Chapter 13

She turned, determined. Back to camp. She knew the way now.

She’d get back without him, if necessary.

“Abby, no.” Dare stood in front of her, blocking her path. “I’m sorry I was an ass just now. Really.” Hid deep blue eyes importuned her. “But just tell me. Why did you face all that, for McMaster? For this contest?”

She could barely school her words, but forced them out in a slow, measured fashion. “You want to know why this is important?”

That’s all she could get out. If she let loose, all hell would explode.

She’d be damned if she let loose. He’d lost the right to see into the bits of her innermost soul.

She was so angry she could barely see him for a moment. Everything faded around him as the environment, the surroundings held her. The motionless tropical air, the dry heat baking her. The greenery, the shrubs and tropical trees, their leaves and fronds barely moving. She took a breath, another.

They seemed to be all in concert, waiting. Waiting to see what she would do next.

And he came slowly back into focus.

He looked at her as if she was a trauma victim now, spoke slowly, gaze never wavering from her face. “I still don’t get what’s going on. McMaster can still demand more from you. Just to keep you in tow, or needing him. Did you think of that?”

Ugh. That was something she’d forced herself not to think about, as it awakened a cycling anxiety in her.

But he was right. All of her plan did rest on one thing. McMaster had to honor his word and sign off on the pictures. ASAP.

Reasonably, he’d made a bargain to do just that, if she held up her part of the deal, so would do so.

But Dare was right.

And suddenly the answer was important. If not for him, for her. “If he doesn’t sign off on the photos I’ve taken here, I lose a shot at being one of Jayde’s Fresh Five.”

“So? What’s the worst that could happen?”

Indignation bubbled through her. What was the worst that could happen?

End of her life didn’t sound too off the mark. But that was personal. She wasn’t sharing that. “I need it to prove myself in the industry.”

There. That should shut him up. She turned away from him, bent on continuing their journey back.

But Dare didn’t move. Eyebrows lifting and staying high, understanding flowed through his face. “Ah. So that’s it.”

A fierce, defensive slither tore through her. And he pissed her off. “What do you mean? That isn’t enough? To aspire to be one of the year’s most recognized photographers?”

The line of his mouth was unyielding. “And this would be important why? Because mummy and daddy are demanding some currency to be able to spread around at their bridge parties and hunting weekends about their trophy daughter’s accomplishments?”

The breath left her body in a whoosh. Primal rage deluged her. And even as she shook, she recognized the other emotion as it cut through her—unbearable sadness.

Tears flooded her eyes. She turned to the man that had said the awful words to her and pulled her arm back to slap him.

Unwanted sobs racked through her and the words flew from her throat. “You bastard. How dare you. You, who knew me better than anyone else…”

He caught her wrist in mid-swing and held on tight. “Abby! I say it because it’s true. Don’t you think I’ve seen what’s going on? How you always run your life like an android on crack for them?” His face contorted, itself a visage of pain. “You turn yourself inside out, choose whatever will take you closer to having their approval.”

She jerked her arm away, but he’d captured her other wrist too. He wasn’t going to let her get away. A crushing wail overflowed deep inside, ripping through her. No. She couldn’t deal with this. This was never allowed out.

Yet he’d pulled it out, into the glare and hyper-magnifying lens of the tropical sun.

Tears spilled down her face in a free flow, and the salt from them was tangy on her tongue. “You don’t have the right!”

His eyes searched hers feverishly, intensity scrawled in each tensed muscle. Lips slightly parted, as if, once he figured what he wanted to say, she wouldn’t be able to stop him.

But no. She didn’t want to hear it. He knew too much. She heard his voice as her vision blurred, the tears choking her.

And yet he spoke. “Don’t you think I could see it? I couldn’t live with you for all those months and not see what they do to you. How they rip you free of any self-expression, of who you are.”

Her gut spasmed as he verbalized the feelings she’d always pushed down. How her parents conveniently shoved her aside. They’d insisted she was the cutest little thing, yet they’d left her with child minders and nannies. Even the housekeeper, as they raced through their luxurious lifestyle, and none of it included her.

None of it. She’d been an addendum to their cocktail party stories, an epitaph to their achievements.

It was unbearable.

Pain ripped through her chest as she heaved in a wracking sob. If they didn’t see who she was, what the hell use was this contest to try and prove to them that she’d done the right thing?

The air practically ejected itself from her lungs and she caught herself, choked the sob back.

What the hell had she said?

She yanked herself from his grip and bent over, planted her hands on her knees and gulped in huge drafts of air. Dare, the scenery, all of it faded to nothing as she considered the question that had surprised her with its seamless yet forceful entry into her consciousness.

All the work she’d done—had it been, on some level, fueled by a desire to show her parents they were wrong, or in a backwards way, to gain their approval? To prove to them that she’d made something of herself? That she was good at what she did?

She raised her gaze upward, became aware of Dare scrutinizing her with a worried expression on his face.

Past him, the sunlight poured over the gorgeous tangle of palms in the distance, the breathtaking blue sky framing the scene.

It was perfect. Just perfect. Her hand slid toward her case, unclasped the fastener on it. Slipped in to curl around her camera…

And, in a jolt, she realized.

She wasn’t doing this for them.

Yeah, there were problems in her family. But this hunt, this race to be a damn good shooter, the best, in fact…

She was doing it for herself.

The discordant thought was at odds with the pain of what she was feeling right now, but somehow it had pushed itself, like a tiny sliver, into the huge dam of emotion, and something about it felt right. More, it was true.

Yeah.

She loved photography. Yes, she pushed herself to be the best, no doubt about it. But she had picked photography, when her parents had shoved her toward wearing a designer pinstripe suit with legal briefs piled on her desk. They’d acquiesced only because she hadn’t given them a choice.

But actually, strangely enough, it had become crystal clear. No matter what the reason, this contest, these photos, were a glow of bright light in the darkness.

She straightened, took a deep breath, willed the crazy pace of her heart to ease to normalcy. If she didn’t submit the photos and meet that deadline to put her work in front of one of the top judging panels in her industry, she’d never know her mettle.

And she wanted to do that. She wanted them to judge her work, tell her how she rated against the others in her field.

She might win, yes. It was a possibility. More likely she wouldn’t, but the feedback, and the acknowledgement that she’d put herself out there, at such a high level…

Yeah. She needed it. She needed to prove herself. To herself.

This was about her choice, one that she’d had to make at such an early age. A choice that had set her on a vastly different path than she’d been aimed at.

Photography. It was the one thing that called to her, the one thing she could feel flowing through her as if it was her blood. When everything had seemed dark, dank, being a shooter was the only thing that brought color into her personal world. She couldn’t leave it no matter the cost. And she couldn’t leave it as an I’ll do it Sundays or weekends thing, when I get home from an exhausting day in corporate Canada. No.

It was her life. Period. Full stop.

She took another glance at that perfect picture in the distance, let it flow through her.

She’d lost so much by following her passion. A stable life, money. Obscene amounts of money, and a lifestyle that others could only dream about. Comfort. Never having to worry.

Instead, she’d run toward the one thing she knew she could excel at, hell, wanted to, with all the breath in her body.

The moment of self-realization swept through her.

She was a shooter. That’s who she was.

Well, hell.

Something good had come out of meeting Dare Logan again, here on this desert island.

What she’d just documented about Devil’s Taunt swirled in front of her. A heart-breakingly isolated scene, with breakers smashing against the black rocks, the turquoise water morphing into columns of frothing white.

Dangerous and wild. Untamable. Unpredictable.

And yet—the activity. The beat of the hot sun against the ocean spray creating infinite microcosms of flashing rainbows every second. As the waves crashed against the crags, she knew what the message was. And it wasn’t only solitude, but joy.

A testament to the countless possibilities in every second. Something stirred through her. Energy. A thread of the larger picture.

Greatness in every moment.

See. That’s why she loved photography.

The fronds of the palm trees waved as a breeze flew through. All the greenery rustled, and close by, the cry of a tropical bird pierced the unnatural silence as if an ode to movement, to love. To life. To passion.

She pushed the curly mass of her hair back off her forehead, swept her hand across it to slick off the sweat. Fixing her gaze on the sight ahead, she scanned the horizon, then turned to finish the conversation.

He was staring at her. Probably watching for another emotional meltdown. And she couldn’t blame him, but strangely, a calm suffused her. As if an important piece of something had been revealed to her.

She pushed her shoulders back, jutted her chin forward. “Thanks for your opinions, Dare. Yeah, my family’s a complete mess, but I’m dealing. But actually, those photos, all of this, regardless of what happens, are for me.” She spoke the words out loud, and a strange exultation raced through her.

It was for her. Not for McMaster, and not for her parents.

For her.

She flicked a stray piece of dried vegetation off her arm, then raised her eyes to the road ahead. “We’d best be getting back.”

“Abby.”

She started on the path, ahead of him.

“Abby.”

She didn’t turn back, though the tone in his voice grabbed at her. Harder than she thought it would. Still.

But…moving forward. That’s what was important. She had to get the pictures to McMaster and move on.

“Stop for a bloody second, will you? For crap’s sake.”

She halted, turned part-way, met his gaze.

“I don’t care anymore what happened in New York. Or why you risked your…everything…for those damn photos.” His gaze beseeched her. “We can’t pretend there’s nothing between us. That…”

The edges of her vision went blurry, the old illusion whisked away into nothingness. Gone. “Work’s waiting. Most important thing, remember? I’ve a deadline. Got to get back.”

She didn’t know how she got through the next few minutes, but she did. The tears that still were there, that wanted out were simply not allowed.

Turning around, her right foot hit the gravel, scraping the small stones out of the way. Then her left.

“Abby, I need this job. But it doesn’t mean that…”

The words flew around her ears like fragments of pollutants in an otherwise bearable environ. No problem. Her system had learned to deal with contaminants long ago.

And the memory of that silky black thong wouldn’t recede.

She blocked his words out and kept up the steady, though increasingly rougher, pace as her shoes hit the dirt. If the small, sharp stones poked through her thinning soles and scraped at her, oh well. Collateral damage. It was nothing her body couldn’t handle. Scar tissue grew around crap.

She flicked a disinterested look at the gorge she was striding past now, the one they’d passed on the way up. She’d get by it. She’d done a hell of a lot more only a few minutes ago.

“Abby!”

And then something streaked by her legs. Something blurry, furry and then a crazy, long shape cut past her feet, brushing the side of her shoes.

Abby screamed, leapt back, and fear slammed through her as her arms splayed violently to stop her fall. Her camera boomeranged upwards, yanking at her neck.

It all took place in a few, hyper-speed seconds. The lanyard abruptly jerked the camera back against her chest.

The disaster was over, and the tiny mammal and snake were nowhere to be seen. Long gone, as if they’d never been.

But, oh no. Sick slivers of pain sharded her heart.

The memory card had been thrown from her fingers down into the gorge. The pictures were gone.