She moved to sit up, but her heavy head was pounding, and she could only manage pushing up to her elbows to have a look around.
It was a cabin, a run-down, cluttered cabin bedroom. The paint on the walls and ceiling was peeling. The bedspread was threadbare chenille, and the sheets smelled of mothballs and Ben-Gay. There was a small vanity dresser with a tarnished mirror, the top of it stacked with papers and books and a couple of bottles that looked like Milk of Magnesia.
Great. She was in some granny’s cabin.
With a moan, Leah closed her eyes. Her night out with the gang had left her feeling like her head was physically detached from her body. Her vision was blurred, and her mouth felt like a truck had run through it.
Wherever she was, she had to get out of here.
Leah blinked several times to clear her vision and sat up, and only then did she realize she was wearing nothing but a bra and panties. Well, if it wasn’t clear what she’d done before, it certainly was now. But honestly, couldn’t he at least have taken her to a nice hotel room or somewhere other than his granny’s bedroom?
In answer to that question, Adolfo suddenly appeared, breezing into the small room wearing nothing but boxer briefs and munching on a section of an orange. “Buenos dias, mi amor! How do you feel?”
This was the very reason she didn’t drink to excess, because she always wanted to be dead certain she knew who she was in bed with, what she was doing, and if she at least enjoyed it. Her mouth dropped open, but no words came out. What did one say the morning after one did something she really wished she hadn’t done, but wished she could at least remember—hey, was it good for me, too?
Jesus, how did she get out of this mess now? And speaking of getting out, she looked around for a clock. If she missed the all-call for the boats this morning, she’d be toast.
“You are pale. I will bring you orange juice, si?”
“No thanks,” Leah said, pulling the cover up around her neck. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Time.” Adolfo chuckled, popped the rest of the orange section in his mouth, and wiped his hands on his boxers. “Time is irrelevant,” he said with a smile.
“Oh-kay. But do you have a watch?” she persisted.
He plopped down in an old greenish-gold Naugahyde chair and grinned. “Perhaps I do.”
One thing was certain—Leah was definitely not in the mood for post-coital fun and games.
IN the camp, Michael and Jack were gearing up for another day of rafting—actively separating the non-rowers from the rowers on a sheet of paper—when Trudy burst into their cabin looking so panic-stricken that Michael’s first thought was that someone had drowned. Her dark hair was sticking up in really strange places, and she was wearing only a skimpy little sleep shirt that barely covered her butt, fur-lined boots that rose mid-calf, and dark aviator shades.
“Good morning,” Jack said, obviously taking her bizarre appearance in stride. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes! No! I don’t know—but I think something is really wrong,” she exclaimed through chattering teeth. She folded her arms across her body and held on tightly. “Leah didn’t come back to camp last night.”
Michael felt his gut drop. He grabbed up a jacket and put it around Trudy’s shoulders. “Calm down, Trudy. Are you sure she didn’t come back? Maybe she’s just in another tent.”
“No, no, I checked,” Trudy insisted, tears welling in her eyes. “The only other place she’d land is with Michele and Jamie, and they didn’t see her last night, either. She didn’t come back,” she said again. Her bottom lip was starting to tremble, which was a sure sign that she believed something had happened to Leah.
Michael’s heart began to pound. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Last night, at the Italian restaurant in town,” Trudy said as she pulled the jacket tightly around her. “She was drinking wine with Adolfo, the Italian guy.”
Michael’s stomach twisted. “Italian?” he asked. “Or possibly Spanish?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know! Maybe. He went to the restroom before I got to meet him, but he was really good-looking, and he had an Italian look. I think.” She looked at Michael. “Maybe he was Spanish. I don’t know.”
Now Michael felt absolutely ill.
Trudy was looking at him, waiting for him to speak. “I think maybe she hooked up with that guy. Only I don’t know who he is, except one of the crew—”
“The crew?” Jack interrupted. “What makes you think he’s part of the crew?”
“Leah said so. Lighting.”
Michael and Jack exchanged a look. The crew was in Bellingham. It was possible one of them had come out, but he doubted it—they had too much to set up before filming began on Tuesday.
“What?” Trudy demanded, looking first at Jack, then at Michael. “Why are you looking at each other like that? You know something, don’t you?”