CHAPTER FOUR

Nothing about this situation was relaxing or reassuring.

Well, that's not true.

Knowing that these people she just met had her back and were so fiercely protecting her was reassuring. But the fact that she killed her boss last night and was waiting for the police to come, and for the fallout of the assault and everything else, left Vica with a nauseous feeling in her stomach.

She felt bad that she couldn't eat more of Wyatt's delicious smelling breakfast, but she was worried she wouldn't be able to keep anything down besides yogurt and the delicious iced coffee he made her.

That was one thing she really had to come to terms with once she moved to America—Americans made terrible coffee. So whenever a coworker asked if she wanted to grab a coffee on their lunch break, she politely declined, or went along for the walk and bought a cookie but no coffee. She bought an extremely expensive coffee machine for home, as well as the finest Italian roasted beans from a local import store, and brought enough to last her the day at work.

But Wyatt was too kind for her to refuse, and to her surprise, the coffee was rather good—delicious, in fact.

She gave Brooke and Justine a list for the store, then waited for Officer Bruce and her newly appointed lawyer, Gabrielle Campbell, to arrive.

The events of last night were on a loop in her head though, and even after Justine gave her a high dose of melatonin, she struggled to sleep last night. Her body ached when she woke up, and she refused to look at herself too closely in the mirror.

Sitting on Wyatt's couch and listening to him argue with his sons upstairs as he asked them to help him with the laundry and strip their beds, she closed her eyes. But that just caused the flashes of last night to whip across her closed lids like an old movie reel.

Track's hand wrapping around her ponytail and yanking her back. The way he threw her up against the wooden post so hard she thought her skull cracked. Then the hard smack to her face where she almost instantly tasted blood.

Her eyes flew open, and she gasped, touching her lip with her hand on instinct, which made her wince in pain.

Vibrating with delayed shock, she glanced at her long, brown hair curling slightly over her shoulder. Her bottom lip wobbled and she clenched her molars to keep the tears at bay.

She was up off the couch and rummaging through the kitchen drawers before she really knew what she was doing. She found what she was looking for and headed upstairs to the en suite bathroom of the room she was sleeping in.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she found her hair elastic from last night's ponytail, tied it around her hair at the nape of her neck, then picked up the scissors and cut off her ponytail just beneath the elastic. Nearly ten inches fell to the bathroom floor as Vica stuttered out a breath.

"What are you doing?" came a small, familiar voice. "Did you just cut your hair?"

Those unshed tears still stung the backs of her eyes as she faced Wyatt's youngest son, Griffon.

His blue-hazel eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

"The man who hurt me pulled my hair. He wrapped his hand around my ponytail and yanked it so I couldn't get away."

"So you cut your hair so nobody could do that to you again?"

She nodded. "Yes."

He nodded too. "Hang on. I'll be right back." Then he darted out of the bathroom and his father's room. His little feet echoed like a small elephant's on the stairs.

Vica merely stared at herself in the mirror, not quite ready to release the elastic and see the damage she'd just inflicted.

Griffon reappeared a moment later carrying a broom and dustpan. "Here, let's sweep this up," he said, not bothering to hand it to her, but rather getting to work cleaning it up himself. He glanced up at her as he crouched down to sweep it into the dustpan. "My teacher cut off all her hair last year and donated it for wigs. Is this stuff long enough to do that?"

"Perhaps," she said, her throat tight.

"Well, I won't throw it away. Maybe we can send it away and a sick kid can get a wig. That'd be nice. Right?"

"It would be very nice."

He finished, but didn't get all the pieces, so she helped him out. His presence was a welcomed distraction from her feelings.

"Can I see your hair now that you've cut it?" he asked.

She glanced at him in the mirror. "I know I've probably made a mess of things and will need to visit the salon."

He shrugged. "Until then, I have a hat you can borrow."

She snorted a laugh, but the smile made her lips hurt. "Thank you." Then she caught his eyes in the mirror again and dropped to a crouch. "Could you do it for me? I need your help being brave. I'm not feeling too brave right now."

A determined and serious expression creased his cute little features, and he stepped forward to ever-so-gently removed the hair elastic causing her brown tresses—now in a chin skimming bob—to fall forward and frame her face. Her eyes went wide as she stood up and stared at herself .

"I don't think it looks too bad, actually," Griffon said. "I mean, you might need the back fixed, it's kind of all scrumbled and weird, but you don't look like a monster with short hair."

That last part made her really smile, even though it hurt her mouth to do it. "Thank you. I'm glad I don't look like a monster."

"Griff?" Wyatt called from the hallway. "Hey, little man, where are you?"

"In the bathroom with Vica. I helped her cut her hair."

"You did what?" He was around the corner and standing in the bedroom looking at them in the bathroom in half a second, his eyes wide.

" I cut my hair," Vica said. "Griffon just helped me sweep it up and pull out the elastic. I needed his bravery. He has a lot of it."

Griffon puffed up his little chest and beamed. Only, when he looked at his dad, his face fell. "The man who hurt Vica pulled her hair so she cut it off so nobody can ever do that again. I really hope this guy goes to jail."

Well, jail was out of the question now that he was dead.

"Go find your brother. You two have chores. The plants in the backyard need watering, and you need to check to see if the bee water troughs need to be filled."

Griffon rolled his eyes and sighed the way only children can. "Are we doing anything fun today?"

"If all the boring stuff gets done first."

"Fine." He trudged out like he was headed for the salt mines, leaving Wyatt and Vica alone in the bathroom.

Wyatt's face was sad. "I'm sorry you felt this was your only choice."

She shook her head, unable to look at the pile of hair in the dustpan on the bathroom counter. "It's just hair."

Even behind his glasses—which he looked pretty handsome in—his eyes were a unique and beautiful shade of blue-hazel. "Even so."

"If I could have a clear plastic bag I'm going to see if it's long enough to donate."

"Of course. I can grab you one from the kitchen." His phone chimed and vibrated in his pocket and he checked it. "That's Myla and Gabrielle at the gate. You're ready to see them?"

Vica nodded and the two of them headed downstairs with Vica carrying, but unable to look at the dustpan with her hair. Thankfully, Wyatt seemed to understand that she didn't want to look at her hair. So he took it upon himself to empty it into the bag while she greeted the cop and lawyer at the door.

Both women wore surprised, then sad expressions when they saw her hair. Understanding soon followed.

"I'll call Danya Michaels over at Island Waves Hair Salon and see if she can do a house call to help even things up," Gabrielle said, jumping right on her phone and stepping to the side.

"How are you feeling today?" Myla—or Officer Bruce—asked her. "Any pain?"

"My face hurts," Vica said. "It hurts to smile."

Myla frowned and nodded while tucking a thick strand of her coppery-red hair behind her ear. "Understandable. Did Justine check you out today?"

"She did. But everything is superficial. Healing will just take time." What a loaded statement. Yes, her physical wounds would heal and eventually disappear, but the emotional ones would leave scars for a lifetime. She would never forget last night. She would never forget how terrified she was. How close to being overpowered and raped she was. And even though she was proud of herself for remembering all the self-defense her brother and his friends taught her, she still killed a man and that would stay with her forever too.

Gabrielle hung up the phone and joined Myla and Vica again. "Danya has an opening tomorrow morning at ten. And she can come to you. I said it was a sensitive subject and that she's not to breathe a word."

Vica exhaled. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"Now, the medical examiner from Seattle has arrived and is assessing the body with Dr. Malone. Seattle PD is also down at the crime scene surveying it in daylight. Clint and Bennett are down there to observe and keep people away. They're also trying their best to not freak out cabin guests. So no yellow tape has been put up for now." Myla brought up her phone and turned it around to show Vica and Gabrielle. "Unfortunately, someone tipped off the press. Track Croft's parents have been notified, as well as his place of work."

"Which was where I worked," Vica said. "And the company is owned by his father. His parents are separated."

Gabrielle made a noise in her throat to confirm. "Yes, Daddy has a new piece of arm candy he just popped the question to, and I'm pretty sure she's younger than all of his kids."

Vica knew this already; it was hot gossip around the office. But all she did was nod along.

"Any talk of pressing charges or …" Vica asked. She was in such a precarious position right now. Her visas were all work sponsored. Croft Engineering sponsored her for the first year, and then she was headhunted by the firm in New York, and they were sponsoring her second year. But she was in a state of limbo right now. Her position at Croft was coming to an end and her position with N-ER-G Solartek International was pending. They were in the processes of finishing up her visa, but it hadn't gone through yet. What would they do if they found out she killed her boss?

"Nothing yet," Gabrielle said. "But I only just found out it's gone to the press. Honestly, I'm shocked with how quickly this got out." She glanced at Myla. "You didn't leak it did you?"

Myla made a face. "Give me a bit more credit than that. I know how to do my job and much like yours, discretion and confidentiality are a huge part of it. Besides, no way would I blab about this to anybody. What happened last night was horrific and Vica shouldn't have to relive any of it."

"One of the McEvoys then?" Gabrielle asked, ignoring Myla's subtle green glare.

"No. They're not like that. They kept Brooke hidden here for weeks and nobody knew. They're not going to blab about Vica and what happened. They're way above stooping to leaking shit to the press." Myla exhaled, the shoulders of her slight frame lifting and falling dramatically. "Maybe some lookie-loos from the cabins? Or patrons at the pub?"

"I'll do some digging," Gabrielle said. "But we need to be prepared for an onslaught of press to the island, and the property. The guys were smart installing the security gate."

After the attack last night, Vica turned off her phone, and she had yet to turn it back on. But all this talk about the press knowing, along with Track's parents, made her run upstairs and grab it. She returned to the two women wearing identical curious faces.

And sure enough, once the phone was on, the never-ending messages from all her coworkers started to pop up.

She couldn't even bring herself to read them though.

"Give it to me," Gabrielle said. "Anything we can use to help build the case. But I understand if you don't want to read them. However, I do need you to remember and find any written communication between you and the deceased that could help with your case. Him asking you out. Text messages, emails. Anything. Did he slide into your DMs somewhere inappropriately? Did you turn him down? How did you turn him down? Did you ever give him any kind of indication that your feelings for him went beyond professional?"

"Never," Vica said. "Even if he wasn't my boss, I do not—I mean, I did not—find him attractive. He is not my type. He is … was arrogant. He was a playman—I mean, playboy. He was rude to people who he considered beneath him. He flaunted his money and the fact that his father owned the company, and he abused people because of it. I wondered from the day I met him if he even has a degree in engineering or if Mr. Croft just hired his son because he felt he had to."

"He never had a degree in engineering," Gabrielle confirmed. "My initial deep dive into his background indicated three years of a business degree at UCLA before he was expelled for sexual misconduct during a fraternity party. His father paid off a bunch of people—including the woman who Track assaulted—and it was all swept under the rug. But I have ways of pulling up rugs and jimmying backdoors. So I found the records. He then went to rehab for a pill addiction for two months, and once he was out, his father hired him at Croft Engineering. But he wasn't put in charge of his own division right away. Didn't take long though."

Vica's blood boiled. A man with far less education than her—and not even education in engineering—was calling the shots and telling her what to do. All because Daddy owned the company and needed to find somewhere for his baby boy to work. His college dropout, pill popping, sexually assaulting baby boy.

"So he's done this to other women before," Myla said. "That's got to help the case."

"If we can find those women. But if Wyndham Croft was willing to pay one woman off before, he's been willing to pay them all off. And if they signed nondisclosure agreements then we may have a hard time finding them. They also may not want to be found or come forward, reliving whatever nightmare he unleashed on them."

"Am I going to jail?" Vica asked, directing her question to Myla. "I killed him. Am I going to jail?"

Myla smiled. "At this moment in time, no. Seattle PD has posted a cop on the main road and will be doing vehicle checks because we don't want you leaving. But I'm going to do whatever I can to make sure that you stay out of jail. I believe you. We all do."

"Not everyone," Vica grumbled. "Not those other two cops."

"Fischer and Jenkins?" she said with an eyeroll. "They're glorified mall cops with guns. Don't worry about them."

It was hard not to though. They might be glorified mall cops, but they still had weapons and the power to put her away. Eventually, Officer Bruce would have a day off, or leave the island. What then?

Vica's phone pinged and vibrated in Gabrielle's hand. Vica's eyes went to it and Gabrielle gave her a questioning look. "Do you want to look at it?"

Yes, and no .

Yes, because she wanted to see if anybody believed her. But no, because she was sure most of the world right now was calling her a murderer.

She shook her head and sighed. "No."

"Do you have any family we can call?" Myla asked. "Either here, or back in Italy?"

Vica shook her head again. "I know what you're probably thinking—all Italians must have these big, loud families. But I didn't. And I don't. My parents are both dead. My mother died when I was six from an accidental insulin overdose, and my father died when he was in his late-fifties from a heart attack in his sleep. I was very close with my brother, Lorenzo, growing up, but he died two years ago in a paratrooper accident. He was with the 4th Alpini Paratroopers Regiment, and during a routine training jump, his shoot and backup shoot didn't deploy properly and he," she swallowed, and her throat grew tight once again, "he died."

"I'm so sorry," Myla said, her mouth hanging open in surprise.

Gabrielle nodded. "As am I."

Vica barely allowed the corners of her mouth to tip up as she exhaled through thinly parted lips. "Both sets of grandparents are already dead, and my mother was an only child. My father went no-contact with his family when he married my mother, as they did not approve of her. She wasn't Jewish and my dad was from a Jewish-Italian family. It was a whole big thing. But we do not speak to that side of the family."

"So it's just you?" Gabrielle said, her tone sad.

" Si. It's just me."

Fighting for my life.

The door opened, and Justine and Brooke stepped through, smiling at Officer Bruce and Gabrielle. "We come bearing clothes and deodorant," Brooke said her face full of sympathy and kindness. "And the store didn't have the tampon brand you wrote down, but we grabbed a box of the next best thing. Two-day shipping is more like four-day shipping over here. So if you place an online order today, they should be here before you need them."

They plunked the shopping bags on the couch.

" Grazie ," Vica said, the back of her eyes burning. "I … I really appreciate it."

"We got you, girl. Don't worry." Brooke wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Bumped into Dumb Cop One and Dumb Cop Two at the grocery store though."

Myla's brows ascended slightly on her forehead, but she didn't say anything.

"They still think you're guilty and are not being quiet about it," Justine said, her tone clipped. "Sat there eating their bagels and drinking their kombucha, and would tell anybody that passed by what happened. And that you resisting arrest and refusing to speak with them is a sure sign of your guilt."

"Well, I'll be adding that to our case for sure," Gabrielle murmured with a headshake.

Myla's cheeks burned pink in embarrassment, even though it wasn't like she was the one saying anything to anyone about Vica. "Fucking hell. I'm sorry, Vica. I'll have a talk with them."

They all knew it wouldn't do any good though.

Old, white men were the absolute worst. Impossible to reason with. Impossible to educate. Impossible to be around for any extended period of time.

"Do you think they were the ones who leaked it to the press?" Vica asked.

"I wouldn't doubt it," Myla said. "Though, I also doubt either of them know how to post anything to social media. So … they probably just made a call, and it took on a life of its own from there. They have two brain cells between the two of them and they're both fighting for third place."

Brooke snorted.

"I mean, I am guilty," Vica said. "I did kill Track. But it was in self-defense. He was going to rape me if I didn't do something. Do I regret it?"

She had to really think about that. And the honest answer was: no, she didn't. She'd do it all again the exact same way, because as much as this was an absolute disaster now, Track Croft being dead meant he couldn't hurt any more women. He couldn't pull their ponytails, hit them, or rape them. He was gone from the world, and even if she did go to prison, she would go to prison knowing she made the world just a little bit safer.

But she didn't say any of that. Especially not with a police officer standing right there. "I do," she finally said. "I regret the way the entire night went down. I should not have let him lure me outside. I should have gone to Dom at the bar and asked for his help to safely get me to the ferry. I should not have used such force when I hit Track in the throat. I should not have even come to the island with my colleagues without my own vehicle and means of escape."

"None of this is your fault," Brooke said softly, rubbing Vica's back. "He made the choice to assault you. Even if you'd been naked the whole day and bent over in front of him, you said ‘no' and he didn't listen. End of story."

The other three women nodded.

Vica's phone pinged again, and Gabrielle looked at it. "It's an email."

"W-who is it from?" Vica asked.

"N-ER-G Solartek International." She glanced at Justine. "Does that sound like a dumbass name to you?"

Justine shrugged. "I've definitely heard better. When I hear names like that, I just assume all the good names were snapped up already so they had to get creative."

"That is the engineering firm in New York that I'm supposed to start working for in two weeks," Vica said. "They're in the process of finalizing my work visa. This is probably just to tell me that the paperwork has been filed, or it is completed." She accepted her phone from Gabrielle and opened up the email.

Dear Ludovica Vitale,

After careful consideration, given the recent events that have come to light, we have decided to no longer pursue a working relationship with you; and therefore, will not be completing the visa application process. We at N-ER-G Solartek International pride ourselves on an amicable, safe, working environment and we do not believe that your values align with ours. We wish you the best of luck in all your future endeavors and apologize for the inconvenience this may cause.

Sincerely,

Derrin Garber

CEO and Co-owner

Vica's mouth hung open as she read and re-read the email.

"What is it?" Gabrielle asked. "Is it not from the company?"

"I-it is," Vica stammered as she struggled to find the words in English in her head to convey how she felt at the moment. Utter devastation didn't even begin to describe things.

Gabrielle snatched Vica's phone from her and quickly scanned the email, Myla hung over her shoulder and read it too. Myla's eyes went wide while Gabrielle's narrowed into thinner and thinner slits.

"They've decided not to hire her because of what happened," Myla said, directing her words to Justine and Brooke, who still stood there curious.

"What?" Brooke blurted out. "They fired you?"

"I cannot be fired if I never started working for them," Vica murmured, still in shock.

"Let me deal with this too," Gabrielle said.

"I … I'll be deported," Vica said, crestfallen as her heart hammered her ribcage. "Either sent back to Italy—where I have nobody—or sent to prison here." She had nobody here either, but at least she felt the promise of having someone here. Italy just held too many sad memories for her now. Memories of her family, of her brother, and even though his friends tried to stay in touch with her after Lorenzo's death, it was too hard for Vica to see them.

Maybe she needed to apply for a job in Canada?

But something told her that it wouldn't really matter where she went, this incident would follow her to the ends of the earth and beyond. The internet was immortal and now that her name was associated with "killer" she would never be able to escape that .

"Who's getting deported?" Wyatt's voice had all five women turning around as he descended the stairs.

"I am," Vica said.

His brows pinched. "Why?"

"Because the company I was supposed to start working for in New York just rescinded their offer."

"Over what happened last night?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Of course."

"They see you as a liability to the status quo," Gabrielle said. "You'd come in and shake things up. You wouldn't put up with misogyny or misconduct. They're afraid of you. That's all there is to it. It's written between the lines in their email. ‘We at N-ER-G Solartek International pride ourselves on an amicable, safe working environment and we do not believe that your values align with ours.' Which means, ‘W like the way things are right now, with women too scared to come forward, and with you on the team, that could change. You're not afraid to stand up for yourself and defend yourself and we prefer to intimidate and railroad women.'" She leveled her amber gaze at Wyatt.

"Why are you looking at me?" he asked. "I didn't send the email."

"No, but you're part of the patriarchy. You're part of the problem."

He sought help from the other women, but he wasn't getting any. Finally, he exhaled in defeat. "They can't do that, can they? Didn't she sign—" he glanced at Vica, "you signed a contract. Right?"

"I signed something. I believe it was an agreement that upon the completion and acceptance of the visa, we would then sign the legally binding contract."

"I'll need you to find me that preliminary contract," Gabrielle said. "I'd like to see how they worded things."

Vica nodded. "I think there was a three-month probationary period anyway though. Where I could have been terminated, even with the visa. So maybe they are using that?"

"It's possible," Gabrielle said. "But I'll do some research, make some calls. I'm not super knowledgeable about contract law, but I have some former colleagues who are, and I'll reach out to them."

"How did they find out about last night?" Wyatt asked. "I mean, it hasn't even been twelve hours."

"Well, Starsky and Hutch were at Booch and Bagels telling anyone who would listen that Vica is guilty," Brooke said. "So we have an idea how it got out."

It was as if an angry, red cloud descended over Wyatt's head. His fists bunched at his sides and his nostrils flared. "You're kidding. Right?"

"I wish we were," Justine said. "Small towns spread gossip and news like wildfire. I mean half the island knew about the flood in Cabin Five within a few hours. And then everyone knew I was living with Bennett and his girls within two days."

"But what does this mean for Vica staying in the States?" Wyatt asked. He turned to Vica. "They're not going to deport you. Are they? They can't do that."

"They can, and they will," she said, her heart heavy. "Without a visa, I cannot stay. I will have to go back to Italy and apply again. Or … I don't know."

"So does this mean she needs to now worry about murder charges, and ICE?" Brooke asked.

Gabrielle's eyes turned serious as she zeroed in on Vica. "Let's hope it doesn't come to any of that. But right now, all I will tell you is to keep your nose clean. Don't talk to anybody besides us, and … I think this goes without saying, but," she sighed heavily, "don't leave town."

A hot tear slid down Vica's cheek. "I have nowhere to go anyway."