Page 92 of Sunburned

I frowned. “You and me?”

He nodded.

“But that’s not true,” I protested. “I did nothing to the camera feed, I just created an access point so that I could tap into it.”

“I know,” he said.

“So there’s nothing on the cameras at all after we left there?” I asked.

“The entire feed is wiped.” He laid a hand on my shoulder, his gaze troubled. “They are saying your fall was an accident.”

Chapter 34

Laurent and I emerged from the stairwell on the game deck to find Rémy and Cody, now in dry clothes, engaged in a game of darts on the far side of the salon area where everyone else lounged, drinking champagne, seemingly all too glad to write my near death off as an unfortunate accident.

I paused, taking advantage of their self-absorption to observe them for a moment before they noticed us. Ever perceptive, Laurent stilled beside me.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I zeroed in on Allison, reconfirming my suspicions about her. She was leaning against the bar, a glass of champagne casually dangling from her hand, placid as the moonlit sea. If anyone on this boat could kill someone and get away with it, it would be perennially cool Allison. Anyone who’d seen her swim knew a cutthroat competitor lurked just beneath that calm exterior. And with Tyson gone, she’d be free to bring in an investor to pay off her debt.

Frustration curdled my blood. I was exhausted and scared; I wished more than anything that I knew without a doubt Allison was guilty. It would mean I’d have only one person to evade to avoid being killedmyself, not a whole room full of them. But I knew better than to let my theory about one suspect hinder my ability to see the others.

“I guess the real question,” Samira said from where she lay on the couch with her head in Gisèle’s lap, “is which of you profits most from my husband’s death.”

No one answered.

Samira was displaying the biggest show of grief, which was fitting, but I kept coming back to the question of whether it was real? She might have glimpsed me leaving her room, recognized I might be on to her, and decided to make sure I couldn’t out her. She’d certainly been resistant to having the police return tonight.

Though it would be almost too obvious for Samira to be Tyson’s killer: the long-suffering spouse who’d already had one husband die under mysterious circumstances. Not to mention her insistence that she’d receive nothing in the will.

Regardless, it was possible she’d been pushed past her limit.

Or could it have been Gisèle—or better yet, the two of them together? And what of the money in Gisèle’s suitcase? Had they somehow realized I’d found it and wanted to make sure I couldn’t tell anyone? Yes, despite the cliché of it, they were both strong suspects.

My wound smarted as I watched as Rémy let a dart fly, striking the very bottom of the target. I recalled seeing him here in the game room, so close to where I’d gone over the railing, just a few minutes before my fall. Yet he claimed not to have seen anything. What reason might he have had to push me?

Cody’s aim was surer, his dart flying directly into the board, a near bullseye. He grabbed his champagne glass and downed half of it in one gulp, brooding. But was his anguish over his brother’s death or over the prospect of being caught? He’d saved me, which would be odd behavior for someone who had pushed me…unless of course he’d planned it that way. Which seemed like a big risk to take for an uncertain outcome.

All of this was bizarre, everyone sitting around swilling champagne like they were celebrating something when Tyson had been murderedand I’d nearly met the same fate less than an hour ago. It made me think of that Agatha Christie novel in which all the suspects had murdered the victim together.

All of them had reason to want Tyson dead. Could they all have been in on it?

Which would mean they’d all been in on the attempt to silence me as well.

Fear curled around my bones like an icy vine, making it hard to breathe.

Act normal,I reminded myself. While this was definitely the closest I’d ever come to being killed, it wasn’t the first time my life had been threatened on the job. There were reasons I now carried a gun. And I knew from experience that whoever had attempted to murder me needed to think I wasn’t a threat in order to be dissuaded from finishing off the job.

I watched as Jennifer leaned forward from her place on the couch and cut herself a slice of the chocolate cake that sat untouched in the center of the coffee table, “Happy Birthday, Tyson” scrolled on it in curling gold letters.

A birthday, I realized. That’s what they were celebrating. The food and liquor had been purchased in anticipation of Tyson’s birthday dinner tonight. Which was why they were drinking his Dom and eating his cake while he lay in a refrigerated cabinet somewhere, his blood congealing in his veins.

Had it been their plan all along?

The thought made me shudder.

“Oh,” Jennifer said, catching sight of Laurent and me as she reached for a fork. “You’re back. How are you feeling?”

Everyone’s expressions were solicitous as they watched us approach, but I didn’t buy their sympathy. They clearly weren’t my friends. One of them had tried to kill me, and regardless of whether the rest had been in on it, they hadn’t thought it necessary to call the police.

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