As if on cue, the lights flicker again—once, twice—then die completely. Light from the afternoon sky is the only thing that keeps the place from being pitch black.
I panic. “Oh, god. Scott?”
“It’s okay,” he assures.
I can’t help but sigh in relief as he takes a gentle but firm hold of my hand and guides me as to the couch.
“Thank you.” I feel with my hand for the cushion before sitting down.
Probably sensing I was okay, he lets go of my arm. He sits down beside me.
He stands back up, looking around the living space. He then goes into the kitchen, coming back a few minutes later with a handful, plus matches and emergency supplies.
“How can you see with such dim lighting?”
I hear him chuckle. “Years and years of practice.”
When he sits back down again, he lights a match. A bright tiny flame appears in front of me. I capture a glimpse of Scott’s face as he begins to light each candle I’d found before setting them down on the table beside the food.
My eyes adjust slowly to the candle glow. I’m relieved to be able to see again. Outside, the storm howls as though in victory.
I’m quick to notice Scott’s pants are just as rain soaked as his shirt, clinging low on his hips, water trailing slow paths down the ridges of his abs and into the parts beneath the fabric. Every muscle is etched sharp in the dimming light.
Scott is looking around the space like I am when he stands up with one of the taller candles in hand, walks over to a corner of the space, and holds the candle up to a camera I didn’t realize was there.
Damn, they hide those things better than I thought.
As if satisfied, he moves on to the next one in his line of sight. Then the next.
“What are you doing?” I can’t help but feel hope surge through me.
“Confirming something.” When he reaches the camera that captures the threshold of the bedroom, he smiles. “Exactly what I thought. Cameras are down.”
I almost don’t believe his words. “You’re sure?”
He nods as he retreats to the couch. “No recording red light. No hum. I don’t even think they have a surge protector. Safe to say the storm shot their wiring to death.”
I glance down at the portable mic clipped to me, frowning. “But they can still hear us.”
When I look back at him, he seems to be contemplating something, as if an opportunity has landed in his lap.
“What is it?” I ask.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he reaches behind him, yanking his own mic off, and turns it off.
I look at him with wide eyes. “What are you?—”
He shushes me with a finger to his lips, then points to my mic, gesturing for me to give it to him.
I hesitate. In part, because I know it’s a bad idea. But at the same time…
I peel the mic from my body and place it in his palm. He’s quick to switch it off and set both our mics on the table like discarded restraints.
“Won’t they try to contact us and try to get to us if they don’t know what’s going on?”
“If this storm is as big as it is, chances are they’re having issues over at the villa, too. We’ll have at least a couple of hours to ourselves.”
Awkward silence falls between us. It’s palpable.
