Elena sighed. Why did everything Bernie say sound so good and turn out so bad?
She’d trusted him too much, had believed his lies too many times.
“But, Bernie, I --“
“No, don’t say it.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “You and me, baby. The two of us in Jamaican paradise. I won’t let you turn me down.” He stroked the back of her hand.
Her heart pounded. Her knees went weak. Bernie held too much power over her. She hated it. She hated him. He made her crazy. She had to break free.
“Think of it, baby,” he crooned. “Shimmering ocean, rum and Coca-Cola, and that reggae beat.”
His words lapped at her like soft waves rolling into shore, wearing away her resistance.
“Montego Bay,” she whispered. “A perfect place to get away.”
“Just the two of us.”
Elena nodded, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “What about your wife? Won’t she wonder why you’re away so long?”
“She knows better than to ask too many questions. I give her what she wants, baby. Money. Prestige. She’s happy. Don’t worry about her.”
Closing her eyes, Elena let his voice wash over and around her. It lifted her up, carried her into a deep, dream-like state.
She saw the ocean spreading out before her, felt herself getting lost between the sea and the sky. Her smile widened.
“We could go sailing.”
“Anything you want, baby.”
“Just the two of us.”
“That’s right.”
But Elena would return alone.
Yes, Montego Bay. The perfect place to get away...with murder.
- The End -
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