16
When she got back to their stateroom, Jen was gone. A note on her bunk said:
GOT MY SECOND WIND. WENT DANCING.
Beth sighed. Only Jen could be throwing up one minute and raring to go the next. She never ceased to amaze.
Pulling off her dress, Beth crawled onto her bunk, grabbed the remote from her nightstand, and flicked on the TV. Not that there was anything playing that could top what she’d witnessed tonight.
She was no stranger to incest. In her work at the prosecutor’s office, she’d seen more cases of father/daughter couplings than she’d wanted to, but those were always crimes of abuse. Some twisted fuck taking advantage of his parental authority, perverting a child’s love.
What Beth had seen between Rafael and Marta, however, was obviously consensual. But that didn’t make it any more palatable. Some might argue that her objection to it was both morally and intellectually empty-Rafael and Marta were adults, after all-but that didn’t keep it from creeping her out. The ick factor was almost too much to bear. And the image of two his-and-her beauty queens macking on each other was not likely to go away anytime soon.
Beth shivered, trying to concentrate on the TV, which was showing a remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still with Keanu Reeves. She managed to stare at it for a full thirty minutes but would be hard-pressed to tell anyone what she’d seen.
This was turning out to be one hell of a vacation.
But if Jen could recover so quickly, why couldn’t she? The original plan was to go dancing together, and late was better than never.
Flicking off the tube, she got up, pulled on some jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of shoes, then grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
Two staircases and an elevator ride later, she was back on Deck Eleven, standing outside of the Vibe, the pounding beat vibrating beneath her shoes as the bodies inside moved to the rhythm-a sea of bobbing heads and waving arms and drunken, smiling faces.
Jen was bound to be in there somewhere.
Pushing past a couple locked in an embrace, Beth squeezed into the room and searched the crowded dance floor.
It was dark, except for swirling, multicolored lights and a spotlight on the DJ, who looked a little lame wearing his ship’s uniform. At least he played good music.
But there was no sign of Jen.
Anywhere.
Shit.
Thinking she may have made a mistake, Beth was about to turn and head back out the door when she heard a familiar peal of laughter rise above the din. Spinning around, she saw a cluster of bodies move from the shadows onto the dance floor, Jen at the very center, head thrown back, hair wild and flowing.
Beth called out to her and waved but was drowned out by the music. Stepping onto the dance floor, she squeezed past several dancers, pushing toward Jen — then stopped cold, a ball of bile rising straight to her throat.
Jen was dancing with a man and a woman.
But not just any man and woman.
Rafael and Marta Santiago.
And on closer inspection, it was much more than dancing. Jen was sandwiched between the two, Rafael behind, Marta facing her, breast to breast, all three rubbing their bodies against one another. Rafael’s hands roamed Jen’s ass as Marta kept her arms around her neck, staring intently into her eyes.
Beth watched them in utter amazement, unable to quite understand what she was looking at, trying to convince herself that she’d made a mistake, that this wasn’t Jen at all, that the flashing lights were playing tricks on her eyes.
But of course that was only wishful thinking.
It was Jen, all right.
Her little sister.
And like any protective mother, Beth waded into the crowd toward them with only rescue on her mind.
Jen turned as Beth approached, let loose a squeal. “Beth! We were just talking about you.”
Rafael and Marta also turned, smiling at her, as Jen reached out and tried to pull Beth into an embrace. Jen was drunk again-or still-and, judging by her glazed eyes, was high on more than booze. God only knew where it had come from, but Beth had her suspicions.
Avoiding the embrace, she shouted above the music:
“Jen, what the hell are you doing?”
“Didn’t you get my note?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. What are you doing with them?”
Jen frowned, glancing at Rafael and Marta. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Whatever it is, it’s making me sick to my stomach.” She grabbed Jen’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”
“ Hey, I just got here.”
“Do you know anything about these people?”
A shrug. “They’re hot, they can dance, and they’ve got really good drugs. What else is there to know?”
Rafael broke in. “Is there a problem, Beth?”
She shot him a look. “Fuck off, perv.”
“You disappeared without a word. If I’ve offended you in some-”
“Spare me, asshole. I don’t care what you and your sister do when nobody’s looking, but keep my sister out of it.” She tugged on Jen’s arm. “Come on.”
Angry now, Jen yanked free. “Do you mind?”
“These people are sick. You don’t know what I saw them-”
“Oh, for godsakes, Beth, get a goddamn life, will you? And leave me alone.”
“Come on, Jen. You can’t do this.”
“Do what? Have fun? I’m sorry I don’t live in Beth land, where everybody sits around moping all the time, but I didn’t come on this cruise to play shuffleboard. So kindly fuck off, okay?”
“Jen, I-”
“Leave. Me. Alone.”
And with that, she abruptly turned, grabbing hold of Rafael and Marta and pulling them with her, deeper into the crowd.
Beth stood there a moment, stung, a motionless figure amid all the writhing bodies.
Feeling tears well up, she quickly backed away.
Then headed for the door.
17
Vargas
Vargas had never been much of a car guy. If it got you from point A to point B, he’d drive it, no matter how battered. And if you were expecting any upkeep other than the occasional tune and tire change, you’d be sorely disappointed.
He rarely looked under the hood of his Corolla, and couldn’t remember ever picking up the manual, which had been stashed in his glove box since the day he bought the car, used, a year and a half ago.
