“Do we have her picture?” one of the men asks.
I pull out my phone, scrolling to a photo taken just yesterday—Alina laughing on the beach, her red hair caught in the breeze, freckles standing out against her sun-kissed skin. Happiness radiating from her like light.
Grinding my teeth, I take a screenshot and send the picture to Colin so he can share it. “Use this,” I say through clenched teeth.
The mainland grows larger on the horizon, the harbor coming into focus. My heart rate increases as I scan the docks, searching forLa Fortuna’sfamiliar silhouette.
“There,” Colin points to the far end of the public dock.
I see it immediately—my boat tied haphazardly to a mooring post, as if secured by someone in a hurry with limited knowledge of proper knots. Relief washes through me that we’ve found the boat, followed immediately by crushing disappointment that Alina isn’t still on it.
The moment we dock Andrea’s boat, I leap onto the pier, racing towardLa Fortuna. Colin follows close behind while the other men secure our vessel.
The boat is empty, as expected. I run my hand along the steering wheel, noticing smudges of dried blood—Andrea’sblood from Alina’s hands. The sight sends a fresh wave of rage through me at the thought of what she endured.
“How long ago did she dock?” I ask Colin, who’s examining the GPS unit.
“Three hours, give or take.” He gestures to a harbor attendant approaching us. “Let’s find out if anyone saw her.”
The attendant, an older man with sun-leathered skin, confirms a woman matching Alina’s description abandoned the boat almost three hours ago. “Pretty girl, red hair, looked upset,” he says in heavily accented English. “Headed that way.” He points toward the main road leading into town.
I press several large bills into his hand. “If you remember anything else, call this number.” I hand him my card, knowing he probably won’t, but leaving no stone unturned.
Three black SUVs pull up to the harbor entrance—our arranged transportation. Colin directs the security team to split between the vehicles while I pace the dock, scanning the busy harbor as if Alina might still be here, watching us.
“Boss,” Colin calls. “The cars are ready.”
I join him at the first SUV, where a local man I don’t recognize sits behind the steering wheel.
“We’ll take the airport,” I decide, climbing into the passenger seat of the lead vehicle. “Send two men to the ferry terminal, two to the bus station…” I trail off as a thought hits me. “With no money, she might try to sell something. We should check pawn shops, jewelry stores, anyone who’ll buy shit without asking questions.”
What could she sell, though? I mean… fuck. I know what she’ll want to pawn.
“We need to focus on anyone known to take diamond jewelry without asking questions.” Yes, I can feel the rightness of this train of thought in my gut. “She’ll want a hassle-free sale. So ifanyone’s known to haggle, that’s not for her. Alina isn’t greedy. She’ll likely only want enough money to fly home.”
Colin relays this info to the other two cars, and then we’re on our way, focusing on pawnshops and back-alley shitstains that fit my description for what Alina would need.
“I might know someone who can help,” the driver says. “My friend Ray hangs out around the airport to scam tourists. Want me to give him a call?”
“Yes,” I reply curtly.
I continue to stare out the window, searching every face we pass, every flash of red hair making my heart stutter.
Chapter 42
Alina
The diamond choker burns in my palm like Andrea’s blood did before I cleaned up in the middle of the ocean.
After making sure no one was following me, I paused long enough to wash the blood and grime away. Then I changed into the small tube top and denim shorts I’d left on the boat days ago.
I clutch the jewelry tighter, fingernails biting into my skin as I stare at the flickering neon sign of the pawnshop. It’s the fourth one I’m visiting today. The others turned me away with suspicious looks and questions I couldn’t answer.
But I need money. Need to disappear before Raffaele finds me. Before he makes me pay for what I’ve done to his dad.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The heat of the Caribbean afternoon presses against my skin, sweat trickling down… everywhere.
Even my feet feel sweaty in the sandals I’ve been wearing since… since I killed a man. Since I plunged a knife into my husband’s dad.
