The Missing by Kiersten Modglin (essential books to read txt) 📕

phone case and handed it to him as a tip. “Can you do me a favor, though? If my husband comes looking for me, can you tell him I went on a boat ride? Tell him I’ll be back in a few hours?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man said, tucking the cash into his pocket. “Thank you, ma’am.”

With that, I turned to the grinning man, tucking my Kindle and phone into the oversized pocket of my bathing suit cover and following his lead toward the boat.

When we reached the dock, he gestured for me to walk across the metallic ramp and onto the yacht. I did so slowly, my footsteps heavy and loud, the alcohol and the heat beginning to wear on me. I hadn’t noticed the buzz before, six drinks wasn’t much compared to what I normally drank in an evening, but when you added that to the heat, apparently it hit harder.

As I neared the edge, feeling even unsteadier, two men appeared with their hands outstretched, to help me climb aboard.

“Welcome aboard, beautiful,” one said. I stared at his thin mustache and dark eyes, offering a small smile. The man who had invited me jumped onto the deck with ease—no hand holding for him—and they immediately began untying the ropes that had been holding us to the dock onto the sides of the boat.

I walked forward.

“Drinks and music are upstairs, Señorita. Facilities downstairs,” I heard the man call, and I nodded, waving a hand over my shoulder at him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

As I walked across the deck, the sun seemed warmer on the boat, its rays beaming down on me. I looked back at the shore. I don’t know why I did it. I knew he wouldn’t be there, but somehow… Somehow I had hope that he’d have sensed me leaving. That he’d been keeping an eye on me from the window of our room and that, upon seeing me getting on a strange boat with strange people, he might’ve shown a little concern. I pictured him running across the beach, a hand in the air as he shouted for me, but it was just a mirage. Not even the good type of mirage. I knew this one was fake the entire time.

He would not run for me.

He would not notice that I’d left.

There was a good chance he wouldn’t even know I’d been gone by the time I returned.

About that last part, at least, I was very wrong.

Chapter Two

The boat cruised along the coastline, the wind whipping through my hair as the music blared and the drinks continued to flow. I was on my second glass of champagne—pacing myself, I thought—when the first of the boat’s passengers approached me.

“This seat taken?” He gestured to the padded bench seat next to me, where I could sit with my back pressing into the railing, looking out over the ocean as we sailed.

I looked at it and back at him. He was young, probably mid-twenties, with wild and wispy black hair and long, pale limbs. He looked to be from Southeast Asia, and when he smiled, just part of his upper lip raised as he stared down at me with dark, kind eyes.

I shook my head slowly, allowing him to take the seat. When he did, he rested an arm on the metal railing behind us and looked out over the water. “Nothing like it, is there?”

I inhaled deeply, trying to pretend I was enjoying the view, rather than obsessing over whether or not my husband had yet noticed my absence. “It’s beautiful.”

He looked back in my direction, his eyes meeting mine in a way that, if we were in a movie, he might’ve whispered, “No, you’re beautiful.” But, we weren’t in a movie and I was twice his age, so instead, he just smirked at me and nodded.

“Where are you from?”

“You wouldn’t have heard of it,” I said simply.

“Try me.” His grin widened.

“Leiper's Fork, Tennessee.”

He stared at me for a moment, so long that I thought he might be going to say that he did, in fact, know my tiny little town. Instead, he grinned finally. “Is that near Nashville?” That was usually the question, because everyone only knew Tennessee because of Nashville or Gatlinburg.

“Sort of,” I said, unable to hide the small smile on my lips. “You? Where are you from?”

“Here,” he said. “Well, Florida. I grew up in Naples; moved to Key West when I graduated.”

I didn’t know if he meant high school or college.

“And, let me guess, you’re a lifeguard now?” I gestured toward his plain, white T-shirt and red trunks. All he was missing was a dot of white zinc on his nose.

“Close,” he teased. “I’m an offshore diver.”

“How is that close?”

“Well”—he pulled one leg up under his lap—“instead of saving one life, I save thousands. Without me, this beautiful ocean you’re enjoying would be filled with oil.”

“You’re solely responsible for that, then?” I quipped.

He studied me for a moment too long, and I worried that he hadn’t read my sarcasm, but then the smile returned. “Yep, it’s all on me.”

“Well, I guess thanks are in order, then.” I tipped my drink toward him.

He sighed dramatically, placing his arms back around the railing. “All in a day’s work.”

I laughed, my face burning from his attention. It’s not that I was attracted to him—I was a married woman, after all—but the combination of alcohol and attention I hadn’t seen from a man, any man, in years had me feeling giddy and light. Like the fizz at the top of a champagne flute.

“So, what about you? What do you do?”

I thought for a moment. There was a time when I could’ve answered honestly, proudly. But those days were long gone. Instead of answering, I looked out at the water, realizing for the first time that I’d lost sight of the shoreline in the distance. I tried to shove down the sudden unease at being in the middle of the ocean surrounded by strangers.

What had started out as a