There was a light knock on the door.
“Yes?” Liv said.
“Honey,” said her mother, “there’s a call for you. It’s a man named Phil. He says it’s urgent and that you know him?”
Liv blinked. Phil was Roen’s pit bull attorney. And a notorious asshole. Why’s he calling me? The last time she and Phil had spoken—the only time they’d spoken—was a few months ago when he’d been looking for Roen. Phil then accused her of killing him and then proceeded to tell the press the same thing. It was a nightmare until Roen resurfaced.
Yeah, never did see an apology card for that.
Liv walked out into the living room that now looked like a crocheting workshop. Handmade throws, doilies, and pillows covered almost every surface and every piece of furniture, including the top of their old television. Obviously, her mother had recently taken up crocheting for stress relief.
“Hello?” Liv said, dragging the phone with the long cord into the den, where stacks of paper covered her parents’ desk. Her father worked as an insurance broker and her mother was a bookkeeper for some of the local businesses.
“Miss Stratton, it’s Phil—Mr. Doran’s lawyer.”
“Yes?” Her parents were just in the other room, so she spoke quietly. She had no clue what Phil wanted or knew or didn’t know.
“I just saw the news that you were rescued. Do you have any news from Roen?”
Liv’s heart sank. “No. I was hoping you would.”
“Fucking hell. He’d better be dead, because I’m going to fucking kill him.”
Nice. “When’s the last time you spoke to him?” Please say it was yesterday. Or the day before. Or any time after she’d seen him last. He had to be alive.
Phil groaned. “Early last week. I’ve been trying to reach him since. It’s important.”
Last week. That would be before Shane had taken her, right?
Fuck. It didn’t tell her anything.
Liv closed the den door so her parents wouldn’t overhear. “Phil, do you know anything about his island?”
“I know everything about his island.”
She sincerely doubted that; otherwise, he wouldn’t still be Roen’s lawyer. No person in their right mind wanted anything to do with that place. Regardless, his words ignited a spark of hope.
“You have to tell me where it is—the exact location.”
“Why do you need to know?” Phil asked.
“Listen, asshole, you just called me looking for Roen. That means you don’t know where he is and that you’re probably worried.” She lowered her voice, trying to keep herself from yelling. “And you should be. Now tell me where the fucking thing is.”
“I’ll tell you, but I need a favor.”
A favor? From her?
“What?” she snapped.
“I’m getting close to having this island formally recognized as US property, something I promised Roen I’d do for him. But I need money. A lot of it.”
She blinked. “I don’t understand.” With her small savings from tutoring undergrads last semester, minus her student loans, she had exactly…Negative one hundred and ten thousand dollars.
“You have to sign the form to release the funds,” he said.
“Sorry?”
“Didn’t that fucking idiot tell you?” Phil grumbled.
“No. And stop talking about him like that.”
“He signed over all of his assets to you,” Phil said, not sounding too thrilled about it.
Liv felt her blood pressure plummet. “Huh?”
“You own it all. His twelve homes, his cars, his ten-billion-dollar shipping company.”
Holy crap. “What was he thinking? Why?”
“I thought you might know. The way it sounded: he was dying.”
Oh no. Oh no. “Phil, I need to get to that island. Can you help me?”
“Roen has three company jets—I mean, you own three company jets. They’re usually kept in Seattle. I know because I file all of the insurance and FAA paperwork.”
Oh God. This is crazy. What were the odds that she would need a plane and the location of the island and that it would fall right into her lap?
A heavy knot the size of a brick formed in her stomach. The odds were zero. Which made her feel like she was playing a fixed game. That said, what did it change? Nothing. She still had to go.
Phil went on, “Call Roen’s—I mean your assistant, Cherie, and tell her to send a helicopter for you. She’ll take care of everything.”
“Great. Okay. Do you have her number?”
Phil rambled off the number, and she jotted it down on a piece of scratch paper.
“And, Miss Stratton?” Phil said.
“Yes?”
“I’ll send the information on the island to Cherie, so you’ll have what you need, but the funds transfer is critical. I’ll ask Cherie to arrange for you to sign the approval while you’re there in Seattle. The twenty million dollars has to be deposited by tomorrow or we lose our chance.”
“Twenty million dollars?” It was a huge amount of money.
“That was the price to buy a few friends in Moscow. The island is in international waters and nobody in Congress wants to stir up crap with Russia—they had to sign off.”
Russia? Congress. Were they in a spy novel now? It dawned on Liv that this situation was much bigger than just finding Roen and her sister. There was a larger issue of keeping that island isolated. Roen had wanted it protected from people, but the way she saw it, people needed to be protected from Her Holy Evilness.
Then the harsh reality hit Liv. If Roen was dead, there would be no one else to deal with this. But he’s a public figure. He’s…fucking Roen Doran. The man was no stranger to Forbes covers and power meetings with world leaders. She had absolutely no idea how to run his company or influence people or make sure the island was contained. And frankly, deep down in her heart, she only cared about finding her sister and Roen. All of that other stuff was…well…okay, it’s important, too, she conceded.
She let out a breath, realizing that whether she liked it or not, she was in charge. Roen had seen to that. It had nothing to do with money or setting her up with a cushy life. She was his mate. He believed in her and trusted her.
Which means you’re just as strong as he is. It was a thought she’d never considered. But killing Shane, fighting back, was proof. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t a coward. She could handle anything thrown her way.
Maybe?
Phil continued, “Miss Stratton, I don’t know what’s the matter with Roen, but if you find him, please let him know I did what he asked. He’s like a brother to me—an asshole brother—but I promised I’d take care of this one final thing for him. Or should I say for you—you technically own everything now.”
“It’s a dream come true,” she said dryly, realizing the irony of her holding the title to that island. “I’ll be in touch, Phil. Thank you.” She hung up the phone and called this woman Cherie.
As the phone rang, Liv started thinking about how a jet would land on that island if the pilot couldn’t see it.
Dammit, you’ll parachute from the damned plane if you have to. Not that she knew how, but she was a billionaire now. She’d damn well hire someone to show her. But either way, this was far from over, and she was getting to that island. She refused to believe that Roen was dead. Her heart would know if anything had happened to him. Or to Dana. Wouldn’t it?
~~~
Twelve Hours Later
As the small private jet approached the coordinates provided by Phil, approximately two thousand miles west of Seattle, Liv began to feel like something was watching her, expecting her. Was it paranoia or simply her nerves trying to get the best of her?
Hell no. The island definitely knows you’re coming.
Which meant Liv had to be mentally prepared for anything. The honest truth was, however, she was already running on fumes and had been from the moment she’d woken up in Shane’s beach house. But there’d been
no time to sleep, even during this five-hour flight on, yes, the world’s nicest plane.
It’s like a five-star hotel suite in the sky—extra-large, beige leather seats, a workspace, kitchenette, and satellite TV.
She still found it difficult to digest Roen’s two very contrasting worlds—one the epitome of wealth, power, and success. The American dream. The other savage, deadly, and, well…crap, they had monsters, mermen, and a living island. The universal nightmare. There couldn’t be two more different worlds, yet Roen had managed to walk in both, be a leader in both, and be the man she loved in both. Which was precisely why she’d broken her parents’ hearts and left, only leaving a note to say she was okay, but needed some time alone. It was also why she was about to risk her life to save him. She just hoped she wasn’t too late. And if a hair on Dana’s head had been harmed, Liv would make them all pay. How?
Hide the butter knives.
First, however, she’d had to get up to speed. Because apparently, while she’d been indisposed, a story about the discovery of “the Fountain of Youth” had spurred a massive search for El Corazón. And she had a damned solid clue which particular human had started those rumors.
It was the ER doctor in Wrangell who’d been on call when Liv’d been punished by the island for breaking her promise not to tell anyone about its inhabitance. In Liv’s defense, she’d been so messed up in the head after being shipwrecked on El Corazón and after leaving Roen behind—his choice, not hers—that she’d been going mad. She’d later learn it was because mates who were separated after finding each other went a little crazy. But the moment Liv had spoken the word “mermen” to her therapist, the island let her have it. Convulsions, burning in her veins, the inability to breathe. How did Crazy Dirt do it? Liv had no clue. But the punishment didn’t stop at giving her a massive painful seizure on the therapist’s office floor. Crazy Dirt went after Dana, too, landing her in the ER with respiratory failure. That was when Liv used a vial of sacred water she’d taken back from the island to heal her sister. Unfortunately, Liv left the vial behind, and it snowballed from there. Dr. Fuller found it and sent the remaining few drops to a lab. Why? She’d been suspicious when her patient miraculously healed. Later, Dr. Fuller would confront Liv and confess that she’d also had repeated dreams about a miracle water that could cure any illness. Then the tabloids somehow got wind of the lab reports, and the legend of the Fountain of Youth was born.
Now, over five hundred fishing boats and yachts filled with treasure hunters, desperate souls, and good old-fashioned opportunists were looking for the island.
And they’re all crazy people. Because only crazy people would actually believe a tabloid story and then hop on a boat in search of the mythical Fountain of Fucking Youth. From what she’d seen in the news articles online, they were close, too. A few hundred miles too close. It was only a question of time before one of them got lucky and ran right into the place. Which was why signing the bank transfer had been critical, just like Phil said. Roen had already told her his plan to hire private security to keep people away once he held the title.
Roen was a smart, smart man. Don’t hide the island, just treat it like your private, secluded getaway. Trespassers unwelcome.
“Miss Stratton?” the female pilot—a Judy or Janna something—said over the intercom. “We see a landing strip.”
What the hell? Liv rushed from the cabin into the cockpit. The pilot pointed straight ahead toward a long strip of cleared land. The sun was just now dipping into the water toward the west straight ahead, making it difficult to see clearly, but yeah, there it was: the island. Not hidden. Not spewing its odd-looking mirage of lights that made it nearly invisible.
Jesus, the island was right there. Was it welcoming her back where it intended to finish her off once and for all?
What if it knows I killed Shane?
Liv whooshed out a breath and smoothed her hands over the top of her head and down her ponytail. The Shane piece of this was something she’d not thought of. Not even once.
Doesn’t matter now, Liv. You’re here. She was just thankful she wasn’t going to have to jump from the damned plane. Yes, Cherie, upon Liv’s request, had arranged for a skydiving instructor to be on board. It was amazing what money could buy, including a two-hour private lesson by a man that had been paid not to question Liv’s sanity for planning to actually jump alone her first time. But the way Liv saw it, the dire situation called for dire measures.
“Take us down,” Liv said to the pilot. “But once I’m off the plane, you need to get back in the air and as far away as possible. Understand?”
The pilot gave her an odd look.
“It’s not safe here for you,” she clarified.
“Why?”
“Let’s just say that the people who live here don’t like strangers.” And there was a distinct possibility that they’d kill her on sight.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Oh shit.” The moment Liv stepped off the plane, she knew something was wrong. Yes, the entire island was the poster child for wrong, but this time the island looked…different. The trees were dead—brown, dried-out skeletons without leaves or needles—the ground lacked any vegetation or moisture, and the snowcapped mountain at the center was nothing but rocks. No more snow.
It looked like someone had dropped an A-bomb on the place and obliterated all signs of life.
As the plane soared overhead, she watched it fade into the sunset along with the last rays of sunlight. A hard shiver swept over her body, making her wish she’d worn something other than a blue T-shirt and cargo shorts. A suit of armor would’ve been nice. She’d never been so afraid. Because, as if the island weren’t scary enough, now it screamed death, too.
It’s like the world’s worst resort decided to team up with hell to create a magical getaway. Even the smell in the air was wrong—a foul musk mixed with sour seawater.
She turned on her new sat phone—compliments of Cherie, who was like a damned magic genie—and then dug out the flashlight from her backpack. Liv had brought as many supplies as she could carry—tons of fresh bottled water, a small blanket, and snacks from the plane. She threw on the pack and started for Roen’s house, which was a huge two-story modern mansion perched on a hill not too far from that creepy mountain at the center of the island.
She flipped on the flashlight and started walking into the desiccated forest. Suddenly, the air filled with familiar howls and cries.
Oh God. The maids. The sound put a permanent chill in her bones, but her fear of this island was far greater than anything else. It had abilities that defied reason—the power to influence people, the ability to think and produce that strange healing water. It could control the environment around it and kill people who were thousands of miles away. Roen had once tried to explain how she did her tricks, but none of that mattered. The facts were the facts: This place was alive and psychotic.
Liv’s footsteps made loud crunching sounds as she made her way through what was once a dense forest of pine trees. Half had fallen to the ground as if blown over by a storm, forcing her to climb over trunks as thick as four feet or crawl under the ones that leaned together. All the while, her head and heart said the same thing: This place is dead. Everything is dead.
What the hell had happened?
As crazy as it sounded, she believed the island fed off of Roen’s people. It was an assumption, but given her years of studying cultural anthropology and sociology, the island’s tactics—the way she manipulated and tried to keep the mermen from leaving at any cost—smelled suspiciously close to dependence. Then, during her last “visit,” she’d been reading through one of the many, many books in their archives. There was a story about how Roen’s people once had gifts and abilities that were strangely similar to the island’s—the ability to manipulate the environment around them, for example. Liv suspected that the island was more like a parasite and needed them to survive. Not the other way around.
So was the island dying of starva
tion somehow? And what had happened to all of the men? She had yet to see one single merman. For the record, these were not the sorts of men you’d stumble past and not notice. Most were around seven feet tall, and they had stunning green eyes and huge, chiseled bodies. Some had their unbelievably ripped torsos covered in tattoos—fish scales, sea monsters, tridents, and other symbols—and they didn’t wear a stitch except for a piece of cloth around their waists. As for hygiene, they didn’t care much for that. Not that they smelled bad—to the contrary, they smelled…well, pretty enticing, actually. All part of their “charming” attributes meant to lull and seduce human women. Nevertheless, they weren’t too big on cutting or brushing their hair and they swam a lot. Dreads were the standard look. It all combined into one very intimidating and noticeable package.
You could spot a merman from a mile away.
Liv arrived at the bottom of the steps that led up to Roen’s modern-day palace perched on a hill. Please, please, please let him be okay. Flashlight shaking in her hand, Liv cautiously climbed and then approached the front door. A sliver of light came from a small crack underneath the thick, hand-carved door embossed with symbols of serpents and fish.
She carefully opened the door and noticed that everything looked just as clean and absurdly stylish as the last time she’d been here. The air, however, had a different vibe.
Despair. The house was filled with it.
Liv tiptoed through the opulent foyer—expensive crystal chandelier and brown-and-white marble flooring—and up the stairs that led to Roen’s master suite.
There wasn’t a sound in the home except for the wood floor creaking beneath her feet as she made her way down the long hallway lined with doors. Most led to very nice guest rooms, one of which she’d stayed in with Roen once.
She turned the corner and found Roen’s double bedroom doors wide open, the space dark inside. She flipped on the lights and saw his bed—a huge extra-long king-sized thing with four posts—covered in dried blood. Oh shit. Her heart constricted with painful worry. The rest of the large suite—rich upholstered furniture, dark stained wood flooring and stone fireplace—looked immaculate.