Switched (14 page)

I said thank you to Maria’s father, and we walked single file down the hallway through the house toward the front door. Nataniel was in front of me, looking at photos that hung on the wall, as he walked. I glanced at them as well. Most were of Maria, from baby through her teenage years, but some were of Maria’s parents and extended family. Then, one made me stop.

“Who’s this?” I asked Maria’s father, even though I knew perfectly well you it was.

“My patron,” he answered. “I am a cook on his yacht.”

I was cool as a cucumber. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t even blink. I didn’t want to arouse Maria’s father’s suspicions, didn’t want him to race after Bruno Perrier and shoot him dead. But my brain was going a mile a minute. I was Sherlock Holmes on speed.

Bruno Perrier was the link between Felicity and Maria. He was a lecherous gunrunner who had access to both girls. I was giddy with excitement about my brilliant deduction, and I wanted to announce it to the world. I had figured out who was the culprit behind the disappearances, and I might just save them.

I was also relieved to be able to move past suspecting Doyle. I could enjoy being his…well, his I didn’t know what… without worrying that he was a psychopathic killer or kidnapper or sex trafficker. I could happily do the dirty with him for the two more weeks I was on the island, and then…

Thinking about my relationship with Doyle, if in fact I actually had a relationship with him or not, was complicated. I didn’t know what I had started with him, or if it should continue. When I thought of leaving him behind and continuing my life in Chicago, I got an uncomfortable feeling in my chest, which I was trying to ignore.

Finding Felicity and Maria and bringing Bruno to justice were easier to think about than my future with or without Doyle. I craved closure, and if I couldn’t get it for me, at least I could try and get it for them. I also wanted to give them their lives back, even if I couldn’t get it back for me.

I was itching to leave Maria’s house and finish my investigation. I figured that Bruno had all the girls hidden away somewhere on his yacht. I had heard of human trafficking. What better way to do that than with a yacht that slipped through international waters without anyone questioning it?

I nudged Nataniel out of the house, and the second we got into his car, I updated him about the Bruno Perrier connection with Felicity and Maria. His eyes lit up. He had caught the investigative bug, too. He agreed that we shouldn’t tell Maria’s father until we had more information. Armed with a clue, he was as anxious as I to get moving and save the girls.

Forgotten was any discussion of me returning to the home exchange house and the existence or nonexistence of any more mice. Now, Nataniel was as singularly focused as I was. We weren’t going to rest until we ran down every lead.  Without prodding, Nataniel made a couple of calls and found where Bruno’s yacht was docked, and we drove over there.

As impossible as it seemed, the yacht was bigger in the light of day. It was docked at the end of a long pier in Palma, surrounded by other less gazillionaire yachts. It was sleek and modern, about three floors high and windows everywhere. A blue helicopter was parked on top near the back. It was slightly smaller than a cruise ship, but only slightly.

Nataniel and I walked down the long pier toward the yacht. “Something’s different,” I said.

“Is this the wrong boat?”

“No, it’s the right one, but it’s different. Quiet. Last night the music was blaring, and it was filled with partiers.”

“Perhaps they are sleeping. Perhaps the party is over.”

I didn’t think the party ended for Bruno Perrier, and the silence made me nervous. If he wasn’t partying, I supposed he was working, and Bruno’s work involved guns and terrorists.

I looked over at Nataniel. He was slim and middle-aged with glasses. He looked like a vegan librarian, and I doubted he could protect me from Bruno and his henchmen if it came to that. He was the opposite of Doyle. Doyle looked like he could eat nails, let alone make mincemeat out of Bruno Perrier. Doyle would have been the smart choice for escort when confronting a kidnapper, murderer criminal. If there was trouble, Nataniel would probably try to reason with him.

I stopped walking, frozen in place by my sudden good sense. What was I doing? Why was I walking into a death trap? Why was I putting my life at risk? Who the hell did I think I was? I was nothing like Rambo, and Nataniel was even less like Rambo.

“Do not get wobbly in your courage,” Nataniel told me. “You have nothing to fear. I will not leave you, and I am trained in jujitsu.”

He squeezed my arm a little too firmly, a hint at his strength. I raised an eyebrow. I couldn’t help it. He was very mild mannered.

“Besides,” he continued. “We are safe. I have my phone. I am a citizen. Trust me, Debra. We are safe.”

He took my hand and tugged. As we approached the gangplank, my worry switched to seasickness. Would the yacht pitch and roll while it was docked? My body had just recovered from the night before. My head was down to a low throb, and my stomach was pretty stable. I didn’t want to stir things up.

“Oh, look, it is the beauty!” Bruno Perrier was standing at the top of the gangplank with one hand up in the air, saluting me. His other hand was holding a glass, half-full of brown liquid. Bruno wore a gold robe, open to reveal his matching gold Speedo, which was a size too small and outlined Bruno’s manhood with nauseating detail. Bruno was endowed with more than his share of hair, which covered him from neck to feet with curly tufts peeking out of his Speedo.

“Come aboard,” he called. He seemed delighted to see me, almost like he had been waiting for me. He waved me up the gangplank, and despite my reservations, he was so welcoming that I walked up to him.

“Beauty,” he said, hugging me. He kissed me on both cheeks and wrapped his arm around me. “I am so glad you didn’t drown. I was sure you were going to drown. Are you hungry? I have duck.”

Bruno shepherded us upstairs to a patio with a bubbling hot tub. A table was set for one with enough food to satisfy Henry the Eighth. Nataniel and I sat at the table with Bruno, and a woman appeared out of nowhere with place settings for us.

Bruno shook his finger at me. “No vomit this time, beauty.”

My face grew hot. I had almost forgotten that I had thrown up all over his beautiful boat. “I’m so sorry about that, Bruno. I was seasick.”

“Beauty like you never needs to apologize,” he said, smiling. He forked duck onto his plate and scooped up mashed potatoes. “No Mr. Wellington today?” His eyes flicked to Nataniel.

“Mr. Wellington?” Nataniel asked.

“Doyle,” I explained. “My boss.”

“The big man with no hair?”

“Pretty big,” I said.

Bruno laughed. “I see what’s happening here,” he said pointing between Nataniel and me. “You exchanged the big, handsome, dangerous Doyle for this professor.”

“I’m not a professor,” Nataniel said.

“Does it matter?” Bruno asked with his mouth full of duck. “Profiteroles for dessert. You’ll join me, Debra?” He handed me a crystal bowl of profiteroles and ice cream. My mouth watered.

I spooned some in my mouth. “Maybe just a little. Actually, Bruno, I came here for a reason.”

“I love your reason. It is the most beautiful reason in the world.” His fingers danced up my forearm while he slurped up the rest of his dessert.

Bruno had a one-track mind. His thoughts seemed to be confined to raping me.

“I wanted to talk to you about Felicity and Maria.”

“A foursome? Sounds fun. The professor isn’t invited, though. I’m afraid he will have to leave.”

Nataniel shifted in his seat, but he didn’t say a word. He hadn’t eaten anything, either. Not even a profiterole. He was blank-faced. I couldn’t figure out what he thought of Bruno and the whole situation.

“You know Felicity. I have a picture of you two together, and Maria’s father is a cook on the yacht.”

Bruno pushed away from the table and stood. Two no-neck behemoths with face tattoos appeared and stared me down. I gulped.

“They’re missing,” I struggled to say. My mouth had gotten dry, and it was hard to get words out. Nataniel, however, seemed relaxed and unconcerned. “And we’re looking for them,” I continued.

“Looking for them on my boat. I’m sorry, beauty. They aren’t here.”

“But you know them,” Nataniel said. “You’re their friend?”

“I know them,” Bruno said. “I’m not sure friend is the right word. I’m not sure it’s any of your business, professor.”

“Did they visit here?” Nataniel asked. “Did they enjoy your yacht, your parties? I can imagine they were impressed by your wealth. Perhaps they wanted to be more than just friends.”

Nataniel had leaned forward, as if he wanted to capture Bruno’s words while he answered his questions. But Bruno wasn’t interested in answering Nataniel’s questions. He wasn’t even interested in Nataniel. I expected him to swat him like a fly, but Nataniel didn’t elicit even that much attention from him.

Bruno stood up. “Time for second dessert.”

The henchmen walked around the table. One of them clamped his hands on Nataniel’s shoulders, and the other grabbed my arm.

“Hey!” I shouted. He squeezed my arm and tugged in the direction of Bruno, who was walking inside the yacht. I cried out in pain and dug in my heels, forcing the no-neck monster to drag me.

“Help! Help!” I screamed. I looked back at Nataniel, but he had his hands full of his own no-neck monster. “Help!” I screamed again.

“Save your breath,” my henchman told me. “They never hear the screams from here.”

I tried to wrench my arm away from the tattooed goon, but he was way too strong. He pulled me along, effortlessly. I kicked at his legs, but he shook me like a maraca until I stopped. I managed to punch him in the gut, but I might as well have punched a stone wall. No matter what I did, he dragged me at a steady pace toward my doom.

Bruno was somewhere ahead of us, walking through the maze-like yacht. He never turned around once, not even when I screamed “Let me go!” or “Help! Murder! Rape!” or “Fuck off, fucker!”

I tried to reason with my kidnapper. I tried to bribe him. “As soon as I pay off my Visa, I will get you a cash advance,” I offered him. No response. Not even a grunt. I didn’t blame him. It wasn’t much of a bribe.

“What would your mother say about your behavior?” I asked him, trying to play to his family side. Give him a little guilt.

Nothing worked, and before I knew it, the behemoth threw me into a cavernous bedroom and locked me in. I was at first relieved that he was on the other side of the door, but my relief was short lived when I realized I was locked in with Bruno.

Something told me that Bruno was a lot scarier than the no-neck, face-tattooed mouth breather.

I struggled to my feet. I had gotten a nasty rug burn on my knees when I was thrown into the room, and it was hard to straighten my legs. I stood and dusted myself off. My shirt was twisted, and one of my sandals had fallen off.

I looked around the room. Besides the door, the only way out were a few small windows on the other side of the room. There must be a way of escaping, I thought. Bruno wasn’t that strong, and I bet I could fit through one of the windows. I just had to make it around him, open a window, climb out, and run like hell before one of his henchmen found me and turned me into little, jagged pieces of single girl.

Bruno’s bedroom was decked out completely in red. Red carpeting, red walls, red furniture. His bed was huge, covered in red satin pillows. I guessed that’s where I was supposed to go. For the time being, Bruno was stretched out on a red couch, perfectly relaxed and seemingly content to watch me freak out. The couch and a coffee table were between me and the windows.

I took stock of my body and energy level. I was so pumped with adrenaline, I was sure that I could beat Bruno to the windows and escape. So sure was I of my success, I smiled and took a big breath.

I counted to three, the magic number for any runner. At two I retied my ponytail, and when I reached three, I bolted.

Or almost bolted. I was just about to bolt when Bruno interrupted me and made me stop in my tracks.

“Are you scared of cockroaches?” he asked me.

“Excuse me?”

“Roaches. Big ones.”

“Is that a trick question?” I didn’t know where he was going. It was a detour from the rape conversation I thought we were going to have.

He patted the seat next to him on the couch. “Come here, beauty. I don’t bite.”

I sincerely hoped he didn’t bite, but I wasn’t going to bet against it. I wasn’t thrilled with the whole cockroach conversation, but I welcomed the invitation to the couch. I would be halfway to the windows, only half the distance to run toward freedom. I took two small steps toward him.

“The windows don’t open, by the way,” he said. “In case you were wondering.”

My eyes flicked to the windows, searching for a latch. “They always try the windows,” Bruno continued. “Inevitable. Each one. You may try them before you sit, if you wish.”

He didn’t to have to ask me twice. I ran as fast I could in case he changed his mind and got to the windows in under three seconds. I pushed and pulled, but they didn’t budge.

Bruno sighed. “They always go to the windows.”

“There must be a way,” I cried. I hit a window with my fist, but it didn’t make a dent.

“In my line of business, a little bulletproof glass goes a long way.”

I slumped to the floor. “Why are you doing this?”

Bruno walked around the couch and crouched down next to me. “Because I can, beauty. Because I can.”

He helped me up and led me to the couch. “Why won’t you let me go?” I asked him, my voice wobbly.

“I’m not finished with you yet.”

“And then will you let me go?”

“Beauty, it was you who came to me. I didn’t abduct you. I didn’t force you to visit with me.”

Bruno was armed with a warped logic. I didn’t think I could argue with him. He lived by a different set of rules than normal people.

Rich people suck.