Part 9 (2/2)

An eye.

Jenny woke, gasping. Drenched in sweat, confused, head pounding. Took her a long time to remember where she was. It was dark, and the cabin walls and ceiling kept merging with deeper shadows that moved in her vision. A golden eye hovered on the edges, but every time she looked, it slipped away. She could feel it, though: ma.s.sive, and wild, and pitiless.

It was hard to move, so Jenny didn't. Everything was tender, even her throat. Looked like night outside the porthole. Or early morning, according to the clock on the desk. Around 4:00 A.M. She had slept a long time.

Jenny dozed a little more, and the next time she was fully conscious, the sun had risen, and it was well into morning. She felt better. Less achy. Footsteps sounded outside in the hall and she slowly, carefully, sat up. Her shorts had slid halfway down her hips in the night, but she managed to tug them up before her door opened. Les entered, carrying a tall gla.s.s of ice tea and a m.u.f.fin. Shadows clung to his face, and his cheeks seemed more hollow. No sleep, maybe. Guilty conscience, she hoped.

”Oh, look,” Jenny said. ”You've come to kill me with kindness.”

Les arched his brow and took a very deliberate bite out of the m.u.f.fin. ”Sorry,” he said, mouth full. ”This is my breakfast.”

Jenny shook her head. ”Your pettiness used to be endearing.”

”It still could be.” Les held out the ice tea. ”Drink.”

She didn't feel like arguing. Her throat was too dry. He pressed the gla.s.s to her lips, tilting slowly, and she drank and drank, spilling some down the sides of her mouth, until there was nothing left.

”You look less . . . feverish.” Les brushed his fingers against her brow, and Jenny flinched away from him.

”Don't touch me,” she said. ”Really, just don't.”

His gaze darkened. ”I should have been honest with you from the beginning. About . . . everything.”

”Everything.” Jenny pushed past him, heading for the door. ”In this case, I really can't imagine how honesty would have solved anything. What . . . you would have told me how you were going to hijack the s.h.i.+p, murder Maurice, and keep me tied up? Don't think so. At least now I know who you really are.”

Les grabbed her arm. ”You have no idea who I am. If you did . . .”

Jenny straightened, staring dead in his eyes. ”So tell me. Make me understand.”

For a moment she thought he would try, but uncertainty burned in his gaze, and he let go. ”Later, maybe. I'll need to . . . show you.”

No time like the present, she almost said, but kept her mouth shut. Not entirely certain she was ready for the truth that he seemed so afraid of telling her.

He shuffled her to the galley. Fed her oatmeal. And then took her up on deck where the sun was warm and deliciously bright after a night of hard dreams.

”My wrists are raw,” she said to Les. ”Will you untie me?”

”Not a chance.” He disappeared inside the main cabin, closing and locking the door behind him. Five minutes later he came out with a first-aid kit, a soda with a straw, and a bottle of whiskey.

”This is going to be a long morning,” she muttered, looking at the alcohol. Les's haggard expression softened, but only as long as it took for him to take a long swallow directly from the bottle. The whiskey seemed to go straight to his eyes, turning them a hard golden brown.

”Wrists,” he commanded, and Jenny obeyed, turning to face the bow. As he rubbed antibiotic gel into the raw welts, she noticed a tarp-covered lump on the deck. It was about the same size as a body.

”Les,” she said slowly. ”What's that?”

His fingers stilled, and then kept rubbing. ”Nothing you need to worry about.”

She pulled away, glaring. ”If that's a dead person, I sure as h.e.l.l am going to worry.”

”It's not . . . not a person.” Les gave the tarp a haunted look, rubbing his hands together. ”Not like that.”

Not like that. Jenny ran from him, ignoring his shout. Before he could stop her she kicked aside the tarp.

A dolphin lay underneath. Dead at least several hours, given the dried look of its skin. Its eyes were rimmed with milky clouds, and its mouth gaped open. A jagged hole had ripped open its side. Spear-gun wound, maybe.

”You're psycho,” Jenny said, as Les drew near. ”What? This dolphin look at you wrong?”

”Yes, actually,” he replied tersely, and yanked her from the dead animal. ”Leave it alone.”

Jenny gritted her teeth and slammed into Les. He staggered back, and she kicked out his knee, sending him down hard. But when she tried to smash her heel into his face, he caught her ankle, twisting. Jenny crashed into the deck, but rocked sideways, fighting for some kind of momentum that would let her stand. Les got to her before she could. He grabbed her hair, placed his knee between her shoulders, and yanked her head so far back she thought her neck would break.

”Make no mistake,” Les said raggedly, ”about how much I care about you. Because I do care, Jenny. But you seem to be under the false impression that you have power here. And you don't. You really, really, don't. So it seems to me that I'm going to have to prove that to you. Because if you keep interfering with my work, I'll take permanent measures to get you out of the way. And I don't want to do that.”

”You talk too much,” Jenny whispered. ”a.s.shole.”

His mouth twisted, and so did the anger in his eyes. She wished she had kept her mouth shut-but it was too late. He dragged her to the side of the boat, and hauled her up into his arms.

”No,” she gasped. ”Les.”

”You're good at holding your breath,” he replied coldly. ”Don't worry. I'll come get you before you drown.”

He dumped her overboard. Jenny didn't have time to take a deep breath, and she hit the water with jarring force, which expelled additional air from her nostrils. She sank like a stone, and kicked with all her strength to reach the surface. She managed to, just for a moment, and swallowed air. Glimpsed Les standing on the boat, watching. And then she sank, again.

I had a bad dream. You, drowning. Maurice's voice echoed through her head. Jenny kicked hard, straining to break free of the ocean, but the surface remained tantalizingly out of reach. It shouldn't have. She was a strong swimmer. But the fever had taken more out of her than she realized. She was weak.

The more you fight, the harder it'll be to hold your breath.

But if she stopped kicking and sank, Les might never find her. If he even meant to. Screwed, either way. So screwed.

Jenny kept kicking, but not as hard. Just enough to keep her from descending too far into the deep. Her lungs burned. Stars danced on the edge of her vision. She wasn't going to last four minutes. Maybe not even two.

Warmth spread against the base of her skull. With it, a throbbing pulse, a little heartbeat, slow and steady. Jenny closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation, on staying calm.

But it was too little, too late. All her thras.h.i.+ng, every kick, ate up the oxygen in her blood-and her lungs screamed and screamed, those stars fighting behind her closed eyelids-and no one came, no hands grabbed her arms, no magic from the deep to save her.

Jenny opened her mouth, and water rushed in-a terrible crus.h.i.+ng force, just like in her dream. She had always imagined that drowning would be a painless way to die, but it wasn't. Terror made her eyes bulge, and she writhed uselessly, screaming in her mind.

Until, suddenly, heat exploded against her skull. A violent rush of fire. And all that water in her lungs suddenly didn't hurt quite as badly.

It took her a moment to understand. Even when she realized what was happening, her mind still couldn't comprehend it.

She could breathe. Not well, or easily, but even as the water choked, her lungs filled with air-a strange, heavy air that felt wrong and tasted bad.

But it was air. Jenny was so shocked she stopped kicking.

You're dying, and this is a delusion, she told herself, sinking fast. But she clenched her hands together and dragged in another terrible breath-and still lived.

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