Day 2
The air conditioning blasted cool air through the room, ruffling the curtains in the process. The very same curtains that concealed the presence of several armed guards who looked like graduates of the "shoot to kill" school of thinking. Kiara woke first, naturally. The comfort of the bed was too different from what she was now used to.
The room was stifling, even as parts of her enjoyed the return to comfort. The reality of the situation sank in as she drew herself up on her elbows. Rafe was sleeping, entirely too peacefully, at the foot of the bed.
A sleeping predator. Cue National Geographic title card. Steady on: the heavy rise and fall of his chest, the arms crossed defensively over himself.
While Rafe was sleeping, Kiara had been cooking up a plan. She sat on the side of the bed, closer to the window. Occasionally, she'd chew on a fingernail. How the hell had she gotten so used to life without a phone, without Snapchat and Instagram? The ninth grade Kiara who sailed through Kook Academy with straight A's (and B+'s if we counted Bio) was foreign to her in every way. This was the shit that mattered.
Getting out.
That plan was somewhat half-baked, but, then again, that was sort of the Pogue way of life. If she could convince Singh to release her to go get his precious diary, all she had to do was keep a low enough profile until she could find her friends...that and keep Singh's dogs off her trail.
My plan sucked. Kie watched her friends' attempt to draw Singh and his attack dogs off the compound fail. It wasn't their fault. Singh was more sophisticated than they thought; he had more resources than even Ward Cameron. Apparently the police here in Barbados were easier to get in your pocket than the ones back in Kildare.
Earlier, she'd had an uncomfortably close encounter with Rafe. It was almost like a confession for him, like he wanted her to absolve him of his sins. He was so bothered by what she thought of him.
The image of him on his knees in front of the bed. It was unsettling. An observer would think they were having a lover's spat. Even Singh noticed the sparks between them.
Sparks? More like a forest fire. Kie flopped down on the bed. "If we can't get his men to leave," she started. "Then we need to find a way to get them to let us leave."
"Great," Rafe said. He stood with his back to the window, arms crossed defensively. Someone who didn't hate his guts would have noticed how the posture made the lean muscles in his forearms stand taut. "Ask the people who kidnapped us if we can just go, pretty please?"
Kie rolled her eyes.
Three sharp knocks sounded, then the door to their island prison popped open. The same soldier who'd taken her to Singh this morning, when she tried to convince him to free her, entered the room. Was her plan really as stupid as it sounded when Rafe said it?
"Come." The guards were restrained in what they would say. Whether they were ordered to speak as little as possible or they just avoided conversing with American teenagers remained to be seen.
Kie rolled her shoulders back, while Rafe looked on. He was too aware of even the slightest movement she made.
Rafe hadn't spent this much time with someone, especially a girl, since everything happened. It was weird how he was getting to know her little quirks. Even if she avoided talking to him, there was nowhere to hide in the small space.
They followed the guard out of the room and down the spiral staircase to the dining room. It was set only for two. A carafe of coffee, a toile-printed teapot, and jugs of sparkling juice were laid out. The silverware was fina china - it reminded Rafe of some of the charity dinners they held for parents back at the Kook Academy.
Kiara's eyes closed and the moan that escaped her mouth was particularly R-rated. Food. A whole table's worth.
Rafe, although considerably less starved, felt similarly excited by the prospects. If this freak Singh was feeding them, then he was a reasonable person. Maybe they could convince him to let them out, after all.
"Well," Rafe started, pulling out a chair for himself. The two places made up were at the head of the table and one beside. He left the head of the table for Kie. "We might as well eat on this guy's dime. Then we can figure shit out."
Kiara whipped her head around to check that none of the staff were in whisper-distance from them. No one, just the normal guard posted by the entry and a maid standing, as if expecting to pour tea for them, a few feet away. "Yeah," she agreed, grabbing the other seat. "I'm not not hungry."
Her stomach gurgled in response.
The spread was glorious. Kiara's recent diet of coconut, watermelon, and an occasional fried tropical fish had left her thinner than ever. She didn't really notice until coming here; mirrors weren't exactly aplenty in Poguelandia. Her doe-brown eyes grew even wider, the longer she looked at the food in front of her.
"Is this a mirage?" Kiara reached out and grabbed two pieces of toast, perfectly golden brown. She dropped them on her plate and was reaching for the butter when Rafe's arm shot out towards her. It looked like he'd been going to grab her wrist, but then thought better of it.
Good, Kiara thought. A line of worry creased her brow.
"No, it's real," Rafe said, his voice deep and serious. "But what if the bastard poisoned it?"
Kiara gulped. Was it possible? The breakfast was a little too good to be true. But maybe Singh was just a fan of the United Nations' rules on the treatment of prisoners? "I don't know. What would he gain from that? He had no problem shooting someone. Poison doesn't seem like his style."
Rafe nodded. "Yeah. That's probably true." Without warning, he reached out and downed a glass of what looked like sparkling orange juice, from a champagne flute. He let a breath out, set down the glass, and looked up at Kie. His blue eyes sparkled. "Am I dead yet?"
Kie almost laughed, but stopped herself. "I wish."
"Just shut up and eat, Kie."
Day 3
By the third day of their captivity, Singh had apparently gotten a tip-off about her old high school History teacher at Kildare County, who had read the diary too.
"I'm bringing the lot of you with me," Singh said. Rafe was nursing a glass of scotch and, alternately, gazing up at Kie like she contained the Royal Merchant's gold. It frightened her how soft and serious he could be, when she'd seen the results of the storm inside him. "Back ta North Carolina."
Kiara's eyebrows shot up. This sounded like an opportunity for an escape. At least while traveling they'd be far away from the protections of Singh's compounds. No electrical fences could contain them on a boat or plane.
"Why?" Rafe's jaw was tense. He was wearing a new crisp, pale blue button-down and dark gray chinos - courtesy of Singh and his weird fixation on playing Outer Banks Barbies with teenagers.
"I got a tip-off on the diary, don't cha know? One of yer school teachers, Miss Carrera. If I can't get it from him, I'll drag you and Rafe down every street on the island, until one of you'se lets something slip." Singh looked too comfortable, toying with them. He really was sadistic.
"I'm in," Kie agreed. Getting a ride to the OBX might take her further away from the Pogues for now. But she knew the island a thousand times better than this asshole did. She could find a way to ditch him from there, steal a phone, and let JJ and the others know she was safe.
"Yeah, why the hell not?" Rafe shrugged.
