Monica pressed her lips into a tight frown. “As you can see, I’m not very fast.”
“Actually, you are!” Callie said. “I had to sprint like a boiled owl to catch you!”
Monica wrinkled her nose. “Boiled owl? I hope no actual event occurred to inspire such an expression!”
Callie giggled. “Oh my God, I hope so, too!”
Monica smiled in spite of herself.
“In any case,” Callie said, “this is a good pace for me. Plus, I hate running alone, especially when I don’t know the area.”
That was all it took to form a runner’s bond: two very pretty, fashionable ladies who shared a passion for running. I imagined them jogging fluidly over the plantation road, the cadence of their stride adding a human counterpoint to the morning sounds of the island’s bird and insect population.
Monica cast an envious glance at her running mate. “You have perfect legs!” she said.
Callie, caught a bit off guard, responded, “What a nice thing to say!”
Monica flashed a friendly smile and said, “You’re a model, right? I could grow to hate you!” After laughing, she added, “Are you staying at the plantation?”
Callie said, “We—my husband and I—checked in late last night.”
“You always run this early?”
“Not really. But my in-laws are arriving soon and I want to get in a few miles before they do.” The way she drew out the word “in-laws” made Monica smile.
“Oh God,” Monica said. “The in-laws.”
“Exactly!” Callie said. “By the way, I’m Callie Carpenter.”
“Hi, Callie. I’m Monica Childers.”
They exited the resort and turned left onto A1A. Looking down the highway a bit, Monica said, “Let’s avoid the van. It shouldn’t be there.”
Callie agreed.
They were about to head the opposite way when Callie said, “Oh my God! That’s my in-laws!” She sighed. “Oh well, so much for my run!”
Monica slowed. “Let’s try again tomorrow.”
“Come with me!” Callie suddenly blurted out, her eyes twinkling. “I want to introduce you. It’ll just take a sec, and you’ll be speeding down the road again in no time!”
As we planned, Callie ran ahead without giving Monica time to reply. Monica barely knew this girl and certainly wouldn’t want to stop her run to meet the in-laws. But she also wouldn’t want to appear rude, so we counted on her to follow Callie to the van.
And she did.
As the girls approached, I slid the side door of the van open and stepped out, smiling broadly. I’d dressed in what I considered to be coastal casual, a white, spread-collar dress shirt and tan linen slacks with matching Italian loafers. When I picked Callie up that morning, she had pointed at me and laughed a full minute. Even now, I saw her smirking at my choice of attire.
While waiting to be introduced, Monica ran her fingers through her fashionably short black hair. Though I knew her to be fortyone, she looked years younger. She was in excellent shape, with deep, expressive eyes and a willowy frame that boasted a set of Park Avenue’s fi nest implants. I wouldn’t classify her as stunning, but she was certainly pretty, possibly even striking for her age. She would probably hate to hear a man add the words “for her age” when describing her looks, but things were what they were.
Callie made the introductions, saying, “Donovan’s handsome, isn’t he! Check out that engaging smile and those penetrating, jade green eyes.”
“Oh please,” I said, rolling my penetrating, jade green eyes.
Monica smiled politely. As far as I was concerned, Callie could step back and let me take it from there, but she was on a roll. “And that outfit,” Callie said, winking at me, “very stylish.” Then she said, “Monica, what would you call that look?”
Monica smiled. “Umm … continental?”
“Coastal casual,” I said.
Monica was itching to get back to her run, but she returned my smile. “Hello, Donovan,” she said, extending her hand.
I took her hand in mine and made a slow, exaggerated bow as if intending to kiss it. Callie started to giggle, and Monica glanced at her and blushed. Monica seemed to want to say something, but I increased the pressure on her hand and suddenly everything in her world turned crazy. Monica gasped and tried to pull away, but I shifted my weight and clamped my other hand on her upper arm. Before her mind could process what was happening, I hurled her into the van with such force her body crashed into the far wall and rebounded to the floor.
Wide-eyed, terror-struck, Monica scrambled for the door. But I was already in the van, blocking her escape. Stunned mute by the sudden explosion of violence, Monica tried to scream. My hand was already at her throat, and the pressure was so intense she couldn’t achieve more than a squeak.
Monica’s eyes frantically searched for Callie. What was going on here, she must have wondered. Why wasn’t Callie helping her?
I pushed Monica’s head against the exposed metal floorboard with my left hand and slid the van door shut with my right. She tried to wriggle out of my grasp, so I applied more pressure to hold her in place. I heard
