tail between his legs and fled, acting like I misread the situation and mortally offended him. That way, he got to be the victim.
He could still be a murderer, though. I have to remember that.
After determining that Trey doesn’t appear to be in the bridge, I slip upstairs.
I’ve decided to start from the top and work my way down, since there are fewer rooms upstairs, which will make them easier to rule out.
I avoid the main level, catching a glimpse of Carl’s body; Trey has spread a cream-colored bedsheet over his friend despite my insistence Carl be left alone.
In the upstairs hallway, it’s hard to see.
The windows and sliding doors that lead to the top deck are black.
The storm pounds against the glass, but it’s impossible to tell how bad it is now.
It’s nearly four in the morning, and it feels like we’re floating in a void.
The hallway lights are off. There are only dimly glowing outlets sprinkled along either side of the corridor; two trails of fairy lights—one going to Piper’s room, the other to Viv’s.
A muffled shriek echoes from Viv’s room, and I freeze, heart pounding. It sounded like the start of a scream, cut off quickly. As if someone pressed a hand over a mouth.
Okay, this might have been a terrible idea.
Someone killed Elena, and yeah, I think Carl died from secondary drowning, but what if Piper was right and someone murdered him too?
And someone definitely wrecked the bridge so that we’d be trapped in a freaking hurricane.
Yet I’m wandering around playing Nancy Drew like my life might not be in danger.
But Viv could be in trouble. I can’t walk away, even if I don’t like her.
Mouth dry, wishing I had grabbed a knife or something sharp from the kitchen, I quietly creep forward. As I get closer, I realize the door to Viv’s bedroom isn’t closed; it’s cracked open the smallest amount.
I tiptoe as close to the door as I can get, grateful that the threshold carpet mutes my movement. Leaning forward, holding my breath, I press an eye against the inch-wide crack in the door.
Viv’s room is dimly lit by two candles perched on the end tables next to her bed, and their glow casts a warm, flickering light that illuminates the two naked bodies writhing together on top of her covers.
Am I the world’s biggest creep? How is it that I keep stumbling upon people fornicating on this stupid boat?
But at least I’ve solved the mystery of where Trey has been sleeping.