Chapter 5

The first wave reached my duffel bag before I understood the tide was coming in.

I had been standing in the dark, staring at the empty horizon where the yacht had disappeared.

The sudden rush of cold water surged over my shoes and hit the heavy canvas of the bag at my feet.

The cold water cut through the numbness in my head.

If the ocean took the bag, I lost my dry clothes.

I lost whatever Luca's men had shoved back inside.

I grabbed the nylon strap and dragged the bag away from the water.

The shore was all sharp rock, broken ledges, and holes I couldn't see.

In the pitch black, I only had the sound of the crashing waves to tell me how fast the water was rising.

I took another step up the incline.

My wet shoe slipped on a patch of slick algae.

I went down hard.

My right knee struck a jagged ridge of rock.

The stone sliced cleanly through the fabric of my slacks.

A sharp, burning pain flared up my thigh, completely different from the creeping ache of the cold.

I pushed myself up, favoring my left leg, and dragged the bag farther inland until the ground leveled out into a patch of dry dirt.

I dropped the bag and sat down heavily.

Warm blood ran beneath my torn pant leg.

I rolled up the wet fabric and pressed two fingers beside the cut.

The bleeding was steady, but it wasn't pulsing.

I could bend the knee.

I could put weight on the leg.

Nothing felt broken.

The cut was bleeding too fast to ignore.

I pulled the duffel bag into my lap and unzipped the main compartment.

Luca's men had shoved my clothes back inside in a tangled mess.

I dug through the bag in the dark until my fingers caught the damp, smooth silk of the dress Sofia had ruined.

I pulled it out.

The reinforced stitching at the neckline wouldn't tear by hand.

I found a sharp edge of rock near my hip, caught the silk against the stone, and pulled until the fabric split.

I tore the delicate material straight down the middle.

I folded the cleanest section of the silk into a thick square and pressed it directly against the open cut on my knee.

I bit the inside of my cheek and pressed down with both hands.

I wanted to lift the cloth and check.

I didn't.

Pulling it away too soon could start the bleeding again.

I sat there for a long time, listening to the tide crash against the lower rocks.

Once I was sure the bleeding had slowed, I used a long strip of the silk to tie the makeshift gauze firmly in place, wrapping it around my knee and knotting it at the side.

My wet slacks were clinging to my skin, pulling the heat out of my body.

I dug through the bag again until I found my dry sweatpants.

It took ten minutes to carefully strip off the ruined slacks and pull the dry clothes over my bandaged knee without shifting the silk.

I backed up to sit against the thickest root of a dead mangrove tree, wrapping my gray sweater tightly around my torso.

I pulled my knees to my chest.

I didn't sleep.

Every time the wind shifted, it sounded like a boat engine.

Every time, it was just the waves.

The sky slowly turned the color of dirty ash.

Gray morning light finally revealed the shoreline.

I was sitting on a steep rise of limestone and tangled brush.

Below me, the ocean churned, slate-colored and violent against the rocks.

I checked my knee in the daylight.

The white silk was crusted with dark brown blood, but the edges were dry.

I left the bandage exactly where it was.

I looked at the rest of the ruined dress in my lap.

Luca had said a supply boat came every three days.

I knew he was lying about picking me up.

But supply boats didn't travel to empty patches of ocean.

Someone else knew this island existed.

I limped toward a higher branch of the mangrove tree.

I tied the remaining white silk tight against the dead wood.

The ocean wind immediately caught the fabric, snapping it loudly.

I turned away from the tree to look for a path inland.

My eyes caught something unnatural near the twisted roots of the mangrove.

It didn't look like driftwood.

I stepped closer.

A black stiletto lay half-buried beneath the dry dirt and root system.

The leather was warped by salt and sun.

I crouched down and brushed the sand away.

The heel had snapped clean off.

I stared at the pointed toe.

A woman had come to this island before me.

She had arrived wearing heels.