Карен Кингсбери - A Distant Shore [calibre]

Once she was out a little farther, Eliza dove beneath the waves. There was no undertow today. Nothing but the satiny feel of the salt water against her skin. On days like this, when Eliza swam in the ocean, she liked to picture Alexa living in that apartment in Colombia. Right in the middle of the city. But Eliza had her doubts. The morning after Alexa left the Palace, Eliza had heard something that still made her sick. In the early hours of sunlight, Eliza had left her room in search of a drink of water. A team of housemaids were supposed to cater to the girls’ needs, but that morning none of them answered Eliza’s call. And the guards weren’t at her door like usual.

As Eliza rounded the corner to the wet bar on her floor, she heard Anders talking with one of his goons down the stairs. Eliza froze and listened.

Anders asked, “Was the money still on her?”

The guard grunted. Eliza couldn’t make out his words, but whatever he must’ve said or shown Anders, the Palace prince was quiet. After a few seconds he chuckled. “Good. She won’t need cash where she is now.” He paused. “You’re sure you took care of her?”

“Yes, boss. She’s gone.”

Chills had run down Eliza’s arms and legs and without making a sound she had tiptoed back to her room. Her heart had pounded so loud, she wondered if her father would come find her and beat her. Just for looking scared.

The way he had threatened to do more times than she could count.

So she had done what she often did when she was afraid. Eliza slid back under the covers, pulled the silk sheets and comforters up to her chin and squeezed her eyes shut.

What had happened to Alexa? Had the guards taken her to some remote spot and…?

Eliza couldn’t finish the thought. Not then or now.

A few more strokes through the water and Eliza reached her favorite part of the ocean. Beyond the rough waves but still close enough to see people on the shore. She treaded water as easily as she breathed. She’d been doing it long enough.

Her eyes searched the sandy beach. Aunt Betsy hadn’t been around for two weeks. She could’ve been dead, for all Eliza knew. Not that it would matter. Her aunt had been an alcoholic for years, drunk morning to night. Eliza had a feeling her father had long since stopped paying the woman for her services. Eliza didn’t need her mean aunt watching over her. Not when she had the guards.

Eliza remembered the last time she talked to her aunt. The woman was painfully thin now, her skin bunched and wrinkled from the sunshine and gin. “Where will you live, Eliza?” Her aunt tried to smile. “When you marry Mr. Ellington?”

It had taken Eliza a moment to realize why her aunt was asking. “The money… is that it? You know about the money?” Her father had promised her the same thing he’d promised all the girls on their twentieth birthdays. Ten thousand dollars. But she was to use it to purchase clothes and jewelry. So she could look the part of the princess.

Her aunt raised her eyebrows. “I’ve given my life for you, Eliza. A cut of that money is due me, don’t you think?” The woman rocked back on her feet. “Plus… you’ll need… someone to help you manage it.”

Eliza didn’t have to think about her response. “My father paid you for years. You’ve made enough money off me.”

Aunt Betsy gasped. “I have no idea what you could possibly mean.” Her hand flew to her chest. Resentment flashed in her eyes. “All you’ve ever been is ungrateful.”

Ungrateful? If Eliza had it her way, her aunt would be arrested and thrown into prison for helping her father traffic girls at the Palace. But there had been no point explaining that to the old drunk woman.

Eliza tipped her head back into the water, and lifted her gaze to the cliff where the guards waited. They were talking, distracted by something down the beach. What if she swam a mile down the shore and climbed out over the rocks? Maybe she could simply walk away? She looked through the sea at her designer swimsuit. She wouldn’t get far without her cover-up and some cash. The guards always told her if she stepped out of line… if she got swept away in a current or created any cause for attention, her father would turn on her. Eliza didn’t want to know what that meant.

Because of her father, Eliza had always believed she had no choice. The other girls thought that, too. Her father controlled Belize City. People parted the crowd ahead of Anders and locals groveled for his attention. “Prince Anders!” they would call out. Like they actually believed he was a prince. Anders McMillan, royalty.

Even though they knew he dealt drugs and kept girls at the Palace.

The saddest thing was that not one person in the village ever tried to rescue Eliza or the other girls. Because the people didn’t only seem impressed by her father. They feared him. Because Anders McMillan always found a way to escape the law. To avoid being busted, when he first started out her father had changed the name on the front of the big white house every year or so. It had been a bridal shop, and then a hotel. A school and later a salon. A massage parlor. And now it was simply the Palace. No one called the police about Anders. As if dealing drugs and selling girls to tourists was perfectly normal.

Maybe, after she was married, she could find a way to escape the younger Henry Thomas. She could run away in the dark of night and catch a plane to Colombia. Alexa might still be alive, and if she was, Eliza would find her and they would be roommates like they had dreamed of being. It could still happen.

And if she couldn’t find Alexa, then Eliza would move to the South of France or somewhere in Sweden. An unassuming place, cold and clean. But one thing was certain. If Eliza could escape her forced marriage, if she couldn’t reunite with her friend, then she would live alone all the days of her life. She would never fall in love, never give herself willingly to a man as long as she drew breath. Her life would be hers and hers alone. And she would certainly never have a baby.

Not in a world that cared so little for children.

If she could escape her groom, she would get a job waiting tables, so she could make enough money to survive. And she would spend the rest of her life reveling in the one thing she desperately wanted. The thing she hadn’t had since her mama brought her and Daniel to Belize City.

Freedom.

Her swimming time was over. Eliza lifted her eyes to the blue sky. Whatever happened to the teenage boy? The one who had rescued her? Couldn’t he tell she didn’t want to be dragged from the ocean that day? The water was her sanctuary. Beneath the water would’ve been even better.

Eliza wiped the water from her eyes. She could see the guards on the hillside, getting restless, watching her, adjusting their heavy black rifles. “I’m coming,” she whispered. She made her way onto the shore and pulled her wet blond hair into a knot at the back of her head.

The future of her father’s dynasty depended on her obedience.

Eliza slipped into her cover-up, and climbed the path built into the edge of the mountain. Halfway up on a narrow plateau she met the guards, and without saying a word, they fell in behind her and followed her to the biggest of the Palace bedrooms.

Top dollar deserved top accommodations. That’s what her father always told her. And even though she’d never been with a man, her time was coming. Nine days from now.

Once Eliza was inside her room, when the door was shut, she thought of Alexa again. What if her father did have her killed and what if he’d gotten his money back? What if Henry Thomas was even meaner than her father? If that was the case, Eliza was ready.

She opened the top drawer of her armoire and sifted through her silk underclothes. Wrapped in a camisole at the bottom was a butcher knife. One she’d stolen from the kitchen late at night a week ago.