I located my purse upstairs, rummaged around inside it, found my wallet, my passport, boarding passes, plane tickets . . . no phone.
I emptied the contents of the purse onto the bed.
My phone was gone.
I spun around. It wasn’t on the bedside table, not in any drawers, not in the bathroom. I hurried back downstairs and came to a halt in the middle of the living room, my head pounding. The white house felt clinical, like a cage. When had I last used my phone? Sydney Airport? Maybe I’d lost it there. I had no idea how to reach Martin. I couldn’t see any landline phone in the house, either. I rattled the handle of the locked door to what I presumed was Martin’s office. Definitely locked.
And even if there was a landline in there, I couldn’t recall Martin’s mobile number. I usually just hit his contact details in my cell. Did anyone remember phone numbers these days?
I found my sandals, went outside again, and made my way back to the garage. The thudding I’d heard earlier had sounded like it had come from behind the garage.
I reached the corner of the garage and heard a crack of twigs. I froze, listening, my heart beating irrationally fast. Why was I feeling scared? It was the constant screaming of birds that was grating on my nerves. I proceeded around the corner . . . and stopped dead.
Martin stood there covered in blood. A massive knife in his hand dripped with blood. Shock registered on his face. He took a quick step toward me.
I screamed, and stepped backward.
His face cracked into a grin. He laughed and waggled the knife at me. “You startled me, Mrs. Cresswell-Smith.”
Another memory slammed through me—my hands trapped above my head, my thighs being forced open. My mouth turned dry. I took another step backward.
His features shifted again, darkening now. He took another step toward me.
“What are you so afraid of, Ellie?”
THEN
ELLIE
My brain cracked into primal mode. I spun to flee. But Martin lunged forward and clamped his bloody hand around my arm.
“Stop!”
I whimpered, shaking. Tears burned into my eyes. His fingers dug into my skin.
“Ellie,” he said very quietly, darkly.
“Please . . . please let me go.” My voice was hoarse.
“Step away from the wall, Ellie.”
I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
“Ellie. Focus. Look at me.”
Slowly I turned my head. He pointed the tip of his knife at the brick wall. “See that? You need to move away from that. Now.”
I tried to focus. His blade tip pointed at a spider with a shiny carapace and hairy legs, which were raised at me, its fangs back—poised to attack.
“It’s poisonous,” he said quietly as I stared at the spider. “A funnel-web. One of the most venomous in the world. You need to step away—you were going to put your hand right on it.”
My gaze went to his knife, the blood. There was more blood on his arms and on his shirt. He let me go and I hurriedly moved away from the wall. He set the knife on a wooden table. A fish-cleaning station. A big fish that had been sliced down the middle was splayed open on the table, moist flesh glistening in the sun. Entrails curled in a pink and bloody heap beside the fish. Shiny scales stuck everywhere. Fat flies buzzed over the kill. Next to the table was a stainless steel counter with a basin with a tap.
“Zog went fishing,” he said. “He brought us a bonito. I was cleaning it. You spooked me—I had earbuds in. Was listening to music.” He paused, and a frown furrowed deep into his brow. “Are you okay? You didn’t think I—”
“I got a fright.” I wiped my mouth with a shaky hand. “I . . . I was looking for you. I called you. I . . . heard a thump.”
“Must have been me chopping that bonito’s head off.” I noticed his wireless headphones resting on a small wooden shelf that had been affixed to the garage wall above the fish-cleaning station. I couldn’t seem to find words. I was still thinking about the rough sex, the sense I’d cried out for him to stop—yet I wasn’t sure what had happened.
“Why don’t you go inside, Ellie, and I’ll take care of the spider and finish up with the fish here. Then we can maybe go for a walk? I can show you around?”
His voice was kind, his eyes gentle.
I tried to speak, but my mind had collapsed in on itself, and this fact alone scared the stuffing out of me. It was like I was still drugged.
“Ellie?”
“Your truck,” I said abruptly. “Where is it?”
“The ute? I loaned it to Zog to haul his boat out of the launch. His is being repaired. It’s why he gave us such a big guy.” He nodded to the splayed fish.
“Who’s Zog?”
“He owns the Single Fin. A surf shop on the beach road. I’ll take you past there when we go for a walk.” He paused. “Okay?”
“I couldn’t find my phone.”
“Oh—I’m sorry.” He wiped his hands on a rag, then reached into the side pocket of his cargo shorts. “Here you go.” He handed me my phone. “I thought I’d do you a favor while you were sleeping. I took it to get a new SIM card—had it all set up for Australia.”
I took the phone and stared at it. Not only had he unpacked my clothes and cosmetics, he’d gone into my phone. “Thank you,” I said quietly.
“You still feeling off?”
I thought about the raw skin of my private parts, the tenderness between my thighs, my blank memory. The stash of pills he’d seen. Cautiously I said, “I’m just really jet-lagged.”
A smile returned to his face. “But last night was good.”
I blinked.
“The sex,” he said.
I swallowed. “I . . . I was really tired.”
“You don’t remember?” Worry darkened his eyes.
Heat seared into my cheeks.
“Hey, it’s okay, El. I’m not surprised. You went out like a light. All that wine.” He paused. “On top of those pills.”
Heat deepened in my face. I didn’t
