The Siren, KATHERINE JOHN [positive books to read .txt] 📗

sank. I thought of Felicity and Jackson waiting outside, barely able to keep their eyes open, all because of me.

After a moment, the arc of a flashlight pierced the darkness.

“Hello?” I called out.

“What are you doing?”

The voice was Cole’s. I made my way toward him, praying he hadn’t seen Felicity and Jackson. “I was coming to meet you, but I couldn’t find my flashlight in my bag. I bumped into a table.” I gestured to the shattered vase.

“Did you do it?”

He shined his flashlight in my face, leaving me blinking and half-blind. “Jesus,” I complained, shading my eyes. “Yeah, I did it. Crushed the pills up in lemonade.”

“Where are they?”

“Felicity’s passed out in her bed in our bungalow,” I lied. “Jackson’s in his. I watched him drink the whole thing, so I know he can’t be awake. I’m worried about the water rising, though.” This, I thought, was a good touch.

His eyes were in dark shadow, but his mouth twisted into a hard line. “Why are you lying to me?”

My mind raced. “I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are, Stella.” Again he shone his light in my face. I winced and shielded my eyes with my forearm.

“I’m not, I swear! I did exactly what you told me to!”

His teeth glimmered in the dark as he pulled Bad Billy’s antique six-shooter from his waistband. My heart leaped to my throat. So much for reaching the guns before he did.

“Then why”—he fingered the gun—“did I see the three of you together by the pool, not five minutes ago?”

I froze, searching for an answer that might satisfy him. “You didn’t,” I managed. “It must have been an optical illusion. It was probably a tree branch or something—it’s so dark—”

“Lightning, Stella.”

Damn. I remembered the ill-timed flash of lightning as we passed the pool. There’d be no convincing him.

“Where are they?” he demanded. He hovered over me, the gun dangling from his hand. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

My heart was now beating so wildly I could hardly breathe. But this was my ex-husband. I’d once loved this man and thought he’d loved me. Surely he wouldn’t kill me. Courage. “Or what, you’re gonna shoot me?” I challenged.

“I’d prefer not to,” he said evenly.

Time slowed. I could feel my chest rising and falling with every inhale and exhale. “It wasn’t Jackson who wanted to cast me in this film, was it?”

He gave a slight shrug.

I knew I should stop, but I had to know. “Why did you ask me here?”

“You were right for the part.” His voice was flat. “I couldn’t imagine anyone else in the role.”

Now he was mocking me. “It didn’t have anything to do with the memoir I wanted to write?”

He adjusted his grip on the gun. “What are you getting at, Stella?”

I steeled my nerves. I knew what had happened now, though I still couldn’t fathom why. “Iris didn’t die of an overdose, did she? You killed her and covered it up with a car wreck so that no one would ask questions.”

For the briefest moment, his eyes met mine, and I knew I was right. I sensed the movement of the arm that held the gun, but I never had a chance.

Taylor

I awoke to pitch black and the sound of the wind and rain pummeling the roof above me with force. As I came to, a searing pain gripped my stomach. I gasped. It felt as though a cat was trying to claw its way out of me. I was disoriented, my brain foggy, my body heavy. My jaw throbbed. But it was nothing compared to the fire in my stomach.

Where was I? I could hear the violent ocean all around me but could see nothing. I felt along the surface I was lying on: cold and hard, walls about three feet high with rounded edges. A soaking tub. Why was I in a tub?

I felt something move at my side and shrieked, jumping out of the way. It was furry and small. A rat? What the hell? As I scrambled out of the bathtub, I stepped on the creature’s foot and it yelped. Or barked. I reached into the tub and took out a shaking Mary Elizabeth. Thank God. But why was I in a tub with Mary Elizabeth?

My stomach cramped as I stood, and I sat down hard on the floor with the little dog in my arms. I felt a cold wet in my pants. Had I pissed myself? Miscarried? I was pregnant. I knew that much. Or I had been. If the pain in my stomach was any indication, I wasn’t anymore. Unless, maybe I had food poisoning? I clung to the thought hopefully, though I knew that with the circumstances, it was unlikely. I closed my eyes and tried to conjure how I’d ended up here. I remembered last night with Rick. I remembered the storm approaching this morning, remembered moving the plane and boat up an hour…but then what?

Something nagged at the corners of my mind. I’d decided to quit my job. I was going to confront Cole. Had I? I set Mary Elizabeth on the floor and slowly stood, then felt my way along the wall to where the door to my bedroom should be. But it wasn’t there. Instead I found the sink. Odd. I felt around the counter for anything that might produce light, coming up with a book of matches. Hardly believing my luck, I struck a match. Sulfur dioxide burned my nostrils as the dark came to life in flickering gold. I wasn’t in my bathroom. This one was oriented opposite of mine, the countertop cluttered with high-end men’s toiletries and prescription pill bottles. Resting between the sinks was a black baseball hat that read “POWER PICTURES.”

Shit. I was at Cole’s.

I had confronted him. I couldn’t quite determine whether I was making it up or I actually remembered it, but regardless, the outcome seemed obvious. This was not food poisoning.

Another wave of pain seized my stomach, and something warm oozed down my