Irene and Ricky were still leaning over Brad’s foot an hour later when Alex ran up. She averted her eyes. “Irene, please. I need to speak with you.” She was breathy from running and there was an undeniable urgency to her voice.
Irene looked up at Ricky. “Go,” he said.
Irene got to her feet and Alex immediately took her by the arm and dragged her to one side. “What’s it like back there?” Irene needed to know.
“It’s not pretty.” Alex pushed sweaty strands of hair from her face. “We’ve got ten dead and four injured. Doctor Dixon says some of ’em won’t make it. But, Irene, here’s the thing: Someone beat us to the bodies.”
“Someone?”
“Yeah. One of the female passengers told me that when she regained consciousness she saw a man rifling her dead husband’s wallet.”
“Christ. What man? One of the passengers?” Irene demanded, the shock evident in her voice.
“She couldn’t tell me.” Alex continued. “Understandably the woman was shaken; shocky even. They’ll be bringing her forward as soon as they build a stretcher. But that’s not all of it, Irene. A couple of the American girls are among the dead, and well…” Alex cast about, looking for a way to put her thoughts into words. “Irene. Someone has pulled their jeans down. To their ankles.”
Irene felt a shiver run down her spine. “You mean…?”
“I don’t know what I mean. If you’re asking me– well, I can’t tell you. I didn’t look that closely. But one thing’s for sure: Those two girls didn’t undress themselves. Get it?”
“Oh no,” Irene tried to make sense of the wild implications. She was thinking of a man with a camera when Alex tugged on her arm again.
“And someone’s been asking for you. It’s that guy you’ve been seeing.”
Irene’s eyes came up in astonishment.
“Okay– okay, we’re not supposed to know.” Alex continued. “But we all guessed. And I don’t know how close you are, but he’s hurt, Irene. Hurt bad. And he wants to see you. Alone.”
It was like a hand had torn her chest open and clutched her heart. “Jack!” Fear slithered around her insides. “God! Take me to him! Now!”
Doctor Dixon stood and was scuffing his hands in a towel when he spotted Irene and Alex moving between the trees. Irene glanced over the burnt-out hulk of her aircraft but didn’t stop to assess; there was only the thought of Jack.
“How is he doctor?”
Dixon held his hands out to her. “Frankly, he has me worried. He has no sensation in the lower extremities and he shows signs of internal bleeding. Until I can do a further assessment I’m afraid to move him. He needs rest right now and I was administering the shot when he stopped me. Said he needed to speak with you.”
Fear bracketed Irene’s eyes. “Oh sweet Jesus. He’s going to make it isn’t he?”
“Too early to tell, Irene. I’m sorry. Hopefully I’ll know more tomorrow. But for now, you can have five minutes with him. He’s over by that stand of trees.” Doctor Dixon pointed. “It’s where we found him.”
Grabbing hold of her courage, Irene moved alone toward the figure stretched out on the ground.
Jack lay on his back. Someone had driven two branches into the ground opposite each shoulder and had draped a blanket across to shield his eyes from the sun.
“Jack?” Irene heard her voice warble, not sure of what she might find.
Jack turned his head tentatively. “Hey Captain, nice uniform, too bad you couldn’t afford the pants.”
Irene looked down at her naked legs. “You complaining? Nobody else has.”
Jack chuckled. “That was one hell of a landing, sweetie.”
“I’ve done better.” Irene dropped to her knees beside him. “Oh Jack…” She took his hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Well there’s the problem. I’m not feeling much of anything right now, and my heart’s beating so hard, I can hear it inside my ears.”
“The doctor says you’ll be better tomorrow but you need rest. He wants to give you a shot.”
“Before he does, I have something for you,” Jack said.
“Not another wine bottle.”
Jack managed a smile. “Inside my jacket pocket; it’s my notebook. I want you to know that I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I’m sorry Irene.”
“Yeah. Your real estate skills are only outmatched by your inability to tell the truth,” Irene said, not unkindly.
“He searched her face a moment before mentally moving forward. “I don’t have time to explain but our chance encounter on Cayman wasn’t an accident. I needed information but made the fatal mistake of falling in love with my informant.”
“I noticed. No flippin’ willpower.”
“Yeah. It’s a shortcoming that’s followed me through life. Irene, someone is going to come looking for me. It may be next week, maybe in six months, but they will come and seek you out. When they do, give them my notebook. It absolves you of any complicity. Take it now, my inside pocket.”
“Okay,” Irene lifted the blanket to unbutton his jacket, “but I’ll give it back tomorrow; when you’re feeling better.”
“Deal,” he said, “but take it. Give me some peace.”
Irene slipped her hand into his inside pocket and removed the leather bound notebook; she immediately recognized it from Cayman Island. His jacket fell open and Irene felt a qualm rise in her stomach. He wore a gun holster on his belt, above his left hip. And it was empty. Irene fought down a surge of panic and quickly pulled the blanket across.
“Irene? Time…” Doctor Dixon stood behind her with his bag in hand. “I’ll stay with him tonight. Come see us in the morning.”
Irene leaned in and placed a kiss on Jack’s forehead. “You’ll be sitting up, tomorrow. I’ll bring you breakfast. How’s that?”
“Over easy. And not too runny.” He smiled. “I am deeply in love with you.”
Irene was halfway back when she heard the woman’s echoing shriek rebounding from the rocky ridge that held the remains of her aircraft.
“What the hell?” Irene, cursing her high-heels, broke into a run with images cascading across her mind: Had someone fallen? Another death? An accident? But there had been an undertone of fear in the woman’s cry, a pleading, that made Irene run faster.
At the edge of the clearing a dozen female volleyball players stood toe to toe with four of the men. A fifth man stood apart. Some of the women hurled insults, others appealed to the men with open hands. One stepped forward and shoved. She got shoved right back.
And then Irene saw the girl.
She was trussed up on the side of a pine and as Irene skirted around, she saw that the young volleyball player’s arms had been pulled behind the tree and her crossed wrists were bound with wire. A man was threatening the women with the leather belt he had pulled from his trousers.
“I’ll fucking peel the skin off your ass,” he bellowed.
The guy coiled the end of the belt around his hand. “Get ready for it bitch. You won’t sit for a fuckin’ week,” he sneered. “Someone get her pants down.”
The girl cried out as a man gleefully reached for her athletic shorts. But Irene was there; managed to step between the two before he could bare her bottom. “What the hell’s going on here?” Irene screamed into the man’s face.
He went pale. The guy was a head shorter than Irene and thought better of crossing her. He quickly retreated to the safety of his friends.
“You with the belt. You better have a good explanation.” Irene took a threatening step toward the pudgy little man.
“The bitch took the last bag of chips,” the guy spat back.
Irene felt flatfooted. “W-what?”
“You heard me,” the man said, unwinding his belt in deference to Irene’s authority. “The bitch took the last bag.”
Irene looked around, bewildered. She saw the empty box. It was laying on the ground with Lay’s stenciled on the side. “Oh Jesus. Don’t tell me.” Irene raised her hands in exasperation. “You girls, go sit by the plane. Now! And the men, to the other side of the clearing. Understand? Go dammit!”
As the men moved off, the one with the belt took his parting shot: “I’ll get you for this,” he said over a shoulder, his voice cutting with scorn.
Irene ignored him. “Alex. Help me get this girl down.” And Irene moved around the tree and started unwinding the coils of wire.
“I told them I only had enough for the girls,” Alex said bitterly, taking one end of the wire.
Irene kept her voice low. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think the potato chips had much to do with it. They were just looking for an excuse to get the girl’s pants off.”
“Oh thanks. Knowing that really helps,” Alex returned.
The girl’s hands dropped and she stepped away from the tree. “Thank you.” She was breathless. “You got to me just in…” she started. “He was going to…” Her eyes widened.
The girl was a pretty doe-eyed blonde, a creature possessing an air of vulnerability that would make her a desirable target for a group of lusting men. Irene watched her romp into the outstretched arms of her friends.
“I think we may have a problem,” Irene said, eyeing Alex’s swimsuit. “You got any clothes?”
Alex looked down at herself. Her lean legs were streaked with mud. “Just my coat.”
“I think it’s time the girls got dressed. Go on the scrounge if you have to. There are busted suitcases everywhere. Find everyone a pair of jeans and a shirt and send them off, two at a time, into the woods to change. And make sure they’re not followed.”
“Especially by the guy with the camera?” Alex remarked.
“You find the potato chips in the service area?” Irene wanted to know.
“Yeah. I was checking our supplies. Taking inventory.”
“And?”
“And not good. If I divide up the sandwiches, we have enough for a couple of meals. And I got two bottles of liquor stashed in the woods,” Alex said.
“Only two?”
“Yeah, I know. Should be several cases, but they’re gone.”
Irene pounded her thighs in exasperation. “Shit. Shit. Shit. We got trouble with these guys now. What’s it going to be like when all they have in their bellies is scotch?” Irene paused to mull over her options. “Go get dressed, huh? I’ve gotta speak with Ricky.”