Getaway Read Online Free Page A

Blouses and skirts neatly hung. Sandals lined in a row.
    Including one pair that didn’t belong. A pair of Tevas, too big to fit her feet.
    Hanging on the closet pole, a faded batik shirt.
    Daniel’s clothes.
    She found the swim trunks on the shelf with her bathing suit and sarong.
    Holding up the trunks, she felt a surge of irritation. How could they have forgotten his clothes? What was she supposed to do with them?
    Maybe she’d give them to the beach vendors, to one of the Indian kids peddling garish magnets made in China.
    It’s not right for me to feel this way, she thought. She should care—shouldn’t she?—about what had happened to him. Maybe he’d just needed stitches, maybe he was resting at home right now, or even back on the beach looking for some other tourist to fuck, but what if he’d been badly hurt? A skull fracture, bleeding in the brain, something like that.
    But ever since Tom had died, she didn’t seem to feel the things she was supposed to feel.
    And maybe it wasn’t so strange, not wanting to see Daniel, after what had happened. What did she know about him, really? Just that he was attractive, and after she’d taken him to her room, they’d been attacked.
    It could have been a lot worse.
    She shuddered thinking about it.
    Just some clothes that he wasn’t going to miss. Not her problem.
    There was a sudden burst of music. She flinched, almost flinging Daniel’s trunks in the air. What was that? Not the stereo from the beach bar, it was definitely inside the room. A rock song, something familiar. She finally recognized it as “Pretty Fly,” by the Offspring. Coming from inside her tote bag.
    It was her iPhone. I’ve never used that ringtone, she thought. She grabbed it from her bag, hit ANSWER .
    “Hey, Danny?” A male voice.
    “No,” she said. “Who’s this?”
    “Oh. Sorry. Wrong number.” The call ended.
    She stared at the phone. The wallpaper on the screen was wrong—an ocean wave rather than the rows of mountains she used. A moment later it rang again. N ED G came up as the caller. Same ringtone.
    “Hey,” the same male voice said. “This is Danny’s phone, right?”

[CHAPTER THREE]
    She hadn’t thought it was Daniel’s phone . It looked exactly like her phone. It was a black iPhone, for chrissakes; they all looked pretty much alike.
    “Who’s this?” she asked again.
    “It’s Ned. So is Danny around?”
    “No. He isn’t.”
    “Oh.” A nervous chuckle. “Well, sorry to bug you. But, um … is this Danny’s number? Maybe my phone’s screwed up somehow.”
    She stared at the iPhone. “I don’t know,” she said. She didn’t know what else to say.
    “Okay,” the voice said. “But you know him, right?”
    She hit DISCONNECT before she could even think it through.
    When she slid the bar to unlock the phone, ENTER PASSCODE appeared on the screen. She didn’t use a passcode.
    She had Daniel’s phone. So where was hers?
    She tossed his phone on the bed. Used the hotel phone to make an international call and dialed her own number, waited for the ringtone she used for unidentified callers, the default marimba.
    Nothing.
    The call went directly to voicemail, and then she remembered that she’d turned it off to avoid roaming charges. To avoid calls from her attorney. From the creditor who’d somehow found the number.
    “Oh, fuck,” she said.
    “Leave a message,” her own voice said.
    Beep . She hung up.
    She tried to remember where she’d put the phone last night. It had been in her tote at the beach, she remembered that.
    Where she’d found Daniel’s phone.
    She checked the tote. Her phone wasn’t there.
    Then she remembered: the tote, knocked over, its contents spilling out onto the floor. The man, going through Daniel’s shorts.
    If she had Daniel’s phone, maybe Daniel had hers.
    The phone rang again, and she lunged for it. “Hello?”
    “Look, I’m really sorry to keep bugging you.” It was the man who’d called before—Ned. “But if