As if in slow motion, Gemma shoved Modesto hard in the chest. He lost his balance, fell backwards, and tumbled onto the floor. The knife slipped out of his hand. She picked up the water jug on Jason’s bedside table and smashed it over Modesto’s head as the man tried to stand up. He fell to the floor and didn’t move, blood trickling down his face.
Turning to face the bed, she took a deep breath, forcing her eyes to stay open. Is Jason dead?
She had seen the knife come down. What had happened to Jason?
Spreading about the sheet, blood, crimson and flowing. She fought back her demons, her abhorrence of the red liquid, and climbed back onto the bed. His clear blue eyes fixed on her, wide-open with shock. She placed her hand over the wound and squeezed hard. She pressed down, and the blood oozed through her fingers.
“Babe, I’m all right,” a strained, but soft tone.
Her eyes came into focus properly, and she saw him lying on the bed. She remembered. As the knife had descended, Jason had moved, and instead of plunging into his torso, the sharp blade had slipped down past his inner arm. “It’s not serious, Gem.”
Jason used his uninjured arm to push himself up. Her bloody hands dropped away from his side. She could see the red ooze covering the sheet underneath him. There she remained, perched on her knees, on the bed. She had frozen into a rigid figure of shock and disbelief. Flitting across her mind, flashes of images that she didn’t want to see. She fought them back, sucking in air, slowing her breaths.
Jason used the intercom to summon help. Slow minutes passed, and then Lubinsky and Remy came storming into the stateroom in their underwear with guns in their hands. Roused by the call, they found Modesto unconscious on the floor, the knife close by his side. Lubinsky quickly removed the weapon out of reach and wrapped a towel around Jason’s arm, staunching the flow of blood.
Somehow, amongst all the crazed activity, Gemma crawled next to Jason and lay cradled in his uninjured arm, feeling dazed and speechless. Her eyes stayed open and staring at her husband’s face. He bent down to kiss her lips.
“You’re safe.”
Later, recovering from her confused state, she couldn’t decide who had said the words. Him or her. Perhaps they both had.
Chapter 30. Painting
Day Seventeen
Jason returned to Sublime from the hospital shortly before midday. The wound had been sutured and bandaged. The doctor confirmed there was no major tissue damage. The knife had slipped down his skin, slicing into him without going deep. Gemma held his hand as they climbed out of the car. Esteban and McKenzie were there to greet them.
“Mr Lucas, are you all right?” asked McKenzie with a concerned expression.
“Yes. Fine. A flesh wound as they say. Modesto?” asked Jason.
“Conscious. The police will charge him with attempted murder once he is able to answer their questions. So far, he has done nothing but ramble away about the devil. I will need to speak to you once you’re settled. Gaspar has told me something that may explain all of this. But it should be said in private.”
“I see.” Jason’s eyebrows furrowed.
Someone had cleaned the stateroom after the police had taken their forensic photos and blood samples. The detective who had spoken to them in the hospital had found out little from her or Jason. The note-taking policeman had been faced with an injured man who had been minimalist in his explanation of what had transpired. Gemma had taken Jason’s lead and kept to the basic facts.
Jason had told the police he had been stabbed but with no understanding of the reason why. She spoke with brevity, still very shocked and pale. She explained to the investigator she had pushed Modesto away from her husband and hit him over the head in self-defence. Why the deckhand decided to stab his employer was a mystery to everyone. The Filipino appeared to have gone mad.
Upon their return, she and Jason didn’t go to the stateroom—the scene of the crime—instead they went to the sundeck and lay on the lounger. They had said very little to each other all morning. Their hands rarely left each other’s with fingers continuously intertwined and locked together.
“Do you want to go home? A flight can easily be arranged,” Jason asked her.
“I don’t know.”
“The injury is minor. The stateroom thoroughly cleaned. There is no blood left,” he reassured her.
“I’m hoping it’s not going to be a problem any longer. Blood, I mean. Seeing yours on me. Staunching your blood has reminded me we all bleed for different reasons. I shouldn’t be afraid of it. I thought I was saving your life last night....”
“You did, babe. You screamed, and I moved, causing him to miss me. Then you overcame your fear and helped me with the bleeding. I’m very proud of you. You didn’t faint, panic, or anything. We were both in shock. It’s perfectly natural to wonder what might have happened.” He smiled faintly at her.
“The nightclub....” Did she want to bring up her faults again?
“The police have confirmed she was a prostitute. German, not Croat. She recruits homeless or stray foreigners for a trafficking gang sent over here to find new girls.”
“Trafficking?”
“Yes. I gather she is being very cooperative with the police. Caught between them and her pimps can’t be a safe place to be.”