I turn around to find a very attractive man with a Gatsby vibe. He’s older—but not too old.

“What did you have in mind?” I ask him.

He smiles and says, “The bartender upstairs makes the best vodka gimlets.”

“Well, then. Let’s go,” I say.

He smiles and says, “Yes. Andiamo!”

“Wait. Does Andiamo mean let’s go?” I ask.

“It does,” he says, giving me a wink. “Welcome aboard.”

“Oh, shit,” I say with a laugh. “Is this your yacht?”

“It is,” he says, looking smug but friendly.

Feeling a bit sheepish, I say, “So I guess you’re aware that I’m not an invited guest?”

He laughs. “It’s fine. I’m just glad you could come.”

“That’s awfully kind of you,” I say. “I’m Lainey.”

“Hello, Lainey. I’m Jonathan,” he says.

I try to shake his hand, but he takes mine and slowly raises it to his lips, kissing the back of it. It’s pretentious as hell, especially for an American, but at the moment, I don’t mind.

Jonathan leads me up a ladder to the top deck, where the party is in full swing. We head over to the bar as he cuts the line, saying hello to everyone before asking the bartender for two of his famous gimlets.

A moment of small talk later, Jonathan hands me one of the glasses. I take a long sip, then another.

“Oh, this is delicious,” I say.

Within minutes, I start to feel euphoric, the alcohol surging into my bloodstream. I know I need to slow down and pace myself. But when I hear Tyson’s voice in my head, admonishing me to be careful, I do the opposite. I drain my gimlet, then order another.

I lose track of my drinks after that. I lose track of everything. All I know is that I’m having fun. I’m the life of the party. I’m mixing and mingling and dancing, making the most of every delicious moment, knowing I can’t last much longer. The only real question is whether I will pass out or black out. Either way, the crash is coming. The crash always comes.

Chapter 31

Tyson

As troubling as Lainey’s disappearing act is, I manage to stay relatively calm until I finally decide to return to our hotel at four in the morning. At that point, knowing that even the late-night bars and nightclubs have closed, I can’t keep my panic at bay.

Lainey has probably gone home with someone—or back to their hotel. The idea of her having drunken sex with a stranger makes me sick to my stomach, but the possibility that something more nefarious could be happening terrifies me. I tell myself very few people in the world are outright evil—and the chance of Lainey falling into the hands of one of them is minuscule.

Of course there is also the possibility of a run-of-the-mill accident—and the odds of having one of those only increases when someone is shit-faced. A horrifying image of Lainey floating facedown in a pool pops into my head. I shudder, then force it out of my mind as I run back to the hotel.

As I walk into the lobby, I see Hannah talking to Alessandro. He is not dressed in his usual suit and tie—and my first thought is he may have received some news about his favorite hotel guest.

“What’s going on?” I ask, rushing over to them.

“I heard Lainey is missing,” Alessandro says.

“How did you hear that?” I ask.

“My colleague working the night audit rang to tell me you spoke with her. She thought I would want to know.” He hesitates, then says, “And she was right.”

“That was kind of her,” I say. “And of you to come in. Thank you.”

He nods, then says, “I was just telling Hannah that I think we should go around to all the hotels. At this hour, that might be more efficient than ringing them. We can talk directly with the front desk and security. I also want to speak with some of the taxi drivers. They see and hear a lot. I’ve reached out and left some messages already.”

“That sounds like a great plan. Thank you so much,” I say, overcome with gratitude.

“Of course,” Alessandro says. “My car’s out front.”

—

For the next couple of hours, Alessandro drives us all over the island. We take turns getting out of the car, going inside hotels, asking questions, showing Lainey’s photo. No luck. Nobody has seen her.

Then, right as dawn starts to break, the sun slowly blooming on the horizon, Alessandro’s phone rings.

He grabs it and answers, “Pronto.”

“Buonogiorno, sono Gianni.”

From there, I can’t understand what they’re saying, but I hear Lainey’s name, and I don’t need a translator to tell me that we finally have a lead.

Alessandro hangs up, his eyes bright. “That was my taxi driver friend Gianni,” he says. “He saw the photo I sent of Lainey. Says he drove her last night.”

“Drove her where?” I ask.

“Down to the marina. To the private dock.”

“So she could have sailed off on a random yacht?” Hannah asks, looking panicked.

“I suppose that is possible,” Alessandro says. “But it’s unlikely that a yacht would leave the dock at night—unless it just took a quick cocktail cruise around the island. Even if it did set sail to go farther, she can’t get out of the country without her passport. Does she have it with her?”

“No,” Hannah says. “I checked. It’s still in the safe.”

I breathe a small sigh of relief, although the possibility that Lainey could be out on the open sea isn’t particularly comforting. I tell myself to stay positive and keep my faith in Lainey’s street smarts. Even when she’s wasted, she has always managed to escape any real problems.

—

Ten minutes later, Alessandro has parked his car at the marina, and we are walking out onto a dock lined with yachts. We stop and talk to the first person we see—an older man reading a paper on a beautiful wooden sailboat.

He looks up and gives us a friendly wave. “Buongiorno.”

“Ciao. Buongiorno,” Alessandro says back, then starts speaking in rapid Italian.