Читать книгу Secrets of His Own - Amanda Stevens - Страница 8

The body would start to smell soon.

I should have dumped it in the swamp right after it happened, but I was too afraid of being seen. Even on Cape Diablo, eyes were everywhere. I could feel them on me now as I lay naked in the dark. Grabbing a blanket, I pulled it over my feverish skin and tried to ignore the trickles of sweat that slid down my temples and ran back into my hair.

I hadn’t slept in days. Squeezing my eyes closed, I willed myself to succumb to the exhaustion, but it was no use. My mind raced with fragmented images. I’d killed someone, but I hardly remembered the act at all. Rage had blinded me and by the time I emerged from that terrible haze, the body lay at my feet.

I could still smell the blood even though I’d scrubbed the walls and floors until my hands grew raw. It had taken me a long time to get everything cleaned up, and then I wrapped the body in several layers of plastic and tried to forget what I’d done. Told myself I wouldn’t dwell on it.

And I hadn’t until now. But tomorrow was Tuesday.

The supply boat ran on Tuesdays. Any visitors to the island would likely come then.

The driver would drop off provisions and passengers and wouldn’t return until Friday. That would give me three whole days. Three days in which there would be no way off the island. No communication with the outside world. No one to stop me from doing what had to be done.

That was why Cape Diablo was so perfect for someone like me. A person could disappear out here and never be heard from again.