SHADOW’S RECKONING

SHADOW ISLAND SERIES: BOOK TWENTY

MARY STONE

LORI RHODES

Copyright © 2025 by Mary Stone Publishing

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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For the readers who stood beside Rebecca from the very beginning. You’ve cheered her victories, mourned her losses, and carried her through the darkest moments. You’ve felt her rage, her heartbreak, and her relentless fight for justice.

This story has always been hers. But it’s also been yours.

Thank you for every page you turned, every theory you debated, and every piece of your heart you gave to Shadow Island. This reckoning is for Rebecca…and for you.

DESCRIPTION

This isn’t revenge. It’s reckoning.

When Sheriff Rebecca West answers a late-night dispatch about a fatal car accident on the bridge, she fears the worst. The victim isn't just any driver—he’s her informant. The man who risked everything to send her a thumb drive exposing the monster who shattered her life. He was on his way to Shadow Island, seeking her protection.

Instead, he found death.

The strangulation marks covering his neck underscore the grim truth. This was no accident. It was an execution. And Rebecca knows exactly who’s behind it. He’s silenced anyone who’s dared to stand against him—her parents, an inventor who once worked for him… and now, her final connection to the truth.

Now, he’s coming for her.

Every act of violence is a warning. Every victim that falls is a message. He doesn’t just kill—he makes examples. And unless Rebecca finds a way to stop him, she’s his next lesson.

The game is set. The pieces are moving. And the stakes? Everything.

Safety is an illusion, and Shadow’s Reckoning—the pulse-pounding twentieth installment of the Shadow Island Series by Mary Stone and Lori Rhodes—will have you checking over your shoulder long after you turn the last page.

1

The icy grip of predawn settled over the coastal bridge as Simon Lankford hunched over his steering wheel, guiding his aging sedan along the road to Shadow Island. His breath came in shallow bursts, mirroring the fear throbbing through his veins with each heartbeat. Every shadow cast by the vanishing moonlight seemed to move with sinister intent. The rustle of the wind whispered conspiracies and threats.

Searching for any telltale sign of headlights creeping up behind him, Simon flicked his attention to the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time since he’d left home several hours ago. Despite having taken an extremely roundabout path to get here, he flinched at every vehicle that appeared, no matter how innocent it looked.

Former Senator Morley’s people didn’t bother hiding. They made their presence known, and that created a tangible fear. If they weren’t afraid of being seen, did they believe they were beyond the reach of law enforcement? Probably. But Rebecca West was different, and that was why he was on his way to her now.

“I passed it on. I’m done with it, and they’re done with me.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel, the only solid thing in his life. “The end.”

But deep down, in a place where hopelessness prevailed, Simon knew the truth.

There was no “done” when dealing with people like Morley. They weren’t the sort to leave loose ends dangling.

Morley’s people snipped, burned, and buried their loose ends.

He was next, if they knew he’d given Rebecca enough intel to bury them instead.

A shiver ran down Simon’s spine—not from the cold but from the image of his wife, vulnerable and alone, should the former senator’s goons decide to stop lurking and pounce. That vision propelled him forward, away from Kelsey, even as the instinct to protect her screamed at him to turn back. He couldn’t be the reason danger arrived on their doorstep.

The thumb drive of information he had entrusted to Sheriff West might as well have been a live grenade in his pocket. He’d played hot potato with it by dumping it on the only person he knew of who’d faced down Morley and lived to talk about it. Yet he was still in the blast zone.

“Rebecca will know what to do.” Simon swallowed hard, trying to calm his racing thoughts.

The FBI agent-turned-local sheriff had a reputation that spanned beyond the quaint reaches of Shadow Island. If anyone could shield him from the storm Simon had unwittingly summoned, it was her. He hadn’t really given her a choice about whether to protect him. But bless her, she would take on the task, despite the danger. He just knew it.

As he lowered the window, a burst of cold air rushed in to wage war against the heater. After running for so long, he needed something to fend off his exhaustion. The painfully cold wind whooshing through the open window stung his skin, and his mind focused. Just a little bit longer. He was only a few miles away now, almost across the bridge. Almost to safety.

“Come on, come on.” He urged his car forward, coaxing more speed from the engine as the island materialized in the distance. Safety lay beyond the bridge, in the form of a woman who had stared down monsters worse than the ones who chased him now, according to the news.

Simon breathed a little easier as Shadow Island grew closer, its silhouette a darker shape against the graying sky. He was soothed by the sight of Christmas lights twinkling in the distance and the scent of briny air. Just a little farther until he reached Rebecca West. Then he could collapse.

“Almost there.”

Simon’s heart hammered against his rib cage as he steered over the bridge. The steel structure served as the major artery to the island. The hum from the bridge’s deck under his tires was a soundtrack for the danger lurking in the shadows of his rearview mirror. He tried to focus on the cold, damp asphalt.

Without warning, the darkness fractured, splintering into blinding light as headlights flared directly in front of him.

A car was waiting in the middle of the road with its high beams on.

Too close to stop.

Panic clawed at Simon’s throat. His hands suddenly slick with sweat despite the cold air, he jerked the wheel violently to the side in a useless attempt to dodge the stationary vehicle.

His car fishtailed, and he struggled to maintain control. A high-pitched screech drilled into his eardrums as the side of his old sedan collided with the bridge’s railing barrier. The stink of burning rubber from his tires was accompanied by a sickening crunch that ended with a snap as the front passenger side dipped lower.

The damn axle.

As the front end ground against the bridge’s deck, his car screeched to a halt, metal groaning in protest.

The world jolted around Simon, a carousel of terror that refused to stop spinning.

Before he could make sense of the events, the offending vehicle repositioned itself directly in front of him. He was blind against the high beams’ unrelenting brightness.

They should outlaw those stupid LED headlights.

He considered his options. Backing up would be useless, considering the broken axle. His heart skittered as reality closed in.

The island’s promise of refuge was now a mirage.

A fleeting thought of flight sparked within him—a desperate, primal instinct. If he couldn’t go forward or backward, the only option was to the side. He could jump off the bridge to get away.

Visions of jagged rocks, like the teeth of some leviathan, surfaced in his memory. They lay in wait beneath the surface, ready to shatter bone and draw blood. He remembered one of the many news articles he’d read about Rebecca and her cases on the island. A killer had been trapped on this very same bridge. He’d chosen to go over the edge instead of going to prison. And he’d died a horrible death on the rocks below.

No, plunging into those icy depths was a terrible idea. Drowning in freezing water with several broken bones sounded like a bad way to go. He’d be safer inside his car, even if it wouldn’t drive.

A figure emerged from the opposing vehicle. Through the blinding headlights, Simon could discern no details, save for the outline of a hoodie.

Simon’s breath caught as the figure approached, each step measured and heavy with menace. He fumbled for the button to shut his window before remembering the car’s engine had died in the crash. He turned the key, but before he could even get the pane halfway up, a hand, viselike and unyielding, shot through the window and squeezed Simon’s throat.

His thin frame was no match for his attacker’s brute force. The cold air bit at his skin, but it was the suffocating grip on his neck that froze his blood. He clawed at the fingers choking him, fear crashing upon him like the merciless waves against the rocks below.

“Where is it?” The man’s voice was tinged with urgency.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Simon’s throat constricted as the iron grasp clamped around his neck. He squinted against the blinding light, trying to perceive any feature, any clue that might tell him more about his attacker, but it was useless.

“You’re lying!” The man reached in, pulling on the latch and opening the door.

Simon flailed, trying to pry the crushing grip from his throat, but the hold only tightened. The seat belt jerked free, and he was yanked from the car. His attacker hauled him close in a brutal, full-body grip, riding him down as they hit the frost-rimed asphalt. A strangled wheeze escaped him past the unyielding pressure on his windpipe.

A halo of headlights framed the silhouette hunched above him, turning the assailant into a faceless specter born from Simon’s darkest nightmares. Frigid air bit at him, fueling the panic clouding his mind.

“Tell me!” The command was sharper this time, and the fingers around his throat betrayed a tremor. Fear? Frustration? Or just the sick anticipation of ending a life?

Does it matter? Either way I’m dead. Unless…

“Please,” Simon rasped, choking on desperation. “I swear…Rebecca has it. I don’t know where she⁠—”

The pressure on his windpipe stole the rest. Hope—fragile, foolish hope—shattered beneath the weight of his mistake.

“If you don’t have it, you’re worthless to me.” The shadowed figure bared his teeth in something resembling a smile, but there was no amusement—only hunger. The kind that ended in death.

Simon’s world shrank to that tightening grip, to the crushing force that stole air, stole thought, stole everything but the cruel twist of irony—Rebecca was so close. A few more turns, a few more minutes, and he would have reached her. Would have been safe.

Instead, his body twitched against the asphalt, a weak rebellion as his limbs lost their fight. His mind clawed toward the one thing that mattered.

Kelsey.

He should be home. Wrapping her presents, teasing her for shaking the boxes, watching her arrange the stockings just so. He should be reading to her, the way he always did.

’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…

The words drifted through his mind, tangled in the static at the edges of his fading consciousness. The stars in his vision swelled. His ears rang with the crushing silence.

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…

Fingers that should have been curling around his wife’s soft hand instead grappled weakly against the frozen ground, grasping for warmth that wasn’t there.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care…

Kelsey would wake up on Christmas morning without him.

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

His body gave one last feeble twitch before stilling completely. No breath. No sound.

And to all a good night.

2

Sheriff Rebecca West stepped onto the weathered porch of her small home, the briny chill of Shadow Island’s winter air nipping at her cheeks. A dull flicker of light caught her eye, and she halted, cursing under her breath.

The Christmas lights she’d strung along the windows glowed defiantly in the morning light. She shook her head, dismissing the oversight of leaving them on all night. She had more pressing matters to attend to.

Less than fifteen minutes ago, a grim dispatch call had roused her from bed.

A reported accident on the bridge—with a fatality, no less.

She wrapped her around the cold metal of her keys. On the other side of the closed door behind her came a faint whine. At least Kelly Hunt and her dog, Brody, would be making their usual stop by the house so Humphrey, her loyal and lovable chocolate lab, would get his midday stroll down the beach. Those puppy play dates let Rebecca leave her dog at home during her long hours on the job.

As she strode to the cruiser parked in her driveway, a knot tightened in her stomach. Serving as sheriff in a town with fewer than two thousand year-round residents should have been a walk in the park, especially in the offseason with no tourists clogging the streets.

But Shadow Island had always been a bit different.

Today was proof of that. Could the victim be Simon Lankford? His panic-filled tone echoed in her head…his desperation when he’d said he was fleeing to Shadow Island.

She slid behind the wheel, fingers moving rapidly as she checked her phone. No new messages or missed calls from Lankford. Her heart sank with each passing second without word from him. “You can call me anytime now, Simon,” she muttered, hoping her fear was misplaced.

The drive to the bridge was short, but each block unfurled like a roll of barbed wire, snagging and tugging at her nerves.

When she arrived, the scene was a riot of flashing blue lights against the serene backdrop of the bay. Parking on the left side of the road, she turned her lights on before getting out of the SUV to meet up with her team.

Senior Deputy Hoyt Frost stood by the railing, a clipboard in hand, while Deputy Trent Locke directed traffic with somber efficiency, his broad shoulders set against the intrusion of curious onlookers. Deputy Viviane Darby crouched by the wreckage of an older sedan, her face etched with concentration beneath her dark curls. Deputy Jake Coffey paced the scene, taking pictures.

“Boss.” Trent’s deep voice barely rose above the murmur of redirected cars. His new beard gave him a gruffer appearance, but Rebecca knew better than to judge that book by its cover. Underneath the whiskers, he was baby-faced.

That was probably why he’d started growing his beard out again. Either that or the cold weather. During the summer, he hadn’t wanted to regrow it after his so-called friends had forcibly shaved it off to teach him a lesson about ignoring the Yacht Club’s orders. He’d told the other deputies that he viewed it as punishment for his own incompetence.

“Keep them moving, Locke.” Rebecca approached the center of activity. “We don’t want any more wrecks from rubberneckers.”

The sedan, its aged surface marred with fresh scrapes and dents, was crumpled against the bridge’s barrier. The front passenger side was tipped lower than the rest of the car. A sorry sight, yet not one that screamed of fatal consequences.

But it was the motionless figure in front of the vehicle that drew her attention.

“Shit.” Lying on the cold asphalt under the December sky was Simon Lankford, his bloodshot and lifeless eyes staring into nothingness.

He wouldn’t be calling to let her know he’d be there soon after all.

That’s what I get for hoping.

The familiar law enforcement protocols faded to a distant hum as Rebecca’s pulse hammered with anger. This was no accident. This was murder. In that moment, her world distilled to a single point.

“I was first on scene, Boss.” Jake tilted his head to the car. “Thought it was a broken-down car ’til I looked under it and saw him stuffed under the bumper. I dragged him out to check on him, but no pulse, no breath, and his windpipe appeared to be crushed. I called it in to dispatch and tried CPR, but he was too far gone. That’s your informant, right?”

Rebecca rubbed her hand over her face. “Yeah. He was running scared too.”

Jake tapped the department-issue camera against his leg, pale blue eyes worried. “Is that going to make things harder?”

“Not for me. He’d already shared all his information.” Rebecca clenched her jaw, her heartbeat thrumming at the base of her throat. “But I’m going to make it a lot harder for whoever did this to him.” She strode toward the other deputies, her hot breath visible in the crisp air.

Hoyt’s solemn demeanor belied his usual penchant for lighthearted banter. In his weathered hand was a familiar object Rebecca wished she didn’t need. “Simon’s ID. The car is registered to him too.” Hoyt extended it to her without ceremony, but his eyes were troubled as he studied the lifeless form on the ground.

“Thanks, Frost.” Rebecca took the laminated card and noted Simon’s address. Norfolk. He’d never been as far away as he implied.

Two hours away. But why did it take him so long to get here? Did something else happen before he was killed here? Or was he killed elsewhere and dropped here in my jurisdiction as a warning?

“The call came in from a commuter who spotted the broken-down car.” Hoyt indicated the body. “Jake was doing CPR when I arrived. We called for Bailey.”

Rebecca tucked the ID into an evidence bag before placing it in her coat pocket. “You all heard the call yesterday,” she thought out loud, hoping her senior deputy could come up with a reason where she couldn’t. “It was early afternoon when he said someone was tailing him. He was spooked and planning to come here for refuge. If he lived in Norfolk, why did it take him this long to get here?”

“Slow packer? There’s a suitcase in the back seat, but that’s it. Maybe he took the scenic route down?” Hoyt gestured toward the scene. “There are yaw marks on the pavement behind the car, so we know he fishtailed. Looks like he sideswiped the barrier. We found scuff marks on the barrier rail, and his front right axle is snapped.” The deputy’s eyes narrowed as he motioned Rebecca closer. “And like I said before, there’s this.”

He pointed to the visible marks around Simon’s throat—ugly bruises that stood out against his pale skin. Strangulation marks in the shape of hands. A shiver ran through her despite her thick coat.

Rising from a crouch near where the car had smashed into the railing, Viviane dusted off her hands on her uniform pants. “But the wreck looks straightforward. There’s no sign of another vehicle impact. His axle snapped, but it looks like that happened when he hit the rail, since the tire tracks are aligned until the car impacted the barrier.”

“Dammit.” Rebecca swallowed hard against guilt rising like bile. “He was worried Morley’s people were closing in, and he was trying to get to me. Lankford thought he’d be safe here.” Protecting Lankford should have been straightforward, yet here he was, dead before she could even give him sanctuary.

“Seems he was right to be worried.” Viviane frowned as she contemplated the crumpled car. “The bridge is basically empty early in the morning. Maybe something scared him, and he wrecked?”

“Right…” Rebecca’s gaze lingered on Jake pacing slowly down the road and taking pictures every few steps. “But now, by coming here, he’s dragged us all deeper into whatever mess he was tangled up in. Especially me. I was concerned before when they were only watching. Now they’ve escalated to murder.”

She knew Morley’s reach was far and dangerous. Anger and fear twisted her insides. Lankford’s death was a stark reminder that no one was beyond his grasp, not even in her small corner of the world.

“M.E.’s here,” Trent called out.

Rebecca drew a deep breath, steeling herself. She had work to do. “Focus on securing the area. And widen the search. I want every detail we can scrape up.” Viviane nodded and moved off to pass the new orders to Trent and Jake.

“Morning, Rebecca.” Bailey walked up from behind Lankford’s car. She smiled cheerfully despite the grim scene as her assistants loaded their equipment on the gurney before joining her. “So nice of you to meet me halfway for once.”

“Morning. Wish the reason was better.” Rebecca still couldn’t believe he’d died so close to safety. “He was coming to see me because he was worried he was in danger.”

“Looks like he might have been right. Too bad he didn’t get to you in time.”

Bailey’s words punched Rebecca in the gut. If only…

The M.E. crouched beside Simon’s body, her French braid brushing against the collar of her lab coat. She pulled on a pair of gloves, the snap of the material a familiar percussion in the chill morning air and grinned up at Rebecca. “I know I’d run to you if I was in trouble.”

Rebecca blinked, touched at the sentiment.

Hoyt snorted, but before she could glare at him, he nodded. “Me too. Her and Viviane. She’s a crack shot. But the boss would come up with a plan that wouldn’t lead to me needing to shoot my way out.”

“Oh, Frost, I have faith in your ability to get into those situations on your own.” Bailey’s keen gaze swept over Lankford’s form, deftly probing the bruising that marred his neck. “Strangulation. Crushed larynx. I’ll know more once I get him back to my table, but…” She trailed off, pointing to the telltale signs of petechiae dotting the whites of Lankford’s eyes. “These little spots suggest asphyxiation.”

“Any idea how long ago?” Rebecca had an idea but always appreciated having her hunches confirmed by a professional. Her focus stayed locked on the marks of violence on poor Lankford’s skin.

“Given the fact he still has a bit of warmth to him, I’d say not more than two hours.”

Hoyt stepped forward. “This isn’t where we found him. He was tucked under the car. It’d be warmer there.”

Bailey raised her eyebrows at the senior deputy. “Here you are on the verge of retirement, and you finally bothered to learn a few things.” She winked at him. “Since the temperature on the bridge is much colder compared to the heat from the engine when he was under the car, I could be a bit off.” Her face was impassive, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of something softer, something human. “But not by much.”

“Two hours.” The timeline made Rebecca’s stomach clench. If only she’d convinced Lankford to let her go to him. Or he’d gotten to her sooner. Less than sixteen hours had passed between his phone call saying he was in danger and his death. Would the killer still have found him if he’d shown up yesterday during rush hour? “Could you check him over and look for signs he was restrained or held against his will at some point?”

“Once he’s on my table, I’ll search for any other clues that are more difficult to find out here in the field. You know how thorough I am. I’ll even tell you what he had for his last meal.” Bailey’s attempt at lightening the mood fell flat, her morbid humor out of place in the somberness that had settled over the bridge. “By the way, I found this paper in his pocket. Two words. ‘ICE’ and ‘Kelsey.’ Then a number.”

“Thanks, Bailey. In case of emergency, call Kelsey. Lankford was prepared.” Rebecca accepted the piece of paper from the M.E. “Keep me posted.”

“Will do.” Bailey nodded.

Rebecca turned to her team, her lips pressed together. She didn’t want them to see how upset she was at Simon’s death. “Lock down this scene. I don’t want anything missed.”

“Where are you going?” Viviane’s face was shadowed with concern.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, Rebecca shook it. “I need to talk to Lankford’s wife.” She always hated this part of her job. “She deserves to hear what happened from me.”

Understanding flashed in Viviane’s eyes, and she turned back to her work. “Yeah, we’re on it. Take care of what you need to.”

With a tight nod, Rebecca set off toward her cruiser, the weight of responsibility pressing down on her. Talking to the victim’s family was never easy, and this time, it felt like delivering an apology as much as news.

Simon Lankford had come to Shadow Island seeking sanctuary. Instead, he’d found death.

3

Stepping away from the flashing lights and hushed deliberations, Rebecca found a semblance of solitude at the edge of the bridge. Below, the churning water seemed indifferent to their grim discovery.

Then again, it had seen worse.

Rebecca took a deep breath and called one of the few contacts in her favorites, urgency fueling her words and actions.

“Rhonda, it’s Rebecca. I need someone on protection detail for Kelsey Lankford. She’s in your neck of the woods. And I need it fast.” She pulled the license from her pocket and read off the address.

“Morning, Rebecca.” The special agent for the Virginia State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigation sounded somber. She was likely used to urgent requests on a daily basis. “This seems serious. What’s going on?”

“This is something big…something major.” Rebecca scanned the area for any unseen threats or cars moving too slowly. Drivers more interested in her than they were in the recent wreck. “We’ve got what may be an organized crime hit. A man was killed to stop him from spreading information or possibly to send a message. His wife might be next.”

“Crap. Does this have anything to do with the Yacht Club?” Rhonda’s question was sharp with concern.

“No. The Yacht Club could only hope to reach the level of these assholes.” A shadow crossed Rebecca’s mind. “It’s tied to my past in D.C. They could be after me as well.”

“Then you had better give me a lot more to go on.” Rhonda pressed gently, but her loyalty was clear.

“Not over the phone.” Rebecca left no room for argument in her tone.

Because of Lankford’s encryption booby traps, Rebecca still hadn’t gone through all the information on the drive he’d given her. She was itching to get into the files to study the incriminating evidence. That drive had to be a loaded gun aimed straight at William Morley. There was no other reason for him to be so focused on stopping Lankford.

“Understood.” Rhonda was all business now. “Remember, I’m here for you. Whatever you need. I can drive down there right now if you need me to. And bring backup.”

“Thanks. For now, just keep Kelsey Lankford safe. I hope I don’t need backup, but I’ll definitely keep your offer in mind. I’ve got you on speed dial.” Rebecca sighed. “Now I’ve got to give Mrs. Lankford a call and let her know your people are coming.”

“Roger that. Stay safe.” Rhonda ended the call.

Rebecca stared at the winter sky for a few moments before typing the number for Kelsey Lankford, a woman now widowed by violence. She hovered her thumb over her phone screen, the weight of what she was about to convey giving her pause. With a forceful exhale that did little to diminish her guilt, Rebecca initiated the call.

“Hello?” Even with one word, the tremble in Kelsey’s voice was apparent.

“This is Sheriff Rebecca West from the Shadow Island Sheriff’s Department. Is this Kelsey Lankford?”

Kelsey’s breath hitched. “Yes…oh, god, what happened to Simon?”

Rebecca braced herself for whatever reaction she was about to get. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your husband was found dead this morning. Normally, I would have this conversation in person, but I have reason to believe his death is a homicide and time is of the essence.”

A sharp intake of breath pierced the line, followed by a stifled sob. Rebecca’s heart constricted, a fraction of the pain that must be coursing through Kelsey Lankford at that moment. “Wh-what? No…I thought he was just being paranoid.”

“Unfortunately, no. He was on the bridge to the island. Did Simon tell you why he was coming to Shadow Island?” Rebecca pressed gently, trying to discern how much the woman knew about the trouble Lankford was in.

“I don’t know. He’s been acting weird recently.” She gave a choked laugh, bitter and hollow. “He thought he was being followed, became so paranoid recently. I-I worried about his mental health. Then yesterday, he just disappeared, and I realized he took a suitcase with him. I was about to start calling hospitals.”

Rebecca listened as she stared at the holiday garland twining the railings of the bridge, now a backdrop to a darker narrative. “Did something happen?”

“No.” Mrs. Lankford sniffled. “I thought maybe he was seeing someone else, that he was cheating. Except other than him being so stressed out, everything has been wonderful. Or at least. I thought it was. We’re both retired, and until recently, we were living our best lives.”

“Do you know what time he left? When did you last see him?”

“It must have been before two in the afternoon. I got back from lunch with my friends, and the house was empty. Please, what happened to Simon?” Mrs. Lankford’s voice was plaintive, desperate with her need to understand.

“I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t.” Rebecca kept her voice measured, despite the squeeze in her heart at Kelsey’s distress. “Disclosing more could put you in danger. As it is, I’ve arranged for a protection detail for you. Someone from the Virginia Bureau of Criminal Investigation will be in contact. Your husband was right to be worried. He stumbled onto something very dangerous. And his main focus was keeping you safe.”

“Protection?” Kelsey echoed, the word muffled by another wave of sobs. “What did my husband get himself into? What are you talking about?”

“Again, I can’t tell you that yet, but rest assured we’re going to dig into this.” Rebecca clenched her fists. She knew the sting she was delivering, offering condolences instead of answers.

“Okay.” Kelsey’s voice trembled, followed by a silence that spanned miles.

“Take care of yourself, ma’am. Don’t open the door for anyone until the agents get there. And make sure they show you their badges.” Rebecca softened her tone. “We’re on this.” She ended the call.

All around her were signs of the approaching holiday, a day that would be empty and somber for Kelsey Lankford. Rebecca rolled her shoulders back and massaged the kinks out of her neck as she released a long sigh.

First my parents, and now a man who cooperated with Morley. This has to end.

4

Hoyt kept an eye on Rebecca as she wrapped up her phone call. He’d finished sketching the scene but stayed where he was, not willing to move away. If this had happened to him…if someone had called him for help but died on the way to his house…he didn’t know what he would do.

Over the years, especially the last one, he’d lost plenty of people. Some of them had died in bizarre and painful ways. Hoyt surviving when they had not was its own special kind of hell.

“Frost, you’re with me.” Rebecca headed for her SUV, the sheriff’s emblem emblazoned like a shield on its side. “Let’s go over everything we know. They’re not getting away with this.”

“Yeah, Boss.” Hoyt tossed Viviane the keys to the cruiser they’d ridden out in. He didn’t even wait to see if she caught them before jogging after his sheriff. “Looks like you get to drive it back to the station.”

He was still pulling on his seat belt when Rebecca performed a fast three-point turn and headed back to the island. As they drove away, the scene receded from sight, but not the weight of it. She gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as bone.

Yeah, she was going through hell, just like he thought. “You know, that’s usually my job.”

Rebecca glanced over at him, a question in her haunted eyes.

He pointed at her hands. “It’s usually me with a death grip on anything I can reach while you’re slinging the cruiser through traffic. This time there’s no traffic, and you’re the one holding tight.”

She finally smiled, though it was the barest lift of her lips.

He wanted to pat her arm or provide some measure of comfort, but kept his hands clamped to his knees. She wouldn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her. “Hey, you know this isn’t on you, right?”

She rolled her shoulders several times before answering. “Logically, I know that. But it still feels like I messed up. I knew Morley’s people were hanging around. I could have told Lankford not to come here. I could have gone to him.”

“We all heard the conversation with Lankford.” He jabbed his finger at her. “You did try steering him away from the island. As I recall, you even offered to go out and meet him.”

“None of that matters now. They’ve shown how far they’re willing to go.” She exhaled, then filled him in on her conversation with Mrs. Lankford. “But that’s not all. If they were following Lankford, they could have killed him anywhere.”

“But they waited ’til he was close to you to do so.” Hoyt raised his eyebrows. “They wanted to send a message.”

She shook her head, her ponytail swaying like a pendulum. “It’s like the Yacht Club mess. Only now, I’m the magnet pulling danger to this island. This town has seen enough of this crap.”

Her words hung between them, an echo of guilt and anger that Hoyt wished he could dispel. But she was right.

Kind of.

Morley was here because of her.

“Yeah, well, if he wasn’t here harassing you, he’d be somewhere else. This isn’t the first person who’s died on his orders.” Not that he needed to remind her.

Rebecca’s parents had been killed because her father had refused to back down and work with Morley’s accomplices. Bruce West had created a rough prototype of an engine that ran on water. When he refused to take bribes to bury his work, Morley’s assassins silenced him.

Lankford had played ball with them by backing down and accepting their bribe to stay silent, but it didn’t matter. Simon’s wife was a widow now thanks to Morley and his goons.

Hoyt thought of Angie, and a shiver traced up his spine. Yet he kept silent, knowing his fears would only sharpen Rebecca’s own.

At the station, they stepped out, their shoes crunching on the gravel of the lot. The old brick building stood solid against the sky. That place was much like Rebecca, if he decided to get sappy and poetic about it. Despite the bombings and attacks against it—against her—both had come through the challenge stronger.

Rebecca led the way, her stride purposeful, as if each step could distance her from her obvious guilt. “Let’s dig up everything we can. There has to be a thread we haven’t pulled.”

As he and Rebecca stepped into the sheriff’s station, the morning sunlight cast long shadows across the laminate tile floor. Inside, the lingering scent of coffee promised a semblance of normalcy, a contrast to the urgency of their task—sifting through the labyrinth of unencrypted information left by Simon Lankford.

“Hey, Boss.” Elliot Ping offered a supportive smile from behind his desk. “Was it…?”

“Morning, Elliot. And yeah, it was Lankford. They got to him before he could get to us.” Giving him a short nod, Rebecca made a beeline for the kitchenette nestled in the corner of the bullpen, while Hoyt detoured to his desk.

He settled into his chair, the worn springs creaking under his weight, and jiggled his mouse to wake his computer from slumber. “I remembered something.”

Rebecca turned from the counter, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. “What’s that?”

“The stalker’s plates? They were linked to a dummy corporation. Peterson Acquisitions.”

One of Morley’s goons had hung around outside Rebecca’s home not too long ago, moving his Sonata every few hours like some amateur stalker. She’d run him off by sneaking up and chocking his wheels with bricks before filming him inside the heavily tinted vehicle while he struggled to make his escape.

But Hoyt had done some stalking of his own before then. A run of the Sonata’s plates had revealed the connection to Peterson Acquisitions.

Her brow furrowed as she took a sip of coffee. “I remember that. I thought we looked into them?”

“We did but didn’t find much. It’s a shell company owned by a shell company buried under layers of paperwork.” Hoyt’s fingers pounded the keyboard as he pulled up the information he had on the fake company.

“Then we start there. Trace it all the way back ’til we find a human owner.” Rebecca took a long swallow of coffee, like she was bracing herself for the hours of slogging they would need to accomplish that.

“Or we check to see if someone has already done that.” Opening the secure department server, he homed in on Rebecca’s copies of Simon Lankford’s meticulous records. Though she’d managed to copy off all the unencrypted files on the flash drive from Lankford, she’d had to secure the drive in a safety deposit box in Norfolk, since the rest of the encryption threatened to delete the files inside.

With Lankford dead, accessing those encrypted files had just gotten a whole lot harder.

Rebecca moved up beside him as he typed in a search request, scanning the digital pages as they flicked across the screen.

“Here.” Hoyt found the highlighted words nestled amid a cluster of notes, a fleeting mention that promised potential breakthroughs. “Peterson Acquisitions. Lankford also knew about them. Look at this.”

Rebecca leaned closer, her shadow merging with his as she read the jagged handwriting captured in the scanned document. “‘Peterson Acquisitions equals M’s fake corp?’ Looks like he suspected something but couldn’t connect the dots.”

“Seems so.” Hoyt welcomed the familiar thrill of the chase, the sense that they were closing in on their quarry. He opened the next search result. “He did it. He found the person who owns Peterson. Let me just…”

Opening a new tab, Hoyt double-checked the findings. The search yielded fruit within moments. A post office box in Delaware and a name. P. Stillwell.

Rebecca squeezed his shoulder. “This is good work.”

Hoyt studied the screen, hoping he’d find something to provide a bigger clue. “Stillwell doesn’t ring any bells. Does it for you?”

Rebecca shook her head, her lips pressed in a line of concentration. “No, but it’s a start. We need to figure out who this person is and tie them back to Morley somehow. If ‘M’ is even Morley. And who knows who ‘P’ is. Initials aren’t incredibly helpful.”

“Right.” Hoyt’s mind churned with the possibilities. P. Stillwell could be a pawn in Morley’s game or someone pulling the strings from the shadows. But whoever they were, he knew Rebecca wouldn’t stop until she found them.

5

Dickey Tabbart wiped his brow, leaving a streak of grit across his forehead as he leaned on his hoe. Between the midday sun and the warmth from his physical exertion, he’d worked up a sweat, even in mid-December. He continued smoothing the gravel of his driveway, getting it just level with the edge of the road.

The joys of retirement meant he could devote his time to making his yard as pristine as possible. And being a perfectionist about it also kept him from wasting away, sitting in front of the boob tube all day.

He’d just straightened his back, bones creaking like the rusty gate in his neighbor’s yard, when a flicker of motion down the street caught his eye.

Rebecca’s house stood silent, her driveway empty. That part wasn’t unusual. The poor woman was rarely there. Some days she even drove her cruiser home, probably too tired to go back to the station to swap out vehicles.

Despite her obvious absence, a shadow moved across her windows. That Kelly lady routinely made brief visits to walk the sheriff’s dog. But those were never anything more than her opening the door and being greeted by Humphrey’s wagging tail. And Kelly would just throw a leash on the good boy and leave. She never dawdled or went inside.

Dickey pinched his brows together. He’d just seen Kelly, waving to her when she’d come to pick up Humphrey less than an hour ago.

Then what the hell…?

“Can’t just stand here gawping.” After Meg Darby’s speech about civic duty at the town hall meeting, he couldn’t turn a blind eye now. It was up to the residents as much as the cops to keep their neighbors safe. His fingers tightened around the worn handle of his garden hoe, a meager shield against trouble, but it was something.

As Dickey squinted, trying to discern more through the Christmas lights twinkling on the sheriff’s windows, memories of recent oddities tugged at his thoughts. Just last Tuesday, the security camera he’d recently put up had caught Rebecca slipping stealthily over his fence and crossing through his backyard while wearing an oversize hoodie.

When he first saw it, he’d thought about confronting her. But she’d earned her stripes here. The island owed her a debt for her unwavering dedication. Now that it looked like someone was in her house while she was gone, he wondered if she’d snuck out the back and into his yard at the end of the street to get away.

Or knowing their sheriff, she’d trespassed in order to loop around and get the drop on someone. An unfamiliar car had parked on their street a lot recently too. But only at night and early in the morning. And now that he thought about it, mostly when she was home, which explained why it was absent now.

Dickey wasn’t bothered by having a woman for a sheriff, especially since Rebecca was a darn good one. But he was still old-fashioned enough to be bothered by the idea of some dirtbag harassing a lady.

With careful steps that spoke of his many years, Dickey made his way up the street, every sense straining for signs of the intruder. Rebecca’s lights were askance, drooping in the middle from the tape she’d used. He couldn’t blame her for that. The poor gal had just put them up last night. He could come by later and hang them straight for her.

He should’ve offered earlier, but he always had such a hard time catching her when she was home. The last time they’d spoken had been at Betty’s when he’d tracked her down at the sheriff’s table there. But he understood. The sheriff’s job was important.

This was his chance to prove that even an old-timer like him could help protect the island and its residents. Rebecca had always been there for the people of Shadow Island. It was time to return the favor.

Despite his internal pep talk, Dickey’s heart hammered as he edged closer to Rebecca’s window. The winter sun, pale and unassuming, cast a weak glow on the scene unfolding before him.

Through the glass, he searched for the tree she’d brought in last night. It was nowhere in sight.

A figure moved in the hallway. The man, slightly overweight and wearing a mask, rifled through the shelves in the living room, his gloved hands clumsy and urgent as he knocked things out of his way.

Is someone burgling the sheriff’s house?

Dickey glanced at the front door, which stood ajar, an invitation to trouble. The cracked jamb was a clear sign of forced entry. Panic fluttered in his gut. He should call Rebecca to warn her, but his phone lay idle on its charger back at the house. He never took it with him when he was working in the yard. Not after running over too many of his phones with the lawn mower.

Well, I can’t just let him get away with it.

Shadow Island had always been a place where folks looked out for each other, and Rebecca…well, she’d done more than her fair share and proved herself many times over. She was their rock, their protector.

It was his turn now.

Dickey gripped the handle of his garden hoe with both hands, swollen knuckles tightening around the wood that suddenly felt too light, too insubstantial. Yet it was all he had. Taking a steadying breath, he pushed open the door, flinching as the hinges protested softly.

Although he hadn’t been inside the home since the sheriff moved in, he didn’t need to be a detective to see the signs of a break-in. Small appliances littered the kitchen floor, and it appeared as though someone had sliced open throw pillows and strewn their stuffing around.

And then he spotted the masked man.

“Hey!” His voice came out stronger than he felt. “You got no right. Leave Rebecca and her home alone!”

The intruder, caught mid-search, whipped around.

This was Dickey’s moment, his chance to do right by the island, by Rebecca. He wouldn’t back down. He stepped into the sheriff’s home, hoping his stance appeared braver than the tremors vibrating through his limbs made him feel.

“You’d best get on out of here now.”

For a breathless moment, the trespasser froze, as if weighing his options. But before Dickey could say another word, the man pounced.

Dickey held his ground. Advanced in years or not, he still knew how to put up a fight. With reflexes honed from decades of working a fish line that demanded strength, alertness, and dexterity, Dickey swung the hoe toward the intruder.

The wooden handle thudded against the masked man’s forearm. He grunted, stumbling back and clutching his arm.

“I warned you. Get on out of here!” Dickey raised his hoe once more, stepping farther into the trashed front room. He hoped his show of bravado was enough to chase the man away. He wasn’t eager to relive the barroom brawls of his youth.

But the stranger quickly recovered, shrugging off the blow. His movements were swift and powerful, betraying a hidden strength beneath the bulky frame. He clashed with Dickey in a frenzy of adrenaline-fueled combat.

The masked man swung for his head, but Dickey ducked under it, punching out with the handle of the hoe to strike the man in the gut.

That spare tire the other guy was packing was painfully solid, though. The guy barely even grunted before swinging his left fist around in a wild punch that nearly landed on Dickey’s chin. It struck him in his chest instead, knocking him back.

Dickey drew in a ragged breath. Instead of driving the intruder out, he was now fighting like a cornered beast as the man came at him.

The sound of their struggle filled the room, a cacophony of grunts and labored breaths as Dickey dodged and jabbed. Every passing second felt like an eternity as they battled on, neither willing to back down.

They fought their way through the house, and Dickey’s arch-support sneaker squeaked on the linoleum of the dining room as he jerked back, taking another blow to the chest. Time seemed to stretch, each second elongated by the intensity of the fight.

The intruder’s stamina overpowered Dickey’s resolve. With a well-placed shove, the masked man sent Dickey crashing to the ground. Dickey’s back hit the floor with a force that knocked the wind out of him. Stars danced before his eyes as he struggled to regain his bearings.

“Sorry, old-timer.” The voice was muffled behind the burglar’s mask, but his tone was cold and detached. “Nothing personal.” He wrenched the hoe from Dickey’s grasp with ease, robbing him of his only weapon.

Struggling to catch his breath, Dickey could only watch, helpless, as the man towered over him. Desperation clawed at his insides, a silent scream for help that no one would hear.

And then he saw it. The tremor in the intruder’s hands as he gripped the hoe. It was subtle, just a twinge, but unmistakable. Was it fear? Adrenaline? Remorse? Dickey couldn’t tell.

“I didn’t want to do this again so soon, but I can’t leave witnesses.”

Those shaking hands raised the garden tool high, and Dickey knew what was coming. The burglar was mustering the courage to kill him.

“I haven’t seen your face.” Would it be enough to save him? “Just leave. Run.”

His words had no effect. The hands tightened, and Dickey’s hoe swung down straight for his head.

Too dazed from the fall to move quickly, Dickey raised his arm in a feeble attempt to block the impact, but he already knew it wouldn’t be enough. A sob choked him.

I should have called Rebecca instead of sticking my nose into things. Leslie’s going to be so upset.

His breath grew shallower until there was nothing left. A shadow shifted, and Dickey knew his killer had raised the hoe. He closed his eyes against the fatal drop.

I didn’t even get a chance to wrap her Christmas present yet.

6

Rebecca walked into her office, juggling scheduling paperwork her deputies had filled out. Jake wanted to take a few days for the holidays off island. She wasn’t surprised by that or by Hoyt wanting to work a couple of half days around Christmas. Elliot wanted as much time off as possible because his extended family was flying in.

Viviane, on the other hand, was fine with coming in. Wherever she was, she’d make it a party. And Trent just wanted to get back to working nights.

As for Rebecca, she had no one to spend Christmas with, so she didn’t mind pulling extra duty while the others enjoyed some time with their families. Though she did hope Meg Darby and Angie Frost would bring in soup and cookies. Still, that was more than a week away.

While fiddling with the schedule, Rebecca took a call from forensics letting her know their initial assessment of the car wreck was accurate. A single-car accident. Unfortunately, there were no fingerprints from anyone other than Kelsey and Simon Lankford anywhere on the car.

Now their only hope of identifying who had done this to Lankford would be finding evidence on his body or in the scattered debris on the ground. Bailey was still performing the autopsy, so it would be a while before forensics received Lankford’s personal effects, let alone got to go through them.

The shrill chirp of her phone alerted her that she’d missed a notification while she was in the bullpen. She snatched it up, scanning the security alert set to repeat until cleared.

Front door open.

Her breath hitched. That didn’t sound good.

After moving into her new house, Rebecca had set up silent alarms on all her doors and windows. They weren’t easy to see—just small white boxes that blended in with the frames. But when the connection was broken, the system sent a warning to the app on her phone.

Kelly had already been by to pick up Humphrey for his walk. And she always messaged before opening the door so Rebecca would know she was there. Tension coiled in her gut as she grabbed her keys and bolted from her desk.

Hoyt was coming out of the bathroom, and she nearly collided with him in the hall. “Boss, everything all right?”

“I got a front door alert at my house a little while ago and am only seeing it now.” She shook her phone at him, not breaking stride. “But Kelly’s long gone.”

“Wait up.” Hoyt ran to his desk, grabbing his hat and the holster with his gun. “I’ll go with you.”

She didn’t argue. Within moments, they were both in her cruiser, the engine roaring to life as they sped out of the parking lot, Hoyt clutching the grab bar like his life depended on it.

As they reached the end of Rebecca’s street, her home loomed ahead, its normally welcoming facade undermined by the front door hanging ajar. Kelly would never do that. Rebecca parked on the street with a screech, her breath coming fast and heavy.

“The door shouldn’t be open.” She retrieved her service weapon. “I double-check every lock when I leave, ever since Ryker allowed Luka Reynold to break in, and I know Kelly wouldn’t leave it unlocked either.”

“I know.” Hoyt pulled his weapon too.

They piled out of the SUV, running in a crouch up to her front porch with the caution of hunters stalking prey. Rebecca led, stepping across the threshold into the familiar space now tainted by potential danger. She scanned from corner to shadowed corner.

Her heart hammered, a drumbeat contrasting the silent disarray greeting her. She took in the overturned chair, the books scattered like wounded birds across the floor, the pillows and cushions cut open. The open-concept layout let her survey the dining room and front room at a glance. But the two bedrooms, the guest bath, and the kitchen provided several places to hide.

No one was in sight in the common areas, just a barrage of debris she tried not to focus on. The Christmas tree she’d put up just the day before now lay sprawled in the dining room. The painstakingly wrapped presents were thrown about as if someone had waded into the pile and started kicking. She ignored that for now. First, she had to make sure the house was empty.

Follow protocol. When all else fails, follow SOP.

She edged toward the bedrooms, with Hoyt at her back. He took the first door to the spare bedroom while Rebecca moved on to the second door, her primary bedroom.

It looked like a hurricane had targeted the space. Clothes torn from their hangers, bed sheets yanked free, and picture frames face down, their shattered glass panes littering the floor like confetti.

Someone had flipped her mattress and box spring off the bed frame, revealing the gun safe she usually kept hidden underneath. It was open. She tried to count the magazines and scanned the room for the guns, but it was a mess. Rebecca’s pulse quickened.

This hadn’t been a mere search.

Her home had been ransacked.

“Clear left!” Hoyt called out behind her, covering the angles she couldn’t, his presence a solid reassurance at her back.

“Bedroom’s clear!” Rebecca retraced her steps to the front room as Hoyt checked the last closed door leading to the guest bathroom.

She made a mental note of the totality of destruction. The built-in shelves, once an organized refuge, now lay nearly bare. Books, her video collection, and the handful of knickknacks she’d collected so her house felt more personal were all strewn about without a thought.

The lamp in the living room caught her attention—or rather the empty space where the lamp used to be. It had been turned into a collection of ceramic shards and splinters. A diversion? A fit of rage? Neither sat right with her initial impressions. This felt like destruction for the sake of destruction.

“Kitchen next.” She stepped over the wreckage and into the next wave of debris.

The kitchen hadn’t escaped the marauder’s frenzy either. Chairs were toppled. The refrigerator door hung open, a carton of milk weeping onto the floor from the broken door. The only thing still in the fridge.

A darkening pool of blood dripping down the lower cabinets held her gaze. No, not this. This is too much.

Too much.

The scene in front of her faded away. Replaced by one from her memories and nightmares.

Blood on the tiles.

Blood on the cupboards.

Blood on the sheets.

Mom? Dad?

Rebecca squeezed her fist, digging her nails into her palm and chasing the flashback away. “Frost.” Her voice caught, strangled by the sight before her.

Dickey Tabbart, her neighbor of countless greetings, stiff waves, and borrowed tools, lay crumpled like a discarded puppet on his back. His head was caved in. A garden hoe smeared with scarlet lay beside him. His name written and covered with varnish on its handle made it clear this was a tool he’d brought with him. Around him lay condiment bottles and the coffee grinder that usually sat in the corner near the sink.

Blood on the cupboards.

No! Not now.

“God…” Hoyt exhaled a prayer and holstered his weapon, since no threat remained for Dickey or them.

But for Rebecca, the threat had never been more visceral. Violence had breached her threshold, staining this sanctuary, just like it had her last one.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, each one stinging with the acrid tang of blood. Pushing down the memory of her terror from that day, she knelt beside Dickey Tabbart. His blood-spattered face was still pink from exertion. Scrapes covered his knuckles.

Her neighbor was now a victim to this senseless brutality. Guilt clawed at Rebecca’s insides, a feral beast unleashed by the sight of his lifeless form. Lankford’s death had been a heavy burden, but Dickey was an innocent caught in a storm not of his making.

Rebecca crouched at the edge of Dickey’s blood pooling on the linoleum. His dead eyes stared up at the ceiling, as if he were waiting for her to turn away so he could get himself collected.

He should have been at home. Straightening his lawn and driving his wife crazy as he insisted on everything being just so. Dickey loved having a perfect lawn. He spent days puttering out there, sweeping his grass with a broom covered in terry cloth, making sure not a single sand burr intruded. His wife liked to walk barefoot. And he didn’t want her to hurt her feet.

Dickey had offered to do the same at Rebecca’s house so Humphrey wouldn’t have to worry about getting burrs in his pads.

“Dispatch, we’ve got a home invasion and homicide at West’s residence.” Hoyt’s voice jolted her out of her reminiscing. “Requesting deputies respond immediately.”

“Copy that, Frost. On our way.” Trent’s terse reply crackled through the speaker.

“Be there in five,” Jake’s assurance followed, no further query necessary.

“I’ll be there in four,” Viviane chimed in, her usually playful tone now grave.

The confirmations from her team simmered in the background as Rebecca surveyed the disarray that was once her home. It didn’t make sense. Her mind raced, trying to piece together the why, the how.

Why was Dickey here?

A memory of their conversation after the town hall meeting surfaced. Dickey, with his straightforward words and steadfast presence, had been inspired by Meg Darby’s request for the community to come together. He’d suggested starting a neighborhood watch to help curb the crime that plagued their town, a gesture of gratitude for her service.

Could he have seen the break-in? Tried to intervene on her behalf?

A pang of sorrow lanced through Rebecca, weighted with guilt. He had only wanted to do good, and now he lay before her, a testament to the violence she’d fought so hard to eradicate from their small island community.

“Dammit. Damn them.” Tears burned the backs of her eyes. He’d just celebrated his fifty-first wedding anniversary. Bile climbed up her throat. “Who does this?” The question escaped her lips, though she knew Hoyt had no answer.

“Someone looking for something important, I reckon.” He pulled his hat from his head and raked his hand through his hair. “But there’s no reason to break all this shit.”

With an inhale through her nose and out through her mouth, Rebecca found a little of her center again. “Secure the perimeter, Frost. You’ll need to start taking pictures too. I can’t touch anything.” Her voice sounded foreign to her ears, detached and clinical. But she needed her cloak of professionalism.

He nodded, the lines of his face etched deep with concern.

As she stood, Rebecca cast one last look at Dickey, with an unspoken apology and a promise to find justice in his name. Then, squaring her shoulders against grief, she stepped into the role she knew best—sheriff of Shadow Island.

7

My car was a cocoon of shadows, its dark tint a barrier between me and the gaudy holiday decorations adorning the homes on Shadow Island. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, the leather cool and pliable beneath my restless touch. I should’ve been in and out, not parked here stewing in impatience.

“Come on, Chip,” I muttered, my voice low and edged with frustration.

The job was simple. Break into that bitch’s house, find the thumb drive, grab the laptop, and disappear like a ship swallowed by fog.

At last, my phone buzzed, a jolt of electricity in the silence. “Talk,” I barked.

“Boss, I’ve looked everywhere. There’s no thumb drive in the house. Just the laptop.” Chip’s voice was filled with self-satisfaction. His ignorance allowed him to accept coming up short.

Idiot.

This was his first real job, and he was excited, because I’d told him if he saw it through to the end, I would finally acknowledge him as worthy to join my empire. That promise was all it took to get him to work so hard. Unfortunately, the saying “work smarter, not harder” did not apply to this one. He could toil until he was exhausted and still disappoint me.

If he continued to fail, I would just toss him aside. I’d already made sure nothing could tie him to me.

“You’d better be damn sure you didn’t miss anything. If that thumb drive is sitting there, laughing at us from some dusty corner, I’ll make sure you regret it.” I pressed the phone harder against my ear, as if I could squeeze the truth out of him.

Deep down, I knew chances were slim that Rebecca West had hidden the thumb drive in her home. She wasn’t the type to leave her secrets lying around. She was a career cop, ex-FBI for god’s sake, with a mind sharper than a gutting knife. But sometimes people made mistakes. And I was good at exploiting people’s mistakes.

“Understood, Boss.” I could almost smell Chip’s fear through the phone. “I swear there was no thumb drive there. But that code you gave me for her little safe worked, so I searched there too. And I borrowed something to set up a nice surprise for her later.”

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel again, each tap a ticking time bomb. “A surprise? Like what? It’s not going to be something stupid she can trace back to you or me, is it?”

Chip chuckled, as dark as my own laugh. “Not to either of us. I took her Glock. She’s the only person who’ll be implicated when they find it.”

Well, now. That did sound promising.

Still, it made me wonder why she hadn’t changed the code for her safe after Ryker had been exposed as a traitor. Maybe she didn’t realize he had the code. Or that he’d shared it with a friend of the Yacht Club…who also happened to be a close friend of mine. Regardless, the prospect of setting up Rebecca was intriguing.

“Were there any complications?” My voice was a knife’s edge, ready to cut through any bullshit.

There was a pause, a crackle of static on the line. “No…no complications,” Chip finally sputtered.

I knew that hesitation too well. He wasn’t telling me everything, and I could taste the lie in his silence. “Spit it out.”

“One of her neighbors…” I could almost see him squirming on the other end. “He got curious, but I dealt with it.”

“You dealt with it?” My blood ran cold for a moment before boiling into fury. “You’d better not be saying what I think you’re saying.”

“Let’s just say he won’t be talking to anyone.” A hint of pride laced his words. “No witnesses to lead the cops to us.”

I gritted my teeth. The fool had initiative but no foresight. “While I’m glad you handled the problem, you shouldn’t have had one in the first place. Now we have a body that can point back to us. Did you think of that?”

“I understand, Boss. I was careful. I wore a mask. There’s nothing to tie me to this one either.” He sounded sincere, but his assurance was empty.

“Hurry up and find the damn thumb drive.” Venom seeped into every syllable as my teeth clenched hard enough to almost crack my veneers. “I’d rather have this whole process done without tangling directly with West. She’s a giant pain in the ass. I could kill Lankford again for bringing her into this.”

“Yeah, Boss.” His voice oozed eagerness. “But it’s not in the house. I went through everything.”

“Fine.”

The line went dead.

I leaned back, letting the darkness of my tinted sanctuary envelop me. For a moment, I allowed myself to wallow in imaginings of what I’d like to do with Rebecca West. That bitch had ruined my life. Left me with no career, no respect, and no money.

With that thumb drive, I could gain it all back.

Years ago, Simon Lankford and Bruce West had each separately given me everything on a silver platter. Plans for similar inventions worth millions, if not billions. And I’d taken all that information and handed it over to parties willing to pay a pretty penny to keep such things buried.

Who knew that West’s daughter would flip my world so completely?

The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d started out stealing this information to bury it. Now I needed it so I could make it public and take credit for the invention, regaining all I’d lost. I suspected the thumb drive also included evidence to implicate me in the murder of Bruce West. That gave me two compelling reasons to get ahold of it.

Maybe Chip the Idiot had done me a favor by devastating Rebecca’s home. Rebecca had proven a troublesome creature.

Punishing her would be the cherry on top of the sundae of regaining my life. Publicize the invention. Bury the evidence against me. And bring the sheriff to her knees.

My mind wandered to fantasies of Rebecca’s downfall, pain etched on her face, the realization that she was utterly alone. That I, the man who ordered the murder of her parents, was meticulously unraveling every thread of her existence here on Shadow Island.

That was the sweet revenge I craved, more intoxicating than the finest wine. I wanted to watch the light fade from her eyes, to savor the collapse of her world before delivering the final blow.

I leaned back in my seat, glaring out the driver’s side window. “Rebecca, this is both business and personal now. No partner will ride to your rescue and save your ass this time. Your suffering will be my magnum opus.”

Outside the car, the island’s holiday lights mocked me with their lame attempt at cheer. But soon, they’d twinkle over my victory, illuminating my sweet retribution. Rebecca’s downfall and death would be my Christmas present to myself.

8

“Maybe you should step out for a bit?” Hoyt wasn’t sure if his boss would be willing to listen. He had no idea how he would react if this had happened to him. A simple home invasion he’d for sure want to be involved in. But with a dead neighbor in his kitchen…

And after she’d already gone through so much in her last house too. This had to be a brutal flashback.

“I’m looking for my Glock. My gun safe in my bedroom was open, and I haven’t seen it anywhere. There’s some ammo unaccounted for as well.” Rebecca examined every corner of the kitchen, as though the intruder might have helpfully left the gun on her counter.

Hoyt let loose with a string of invectives toward the intruder in his head but kept his face placid. “I’ll let the others know. And I’ll let you know when we find it.”

They both knew they weren’t going to find the missing gun. Pretending they might only delayed the pain of acknowledging that. But Rebecca could really use a breather after what she’d been through.

“If you don’t find a laptop in the front room, then it’s been stolen. I’ll be out back if you need me.” Careful not to disturb anything, Rebecca approached the back door, which was still closed, the dead bolt set. “Remember, it’s just another crime scene.” Somehow, she managed to keep her voice steady despite the tremor that ran through her hands as she pulled her blond ponytail tighter.

Hoyt gave her a reassuring smile. “I got this, Rebecca. You don’t have to do this alone. You can stay with Angie and me tonight. It isn’t safe here.”

She scanned the familiar surroundings, now tainted with the horrors of the incident, her brown eyes piercing. “Yeah. I know you all have my back.” With Dickey’s body cooling on her kitchen floor, Rebecca could only partially open the door. She squeezed through the small opening without another word.

“Fuck.” Hoyt whispered the curse under his breath but was distracted by the sound of approaching sirens.

He had work to do.

Through the uncovered windows, he watched as Jake and Viviane poured out of one cruiser and Trent out of another. All three deputies raced to the front door, pausing at the entrance.

Hoyt looked down to make sure he didn’t trample any evidence. Stepping over a crushed present with Viviane’s name on the tag, he had to grit his teeth. Clear liquid poured out of the holiday wreckage, and he thought he smelled tequila.

“Where’s the boss?” Trent leaned through the open front door, looking around.

Jake and Viviane hesitated on the front porch, exchanging wary glances before stepping into the warmth of the home.

From behind the house, Hoyt heard the sounds of vomiting. He moved forward to give Rebecca privacy and keep the others away. “She’s out back. This time, she’s the victim. You know how it goes. She can’t work her own crime scene. Which means I’m in charge.”

“I called Kelly Hunt and asked her to keep Humphrey until she heard from Rebecca.” Viviane took a half step forward. “I think the boss would feel better if I took her bedroom. Where’s the body?”

“In the kitchen. That’s fine. You can take the bedroom. Everything’s a mess. Her clothes are all over. And can you also call Bailey? I haven’t had a chance yet, and of course, the boss isn’t going to. Keep an eye out for a Glock. It should be in here, but we haven’t found it yet.”

Jake hung his head, and Hoyt was pretty sure the younger man was silently repeating Hoyt’s own swearing tirade.

“Coffey, take the front room for now. This place is a mess. Whoever did this seemed determined to destroy things as well as to search the place. Hell…” Hoyt trailed off, not needing words to describe the scene they all stood in.

Amid the violence, he spotted a bone-shaped present beneath the ruined Christmas tree. A footprint besmirched the wrapping paper, labeled To Humphrey, From Santa. Hoyt’s heart squeezed.

“I’ll check in with neighbors and canvass the area for cameras.” Trent straightened, then froze.

Hoyt followed his gaze to another crumpled, gift-wrapped box. This one had Trent’s name on it. “Well, at least now you know you need to get the boss something for Christmas this year.”

Trent nodded jerkily. “I will. I’ll get her something real good.”

As Hoyt watched him head to his cruiser, a movement down the block caught his eye. A car pulled up, and Leslie Tabbart emerged. Confusion clouded her wrinkled features as she took in the unfinished tasks Dickey would never complete. She turned to peer at the three cruisers.

“Excuse me for a second,” Hoyt murmured to Jake, who responded with a nod.

Trent’s boots crunched softly on the lawn as he circled Rebecca’s quaint home, searching for any other signs of entrance or anything out of place.

Hoyt jogged away from the house and hit the sidewalk. “Mrs. Tabbert, can I speak to you for a minute?”

She stopped her arthritic shuffle to her front door. “Well, hey there, Hoyt. You know you don’t have to be so formal with me. I’ve known you and Angie forever.” She nodded toward Rebecca’s house. “What’s going on? Are you guys having a meeting at the sheriff’s house?”

Oh, how he wished that were true.

“There’s been an incident, Leslie. A break-in.”

Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes widening in shock. “Oh, dear. Is she okay? Isn’t this the second time that’s happened to her? You’d think people would know better than to break into the sheriff’s home.”

“It is. And yeah, you’d think people would learn to stop messing with her.” Hoyt paused, trying to think of the best way to deliver the news. But there was never any good way to speak the unspeakable. “Can we go inside and talk for a minute?” He wanted her seated when she learned this terrible truth.

She faced him fully, dread filling her features. “You can tell me here.”

He stepped closer, planning to catch her if her knees gave out. “Dickey must have noticed what was happening, and he intervened. I’m so sorry, Leslie, but he was killed.”

The world seemed to drop out beneath Mrs. Tabbert’s feet, and she stumbled where she stood. Hoyt reached out to catch her, but she pulled away, shaking her head in denial. A guttural cry broke from her lips, her body trembling as the news took root. Anguish twisted her features as she grappled for something, anything, to make sense of the madness.

“Ever since that woman came here…” Mrs. Tabbert’s voice cracked, veering into hysteria. “It’s been one thing after another. Shadow Island was peaceful before Rebecca showed up!”

“Leslie, you know that isn’t the case. It was never peaceful. We just didn’t look below the surface.” Hoyt extended a placating hand toward her. “Rebecca wants to help this island, and we’re going to find who did this to Dickey.”

But she was lost in her own storm of grief and anger, tears streaming down her cheeks as she lashed out with a desperate need to blame someone. “Then why was she creeping through my yard a couple of days back? We caught her on the security footage! Jumped our fence without a bit of hesitation.”

Recognizing the raw pain driving her accusations, Hoyt ignored them and seized upon the mention of the cameras. “That was probably when she was chasing the person who’s been stalking her. He also killed another man on the bridge this morning. Leslie, the footage, does it show Rebecca’s place too?”

“Not in back, no. But the one in front does. It shows half the damn street.” Her chest heaved with sobs. “We watch over our own around here.”

“If you’d let us use that footage, it could lead us to Dickey’s killer.” Hoyt kept his voice soft, trying to give her a bit of hope amid the sorrow.

Her jaw clenched, and Hoyt sensed her rage transforming into fierce determination. “Yes, take it. Find whoever did this to Dickey. And show everyone what happens when they bring trouble to our doorstep.”

“Thank you.” Hoyt held her gaze for a moment longer.

Leslie scrubbed her face with both hands. “I didn’t mean that, what I said about Rebecca. I really didn’t.” Her whole body trembled. “But dammit, Hoyt, why do these things keep happening to us? What did we do to deserve all this crap?”

“Nothing, Leslie. Bad people don’t care who they hurt.” Hoyt stepped forward, and this time, Mrs. Tabbert didn’t shy away.

She grabbed his hand and held it tightly. Her delicate, bony fingers gripped his skin as she began to move him into her home. “You help Rebecca catch the person who did this to Dickey.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will.” Hoyt held her hand the whole way inside, vowing he’d do everything in his power to help Rebecca do just that.

9

Rebecca looked up as the gate that led to her backyard opened.

Hoyt peered around the corner of the house as he approached. He held out his phone like a peace offering. “I broke the news to Leslie Tabbert.”

Rebecca nodded, her throat constricted by an invisible vise. She wished Humphrey were here so she could cuddle him, but at the same time, she was glad he was safely away. What would they have done to her dog if they’d found him? She shuddered at the thought.

“How did Leslie take it?” Her voice cracked as she pictured her neighbor’s stricken face.

“Like you’d expect.” Hoyt pulled his hat off and raked his hand through his hair. That gesture said everything to Rebecca. It had been bad.

“Reach out to Father Gabriel.” Rebecca bit her lip. She’d been rerunning every conversation she’d had with her elderly neighbors in her mind, starting from her first morning here when they’d swung by to welcome her to the neighborhood with a plate full of homemade pastries. “They’re in his congregation. Leslie will appreciate the help and guidance.”

“I’ll get right on that. I called her daughter. She’ll be over soon.” Hoyt hoisted his phone again as he climbed the steps to her back deck. “It turns out the Tabberts had security cameras, and one covered their front yard. She’s sending us that video footage. According to Leslie, it covers half the block.”

In spite of the thick grief wrapped around her, Rebecca smiled. “That sounds like Dickey. He was adamant about keeping the neighborhood safe. And according to him, the island was his neighborhood.”

“In that case,” Hoyt snorted, “I’m surprised his camera was so small.”

Unwittingly, a small laugh burst out of Rebecca. She turned to look at Hoyt. From here, she could see through her back windows. Trent and Jake were in the kitchen, taking it all in.

She couldn’t bear to watch them, to see her personal space dissected into evidence. Although she was the law here, she was powerless in her own home. “Did anyone find my laptop?”

“Not yet.” Hoyt leaned on the railing. “You said it was in the front room?”

“Yeah. It was on the coffee table when I left. Closed and locked. But then again, so was my gun safe. You noted that, too, right?”

“Right.” Hoyt checked his notepad.

Hearing the curt reply, Rebecca pressed her lips together. “From your tone, I take it no one else has found my Glock. I have no idea how he got the gun safe open. No one else had the code.”

No one alive.

But as Rebecca shook away the memory of Ryker, the thought struck her that he could’ve told someone before he died. After all, he’d betrayed her in so many other ways…

“I don’t know either.” Hoyt chewed his lip before looking up at her again. “Viviane’s already completed her search of both bedrooms and the bathroom.”

“Dammit.” That was another thing to worry about. “I’ll need to register it as stolen. If forensics finds it later, we can withdraw that. But I want everyone looking for that gun. My ballistics for that weapon are registered with the FBI, so you can flag that, and if anyone uses it, we can link them to this break-in too.”

Rebecca’s mind spun at a thousand miles a minute. Morley hadn’t found what he was looking for, so he wasn’t going to just call it a day. He’d turn his sights elsewhere. She straightened.

“The station.”

“What about it?” Hoyt kept writing notes in his pad. He was doing just what he should be doing as the officer in charge, taking a report from a victim.

“It’s time to batten down the hatches. I was planning on them not being able to open my safe. But they opened it somehow, and now they know the thumb drive isn’t here, Morley will look elsewhere.”

“Shit.”

Shit was right. And Rebecca knew what had to be done. She’d be damned if she’d let anyone else fall prey to this ruthless killer. They were all targets now, and she’d had enough. “I need to borrow Darby.”

“You’re the boss, Boss.” Hoyt stretched his neck with a groan. “Forensics will be here shortly anyway. She’s done inside and is waiting out front for them now. If you’re going to take her to the station, have her write up the missing gun report. That way it will get done quicker.”

Rebecca stood, moving down the steps and striding around her home to the front yard. She spotted Viviane stowing a video recorder in the black-and-tan cruiser. “Darby, I need you to come with me to the station.”

Viviane flipped down the pages of her notepad, her face brightening. “Sure thing, Boss.”

Before climbing into the driver’s side of the cruiser, Rebecca turned to where Trent, Hoyt, and Jake had paused in their meticulous work and come onto the front porch.

“Listen up.” She studied the trio in turn, making sure she had their full attention. “None of you goes anywhere alone from now on. We’re all targets until this is over.” She stared hard at them, silently conveying that she couldn’t bear any more threats to her makeshift family.

“Got it, Boss,” Hoyt replied with a solemn nod. Trent and Jake echoed the sentiment, their expressions tight with newfound vigilance.

Knowing she’d done all she could on that front, Rebecca slid into the vehicle beside Viviane. They pulled away from the curb, leaving the scene of intrusion and violation behind them.

They drove in silence for a couple moments. Rebecca didn’t think anything of the quiet until Viviane fidgeted. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I just…have a question, and I don’t know if this is the time or place…”

Rebecca wasn’t sure if she should be concerned or amused. “Spit it out. Can’t be that bad.”

“What do you think about the FBI?” Viviane’s question sliced the air between them.

Rebecca glanced at her deputy. The question did seem to come from left field. “What do you mean?”

“What if I told you I’m considering it? Applying, I mean.” Viviane’s voice held a cautious hope, a stark contrast to the steel in Rebecca’s.

Rebecca wanted to pull her friend close and tell her to never speak those words again. Not just because she’d be losing someone she depended on, but because working for the Feds was filled with so much danger. She focused on taking her emotion out of her answer and giving the truth the best she could.

“Viviane, that’s a tough world. The bureaucracy, the politics, more red tape than you can imagine. The traveling. It can break you if you let it.” She swallowed. “Hell, it can break you even if you don’t let it.”

“But those aren’t the reasons you left. You liked the work, right?”

Rebecca tightened her hands on the wheel as she took a sharp turn. “The work was fine. But they didn’t back me when I wanted to look into the person who killed my parents. That was before we even knew it was Morley, who it would be career suicide to pursue. Or maybe someone did know and decided not to pursue him because of that. Power…it corrupts, and big structures like the Bureau are ripe for it.”

Viviane’s silhouette slumped slightly, a shadow crossing her usually vivacious features. “But the training, the resources…they could be invaluable.”

“You know my history. I’m jaded when it comes to the Bureau. But I do remember my enthusiasm when I joined. And I see that in you now.” Rebecca met Viviane’s gaze, holding it for a beat before she looked back at the road.

“Is it that obvious?” Viviane brightened again.

“It is. Don’t let my experience influence you.”

Viviane tapped her lip for a moment, clearly turning over Rebecca’s words. “I think I’m going to pursue it. If we want real changes, we have to make the change happen, which means we have to be at the table.”

In spite of her experiences, Rebecca was proud of Viviane’s willingness to tackle the institution. She supposed she wasn’t as jaded as she thought. Otherwise…why was she herself the sheriff of this tiny island town?

As they approached the station, Rebecca’s thoughts shifted, formulating plans for heightening security, checking protocols, and ensuring the safety of the deputies under her command. The weight of responsibility bore down on her, but she welcomed it. It was what she lived for.

At the station, with both of them lost in their own thoughts, Rebecca pulled open the door, its familiar creak a balm to her soul. She stepped into the cozy confines of the building, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and coffee that did little to calm her nerves. “Elliot.”

The dispatcher looked up from his desk, his light-brown eyes clouded with concern as he caught sight of them. Even in winter, he never lost his surfer vibe, his blond hair kissed by a much brighter sun than the one that lit their island.

“Boss, about…” Elliot began but trailed off. The talkative dispatcher was rarely rendered speechless. His fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on the wooden surface of his desk.

“Listen.” Rebecca cut through the tension in the room. “I want you and Melody to start wearing Kevlar. It’s not just for deputies anymore.”

Elliot stiffened, the casual air that surrounded him dissipating as if Rebecca had flipped a switch. “Of course. We’ll gear up. Whatever it takes to stay safe, right?”

Rebecca’s gaze lingered on the young man. He was quick-witted. Loyal. Someone who cared deeply about this small community they served. It pained her to see fear flicker across his normally joyful face, but these were the realities. Dangers lurked too close to home. Better for him to be fearful and safe than the alternative.

“Right. Keep it on at all times until we catch these guys.” She jabbed her finger at him with a firmness that brooked no argument. “I don’t want to take any chances. I’m going to make a doctored copy of the thumb drive for you to hand over, just in case they come in demanding it while you’re working.”

“Understood.” He flashed a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, a testament to the shadow that had fallen over Shadow Island.

Rebecca gave him a curt nod, the tightness in her throat forbidding further conversation. She hoped, fervently, that the added protection would be nothing more than a nuisance. Pushing away from the dispatch desk, she walked through to the bullpen. Nothing came before the well-being of her team, the family she had sworn to protect.

Nothing.

10

Rebecca grabbed a spare chair and rolled it so she could sit beside Viviane. “Go ahead and load the footage Leslie Tabbert provided.”

Viviane started typing, pulling the file up and beginning the soundless video.

The sheriff’s station was quiet except for the hum of the ancient heater and the occasional crackle from the radio dispatch. Rebecca and Viviane pored over the footage, the mild scent of pine from the Christmas decorations mingling with the mustiness of old paper. Both were faint compared to the hazelnut brew Rebecca lifted to her mouth.

Sipping her coffee, Rebecca watched the images of the normal Wednesday comings and goings on her street. Kelly’s car pulled up and parked in front of her house. “Okay, we need to start looking after Kelly leaves.”

Beside her, Viviane leaned forward, her eyes narrowed in concentration as they watched the security footage on the desktop screen at normal speed. Humphrey jumped out the door, sniffing Kelly and bounding after her golden retriever, Brody. Then they all piled into Kelly’s car and left. Even though she was watching a recording from the past and she knew how things turned out, Rebecca still experienced enormous relief seeing her precious best buddy leaving safely.

As soon as Kelly’s car left, another pulled up. The windows were tinted so dark, the camera couldn’t see through them. The vehicle just sat there for a few minutes. Rebecca wondered if that car had D.C. plates like the one that had been stalking her just yesterday.

“Pause it there.”

The image froze on a man in the act of donning a ski mask beside the sedan. Despite the distance and poor camera angle, his medium height, short brown hair, and rounded shoulders were easy enough to make out. But that was all.

The man was on the larger side. He’d be a hard one to take down. “We need to find this guy before he slips away. Roll it forward and see if we can find a better picture.”

They played and rewound the footage, going through it several times, but the man’s face remained a muddled enigma, his features obscured by the angle and distance.

Rebecca’s frustration simmered. Dickey’s killer was right there, but his image eluded them. “Print that one still. It’s not great, but it’s all we have.”

“White male of indeterminate age, with brown or dark hair, a bit of a paunch, of average height.” Viviane snorted as she printed the image. “That should be easy to find.”

Sad but true. That blurry-faced man could be nearly anyone. “Then let’s make this even harder. Let’s go over the Lankford files again.”

Viviane groaned.

Rebecca bumped her shoulder into Viviane’s. “I know. I know. But while we can’t prove it, I’m sure the home invasion at my place is linked to Morley and his coconspirators. Maybe we missed something. And it’ll be easier to search through the files we have than to go canvassing the island hoping to spot this guy,” she pointed to the screen, “walking around on the street.”

“Fine.” Viviane sighed and pulled up the copy of the Lankford file they had stored on the station’s secure server.

Knowing how dense the file was, Rebecca tried to think of ways to make it more manageable to sift through. “How about we only look for images?”

Nodding slowly, Viviane typed the required file extensions into the search bar. They had to wait for the results, and Rebecca groaned as she watched the number grow. “I’m going to need more coffee to deal with this.” She got up to refill her cup.

“Grab me one too.” Viviane dropped her chin on her fist. “Unless you can conjure a strawberry shake.”

The list of things Viviane would be willing to do for one of Betty’s legendary shakes was longer than Rebecca wanted to think about. She poured her a cup of coffee instead, then sat back down to slog through the hundreds of pictures.

They slowly scrolled through the images, pausing when they found one that resembled the guy they were looking for, scanning the captions for any bit of information.

“Hold on…did I read that name right?” Viviane scrolled back up to a news article with a photo of Morley with a woman. “I did. I knew I saw something about a Stillwell.”

Rebecca took the mouse, scanning the text. “Morley had an affair with a Meredith Stillwell. I’m sure he’s had affairs with plenty of women since this picture was taken.” She pointed at the date on the scanned newspaper article.

“Old flames can reignite. And we’re looking for a P. Stillwell, the person who owns the shell company, Peterson Acquisitions.” Viviane scrolled through online archives, then tapped the screen triumphantly. “Here! Meredith’s brother, Percy. Armed robbery charges dropped despite solid evidence. So Morley has an affair with Meredith, and suddenly her brother’s criminal charges are dropped? That sounds like the kind of interference a senator could manage.”

“Morley could have pulled strings for his mistress’s brother,” Rebecca murmured, piecing together the old scandal with the current conundrum. She peered at the digital newspaper clipping. “Let me see that.” She reached for the mouse again, zooming in on the photo accompanying the article.

“Or maybe she blackmailed Morley to get him to help her brother?” Viviane scrunched her face up and shrugged. Even aged and pixelated, the mug shot showed a man who could be the one they sought. Percy Stillwell was medium height, slightly overweight, with short brown hair.

“It’s possible he knew the brother first, and that’s how he met his mistress. Or Morley helped a known criminal he was already associated with to garner loyalty from him.” Rebecca thought back to how the Yacht Club worked.

After persuading their new members to commit crimes, the leaders of the Yacht Club held those crimes against them as mutual-destruction clauses to make sure the members couldn’t turn on them without incriminating themselves as well.

“It could be a coincidence,” Viviane suggested, though her tone betrayed her skepticism.

“Or it could be the break we’ve been looking for.” Rebecca tapped a finger against her lips. “Let’s see what the brother has been up to since then.”

Viviane pulled up a database of archived mug shots, deftly navigating through the digital records until Percy Stillwell’s face stared back at them from years past. The resemblance to their masked suspect was uncanny.

“No charges since the one Morley got him out of. No recent address. Figures.” Rebecca tapped her fingers on the desk in a rapid-fire rhythm. “Still, let’s go ahead and put a BOLO out for him. Check the vehicle registration database and add any cars he owns to the BOLO.”

“Right. And I’ll register your gun as missing.”

As Viviane started the paperwork for that, Rebecca grabbed her radio. “All units, we’ve got a possible ID on our suspect. Percy Stillwell. A BOLO is going out now. Check your onboard computers for his picture.”

“You’re not working the case, and you still managed to find our guy?” Hoyt laughed over the radio.

“Not me. Darby found him.” Rebecca shot a wry grin at Viviane, who snorted. It was technically true. Which was why they had done this at Viviane’s desk and with her login. “I’m just helping out by letting you know to check for the new BOLO. Hit every business on the island. He might have shown his face somewhere.”

Jake responded to that. “We’ll canvass the area. What about off-island?”

Viviane rolled her eyes, mouthing, Duh.

“Coastal Ridge, Lynnhaven, Sandbridge, and Norfolk are getting the same BOLO. I don’t want this guy slipping through our net.” Rebecca rolled her chair over to Trent’s desk to use his phone.

Now that her team was up-to-date, she dialed the familiar number.

“Special Agent Lettinger. How can I help you?”

“Rhonda, it’s Rebecca. Listen, we’ve got a lead on a suspect. Percy Stillwell. I’m sending a BOLO your way. Unfortunately, the picture is pretty old.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for him.” Rhonda shifted from friendly to professional within a few syllables. “Anything we should know about this guy? Is this related to your earlier request?”

“Possible ties to organized crime. We suspect he killed two men today in two separate events. One was in my home, where he killed my neighbor. But you’ll need to talk to Senior Deputy Frost for the full rundown on that. I’m chasing this guy because of his first murder.” Rebecca’s gaze drifted to the frosted window, where snowflakes danced like fleeting secrets against the pane. “Might be connected to some old business I was looking into.”

“Sounds like things have escalated over there.” Something clattered in the background. Rhonda was multitasking, no doubt. “We’ll have all eyes looking for him. Happy to help where we can.”

“Thanks.” A pause lingered as Rebecca chewed on her lower lip. She could almost see Rhonda’s energetic nod, her compact form poised for action, even over the phone.

“By the way, Kelsey Lankford has been assigned protection.” Rhonda’s statement broke the brief silence. “No one’s getting near her without going through us first. And I’ll make sure my people know to keep an eye out for this guy too.”

“Good.” Relief softened the edges of Rebecca’s concerns for a moment.

Now if only she could get a security detail for all her staff. And herself. And everyone else on the island. That was the only thing that would make Rebecca feel better until the killer was behind bars.

11

As Rebecca leaned over her desk lit with the glow of her monitor, exhaustion hummed through every line of her body. The only other lights shining in the sheriff’s station were the red exit signs, glowing against the dark night outside.

Her shift had ended hours ago, but no warmth would call her name tonight. Yet again, her home was a crime scene, desecrated by the very evil that had chased her away from her life and career in the nation’s capital.

Her original beach house, a rental, held fond memories of her seaside vacations as a little girl with her parents. When Claude Bennet had bought the property out from under her, Rebecca’s friend Mrs. Shuping had gifted her a nearly identical home, a symbol that Rebecca belonged here among these people. And that made the violation sting even more.

This invasion was a personal affront. She’d started decorating and personalizing the house, optimistic that she had a real future on the island. Seeing all those personal touches destroyed had renewed her resolve to reclaim her home and the peace it promised.

The crackle of the radio on her desk interrupted the silence. “Boss?” Jake’s voice was static-laced but intelligible. “You there?”

Rebecca snatched the receiver. “Here. What’s up, Coffey?”

“I just finished talking with Deborah Niece over at Shadow Homes Real Estate. She was out when I stopped by, so I texted her that mug shot from the BOLO.” The urgency in Jake’s normally stoic tone piqued Rebecca’s attention.

Deborah was the only realtor on the island. If someone new was in town, she’d know it, at least if they were buying or renting property.

“Deborah recognized our guy’s photo, but she didn’t recall his name as someone she’s done business with. She’s heading to the office to look it up and said we can come over to take a look.”

“Understood.” Rebecca shoved back her chair with a scrape against the floor that echoed in the quiet room. “I’ll head over to her office now.”

“Wait, Boss.” Jake’s words halted her halfway to the door. “You know what you said about not going anywhere alone. Your stalker is still out there.”

“What about it? We know who he is now.” Rebecca grabbed her coat from the rack next to her desk, her movements brisk and purposeful.

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Which means you left without backup?”

“No. I’m with Locke. But if you’re coming out, I’ll get him to drop me at her office, and Locke will go back to the station. There’s five of us, so staying with the buddy system isn’t going to be perfect.” Jake had a point.

“Okay, sounds good.” She said goodbye to Elliot after giving him a hot mug of coffee for his double shift and exited the station. The cold air slapped Rebecca’s cheeks as she locked the door behind her.

Striding down the empty sidewalk, she felt the weight of unseen eyes, the prickle of vulnerability. This was why she wanted her people to use the buddy system. But she hadn’t really thought about herself when she’d insisted on it.

She clenched her jaw and walked faster, driven by the promise of a lead.

The handle of Deborah Niece’s office door was cold under Rebecca’s grasp, its chill seeping into her bones as she pulled it open, a little bell above jingling a merry tune. A candle reminiscent of snickerdoodles made the place smell like the holiday. It was a nice respite from the chilly bite of the December air that followed Rebecca inside.

She stepped into the lobby, the only open floor space in a building broken up by movable walls shaped into small cubicles to give clients privacy. And perhaps to hide the fact that Deborah was the only one working here. She’d had a partner before.

Natalie Luptak had died over the summer after running into a crazed serial killer who thought the island’s troubles and bad weather were a harbinger of the rebirth of an ancient god.

Now that I think about it, maybe it’s the island’s curse that’s brought all this pain to the locals. I’m just the one that keeps getting stuck in the crosshairs. Lankford probably wouldn’t have heard of me if it weren’t for the newspapers writing articles about the cases I’ve worked since moving here.

“That you, Boss?” Jake’s head of light-brown hair popped up over the cubby wall in the back left-hand corner.

Rebecca made her way back to Deborah’s desk, remembering the layout from when she’d signed the paperwork for her house. Jake sat down in one of two extra guest chairs.

Deborah gestured toward the chair across from her cluttered desk. “Have a seat. I’m still trying to go through my recent paperwork to find the name the man in the mug shot used.”

“Tell me what you know.” Rebecca settled into the chair, her posture straight, every muscle coiled with focused energy. “No pressure. Just whatever you remember about him.”

Deborah shuffled through papers on her desk. “It was strange, really. A man came in a few weeks back, looking for a place to rent. We don’t get much foot traffic this time of year.”

“Because it’s the offseason.” Jake’s pale-blue eyes were serious.

“Exactly. That’s why he stood out.” Deborah continued to shift paper around. The organizational scheme made no sense to Rebecca, but Deborah seemed unfazed. “Well, that and his complete lack of preference for a rental. He wasn’t picky. He didn’t care about beachfront access or having a view. The number of rooms, bathrooms, whether it was furnished, or what kind of parking it had didn’t matter to him. The only thing he cared about was renting a place right away.”

“Did he give a reason?” Rebecca asked.

“No.” Deborah shook her head, loose strands from her French twist catching the light. “He was just eager. It felt…off.”

“Did he say where he was from?”

“He claimed he was from up north. Boston, I think he said, but he didn’t have a Boston accent. I would have remembered that.”

“Not everyone moving from Boston grew up there or lived there long enough to develop an accent.”

“You’re right, but that isn’t the only thing.” She paused her paper-shuffling, lifting a sticky note of all things. Her expression was tight with concern. “He called himself Michael Reggio. I checked his ID and everything. I needed it for the rental paperwork.” The sticky note led her to another file, which she handed to Rebecca. “To me, it looked real enough. But when Jake showed me the mug shot, the face, it was him. Or someone who could be his doppelgänger. The name’s got to be fake. It has to be.”

“People like him don’t hesitate to slap on a new name. It’s how they play the game.” From her research, Rebecca didn’t recognize Michael Reggio as a known alias for Percy Stillwell. But that didn’t mean much. If he was working with Morley, a former U.S. senator, he could get an impressive fake ID. “Did he rent anything from you?”

“He did, the same day. It would have been hard not to, when he didn’t have any requirements except running water, electricity, and heat. And he paid for three months in cash.” Deborah scribbled on another sticky note, peeling it from its pad before handing it to Rebecca. “This is the address.”

Scrutinizing the neat handwriting, Rebecca recognized the location as a nondescript rental on the outskirts of town—hardly the choice spot for a tourist, but perfect for someone eager to stay under the radar. “Thank you. We appreciate you meeting with us this late.” She offered a smile despite how tired she was.

“Of course.” The crow’s feet at the edges of Deborah’s eyes grew more pronounced as she fixed her gaze on Rebecca. “Please…be careful.”

“I will.”

With a glance at Jake, Rebecca rose to her feet. Now that they had a name and address, it was time for them to speak with this man. She held the sticky note with the address like a precious thing. They needed to put an end to this whole affair before anyone else was hurt.

12

Rebecca’s sneakers crunched on the weeds, sand, and gravel of the driveway as she approached “Michael Reggio’s” rental property. The drab, weather-beaten house stood in stark contrast to the festive cheer across the rest of Shadow Island. Sporting no holiday decorations, its windows stared out like blank, unseeing eyes with the curtains pulled tight over blinds and no signs of life or light showing within.

Beside her, Jake’s tall frame loomed, his breath forming small clouds in the cold December air. They stepped onto the porch.

“Doesn’t exactly scream ‘home sweet home,’ does it?” Rebecca pressed the doorbell, and chimes echoed within, but with no accompanying movement. “Or even lived-in.”

Jake grunted in agreement, scanning the perimeter with a trained vigilance.

She knocked for good measure, but the silence continued. “Looks like no one’s home.” She stepped back and surveyed the street.

Across the road, an orange ember glowed in the dark evening. A man lounged on his porch, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. He caught her attention and waved, beckoning them over.

Rebecca jerked her chin at the man, signaling Jake. Watching the street around them, they made their way over to him.

“Evening, Sheriff, Deputy. Everything all right?” His voice was rough from the cold or perhaps years of smoking.

“Evening.” Rebecca forced a smile through her weariness. “I’m Sheriff West. This is Deputy Coffey. May I ask your name?”

His head bobbed, and his smile revealed tobacco-stained teeth. “Name’s Cameron Butcher. You can call me Cam.”

“Nice to meet you, Cam. We’re looking for Michael Reggio. He’s renting that property across the street.” She pointed toward the darkened house. “Have you seen him around?”

Cam took a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke before shaking his head. “I know a guy moved in a few weeks back. But I’ve barely seen him since. I tried being neighborly once, but he wasn’t having any of it. Just ignored me.”

“Rude type, huh?” Jake’s stance was relaxed but attentive as he jotted down notes from the conversation.

“Or he’s from the north. He strikes me as a Yankee. Like a badger with a toothache.” Cam gave a wry chuckle. “He keeps odd hours. I’ve seen his car come and go at all different times.”

Rebecca perked up. “What kind?”

He shook his head, lips brushing against the butt of the cigarette he held next to his face. “Couldn’t tell you much. A black sedan. That’s all I know. I don’t really know makes or models. There’s nothing distinct enough about it to stand out. Know what I mean?”

Rebecca tried to hide her disappointment. Still, a black sedan fit the description of the car they’d seen on the camera footage. “I do. Do you know if the man lives alone?”

Cam flicked ash from his cigarette, eyeing them. “Yep. Lone wolf, that one.”

Rebecca fished out the printed mug shot from her coat pocket and held it up. “This him?”

After a moment of squinting at the photo, Cam bobbed his head. “Sure looks like it. He one of those criminals who keep coming to our island?”

“Thanks.” Rebecca ignored the question and tucked the mug shot away.

“I hear what you’re not saying. I hope you catch him. I’ll leave you to it.” Cam crushed the cigarette under his foot, stood up, and went inside, locking the door behind him.

Rebecca scanned the desolate street, her gaze lingering on the rental property’s darkened windows. “Sounds like Reggio doesn’t keep to a schedule.”

“Seems like. What’s the plan?” Jake peered up at the overcast sky.

She turned toward him, determined to follow their primary lead. “We wait. He has to come back sometime.” Rebecca gestured toward her SUV. “Let’s find a spot where we can keep an eye on the place without sticking out.”

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a good old-fashioned stakeout.” Jake shoved his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders against the cold. “Yay.”

She didn’t blame him for his lack of enthusiasm. Stakeouts were never fun on cold nights, and they had no idea when or if Reggio would show up.

Time slogged by, with each minute stretching longer than the last. Rebecca was grateful they had the motor running. Otherwise, they’d have had to contend with frost impeding their ability to observe the home. They had a clear line of sight to the empty house from their hiding spot on a side road. She rolled her neck to chase away stiffness after holding her head in the same position for so long.

The stillness was palpable, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within her. A flurry of unanswered questions, elusive suspects, and the ever-present threat lurking just beyond reach. But this type of vigil was something Rebecca had mastered.

It was part of the job, part of who she was.

And had started her obsession with coffee.

Beside her, Jake sat statue-like, his stoic demeanor a fortress against the creeping boredom.

A flicker of light caught Rebecca’s attention. The lighthouse stood vigilant, its repaired beam slicing through the night. A perfect topic so she didn’t ruin the relaxed atmosphere. “They finally fixed the old lighthouse.”

“Wasn’t it out of commission for decades or something? I thought I read something about that.” Jake watched the rhythmic pulse of light before focusing back on the rental house.

“Yep. Meg said the preservation society got it shining again. They had a whole ceremony this morning.” Rebecca shifted in her seat, the cold leather creaking under her weight. “Did you ever decide about moving to the island?”

Jake’s coat slid over the seat back as he shrugged. “I’ve been looking for a nice apartment. That’s why I thought about contacting Deborah to look for our guy. I talked with her about finding a place for myself close to the station. The commute I’m doing now is for the birds.”

“Really? Not going for the beachfront dream?” she teased, trying to draw more words from the man who rarely spoke about himself.

“The beach is nice to visit, but to live right next to it?” He shook his head, a short, dismissive gesture. “Sand gets everywhere. Storms are a hassle. And my cats would go nuts with the seagulls around. Imagine waking up to that chaos every morning.”

“Yeah, you can’t have that. Humphrey will be growling at the seagulls one minute, then whimpering. I can’t imagine how much having them screaming at your windows would spin up a cat.” She laughed lightly, relishing the moment of levity.

“Exactly.” Jake stretched his long legs out before him, the first sign of restlessness since they’d settled into their stakeout. “Besides, apartment living is more my style. I’d rather deal with a landlord than do maintenance and yard work.”

“You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you chatty and relaxed.” She raised an eyebrow in mock suspicion. “Is it the late hour?”

“Probably.” He shrugged, continuing to watch the area outside his window the same way she did. “Or it might be because I don’t constantly feel the need to look over my shoulder while I’m at work. I trust the people I work with, and that hasn’t always been true.”

“You had to do that in your last job?” She’d assumed his former job with the state troopers had been bad, but that bad?

“Yeah. The thing about staties, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is that you never know who you’re going to be working with. And Burke wasn’t the only dirty cop, just the one who stood out the most.” Jake’s mouth twisted when he said the name.

Rebecca understood. Officer Dolph Burke had been a crap trooper, leaving the dumping grounds of a serial killer and endangering new victims, mucking up crime scenes, and shooting an unarmed suspect who had his hands up and was turning himself in.

Proof that even loyalty wasn’t a guarantee of loyalty returned when you worked for people so enmeshed in criminal activities. She shot Jake a grateful glance that he missed as he kept his gaze on the deserted street. At least Rebecca knew she had good people at her side as they confronted whatever the future held.

13

The stillness of the sheriff’s station was a stark contrast to the tumult in Elliot Ping’s chest. He brushed his fingertips against the overshirt he wore to hide the Kevlar vest pressing against his ribs. Though the vest provided protection, its foreign weight served as a symbol of his vulnerability.

Not to mention it kept riding up as he sat at his desk. And it was hot. He’d worn the vest over his regular shirt like he’d been told and then had a shirt on over the vest. But he was certain he was going to wake up tomorrow either chafed or with a heat rash.

He was standing in for Melody, the nighttime dispatcher. Her shift only went until two, so he only had to get through a couple more hours. And after what she’d gone through…

Melody had been working the night of the jail break. The Yacht Club toadies had tied her up and shoved her under her desk. She’d heard them beat Trent. Memories of the attack haunted the empty spaces between emergency calls like the lingering scent of the glue from when the tile was installed.

Scanning the interior of the station, with its lobby lined by windows, he felt more like he was in a fishbowl than in a bastion of law enforcement.

Just two more hours…

The aroma of cinnamon and fresh coffee did little to quell the unease twisting inside him. He’d made a fresh pot to get him through the shift. But now all the caffeine was making him jittery. He didn’t want to believe his frayed nerves could be the real culprit.

Elliot’s thoughts shattered as the front door creaked open.

A male figure wearing a black ski mask stepped inside. Ski masks weren’t unheard of this time of year, especially for some of the folks working fishing runs at night.

Except the sheriff thought a killer might be waiting to bust in here to try to acquire the thumb drive.

Adrenaline surged through Elliot, disrupting his usually laid-back facade, but he remembered Rebecca’s instructions. Comply after feigning reluctance to give up the thumb drive. The dummy thumb drive sat securely within the confines of the dispatch desk drawer, a decoy that promised safety.

“Can I help you?”

The masked man’s approach was hesitant as he glanced around the lobby. Without a word, he pulled out a big, fat, shiny Glock and pointed it right at Elliot’s head. His gloved hand trembled, and his arm drooped a bit, lowering the gun to chest height.

Elliot’s gaze fixed on that tremor, his heart sinking. Rebecca had been clear about the unpredictable danger of fear in an attacker.

Viviane had warned him too. They’d talked after she’d pulled her gun for the first time as a deputy, and her words were no less chilling.

“Scared people are just like scared animals. You never know how they’re going to react, but they like to lash out in violence. It makes them feel safer.”

Opening his hands wide to show they were empty, Elliot raised them level with his ears and sat up straighter, trying to shield his face from the gun. He didn’t want the guy to feel threatened in any way. Whispering a silent prayer, he thanked Rebecca’s forethought on insisting he wear a vest.

“Where’s the thumb drive?”

Elliot feigned ignorance, hoping to sell the act of reluctance Rebecca had scripted for him. “Thumb drive? I don’t⁠—”

“I’m not playin’ games!” The man’s voice escalated, a crescendo of fear and anger. “I’ve killed before, and I’ll do it again. I know she has it. And I want it. Where is it?”

Elliot’s heart raced, but his reply was calm. “Okay, okay. The thumb drive, yeah. Just…no need for violence over the stupid thing.” He lowered one arm, and his fingers found the cold metal of the desk drawer. The click of the lock echoed in the station.

Holding the thumb drive between finger and thumb, he placed it on the counter with a shaking hand.

The masked figure snatched it away, backing toward the door and the quiet night behind him.

He paused.

Fear ran screaming through Elliot’s mind.

You’re not cornered. There’s no threat. You have what you want. Why did you stop?

The man aimed intently at Elliot’s chest.

No. No. No. Take the thumb drive and go. Just take it and go.

“Sorry.” The man sighed, but Elliot knew this was likely the same man who had killed two people already today. “Can’t have you calling your boss now, can I?”

Viviane says getting shot in a vest feels like getting kicked by a mule. Oh, god, this is gonna hurt. It’s going to be on camera. Don’t let me scream. Viviane’s going to watch this later, and she’ll never let me live it down if I freak out.

“Wait. Listen⁠—”

“Shut the hell up!”

Elliot’s vision narrowed to nothing but the black barrel of the weapon pointed his way. The killer took three steps toward the dispatch desk.

This isn’t going the way it should. I need the boss.

He edged toward the silent alarm, muscles tensed for action.

But fate was quicker.

Raising the gun, the masked man pointed it at Elliot’s head. “I’m not dumb enough to waste a bullet when you’re obviously wearing a vest.”

Elliot froze as the trigger finger flexed. The silent alarm was so close, but impossibly out of reach.

Please don’t let Vi see this. She’ll blame herself. I’m so sorry, Vi⁠—

Before Elliot could finish his thought, the man pulled the trigger.

14

I sat in the rental car, peering through the windshield, waiting for that call from Chip. He didn’t know I was outside the police station. Being nearby during the action had been too much of a lure for me to stay away.

My car had Virginia plates, a necessary precaution. D.C. plates stood out too much, which was probably why the moron working for me had been discovered. But I wouldn’t make the same mistake, so I’d pulled in some favors to get the exact car I needed for this trip. Tinted windows shielded me from prying eyes as I watched my pawn stride into the sheriff’s station with a lethal confidence that mirrored my own.

A competent assassin would have scanned the area before entering. He never even chanced a look over his shoulder. Dismissing his carelessness, I waited.

The crack of a gunshot reverberated through town.

Was the dispatcher dead? The thought sent a thrill through me. Oh, how this would hurt that ex-FBI bitch. Another member of her “family” killed at my behest.

Rebecca was nothing but a small-town sheriff now, without her macho Feds to ride to her rescue.

I started the car and pulled away. No need to be there when she and her deputies arrived. They would just stand around wringing their hands as they realized how impotent their badges were against the bedlam I’d unleashed.

As the engine hummed, I entertained a thought—maybe I should’ve set this man loose as an assassin sooner. The bloodlust churning in him was unexpected, a delight to watch unfold. Ordering him to retrieve my property by any means necessary was all it took. And now three people were dead.

Part of me wished he hadn’t used a gun this time. I reveled in imagining Rebecca finding her neighbor, his head caved in by something as mundane as a garden hoe. That must have been excruciating for her, in all its gory intimacy, his brains spattered around her living room.

The image of gore festooned across Kathrine’s sanctuary brought a certain satisfaction. The safety of her home, her department, and her island was nothing more than a mirage. A clean bullet wound felt almost too merciful by comparison.

Maybe another of her people would meet a similar fate soon enough. Based on what my spies on the island had reported, Senior Deputy Frost meant something to her.

And he was a family man, a pillar of this insipid tourist trap of a community. Taking him out would crush her. And weaken her standing too. His support had allowed that bitch to become the sheriff here. The community’s trust in her would crumble if that pillar fell.

I drove on, the night air whispering promises of violence and retribution. Every calculated act of brutality served as a message. Rebecca West would learn the hard way.

You do not cross William Morley. Not if you want to keep your life—or your loved ones.

My phone’s ring pierced the stillness, and I snatched it up.

His voice, laced with triumph, crackled on the other end. “I’ve got the thumb drive. And I used the Glock I stole from the sheriff. There are no loose ends. Dispatcher handed the USB over, and I blew his head off. We got what we needed. Let’s get the hell off this island.”

“Wait.” My intuition flared like a warning siren, chasing away my happy thoughts of spattered brains. “Isn’t the night dispatcher supposed to be a woman?”

“No. It was a man. Some surfer-looking dude. Why?” A car door slammed on his end, and the motor started.

“And he just handed it over to you? That easy?”

“Well, I did have that bitch’s gun pointed in his face.” He snorted, sounding cocky and stupid, just as I expected. “He protested a little at first, tried to act like he didn’t know what I was talking about. But he was too scared. Practically pissing his pants. Rightfully so. Once he saw I was serious, he gave it over. Then I put one through him. No witnesses.”

A surge of suspicion hit me like a tidal wave. Rebecca West was no amateur to let her guard down so easily. This had to be a decoy, a pathetic attempt to throw me off the scent. No one on her team would have surrendered the real thumb drive without a fight.

“That’s a dummy drive. They swapped out the night dispatcher and probably the thumb drive too.” My suspicion hardened into certainty. “It’s a fake designed to distract us. The real one is still out there.”

His earlier arrogance wavered, his voice now tinged with desperation. “No, this has to be it! I killed a cop for this thing. Blasted his head off. It’s got to be the real deal. Rebecca couldn’t have anticipated this. She’s a sheriff. You really think she set one of her men up to be killed?”

The tremor in Chip’s voice grated on me like nails on a chalkboard. I could almost smell the panic seeping through the phone line, and it infuriated me. “Keep your head straight. The dispatcher wasn’t the setup. The thumb drive he handed over so easily was. He would have put up a bigger fight if it was what we really needed. This little game isn’t going to be that easy.”

Rebecca West might have thought she’d outsmarted us with her little ploy, but she couldn’t fool me. The real prize still awaited us, and I would spill as much blood as necessary to claim it. She’d pay for sacrificing one of her own for nothing.

“Fine,” he muttered, after a moment that stretched too long for my liking. “I haven’t gone far. Should I drive back and search the place?”

“No. Going back will just get you caught. We’ll need more firepower if we want to extract the real prize.” I knew what to do next. Random explosions—the final desperate act of the Yacht Club—had recently put the town on edge. I could use that shell shock and fear to my advantage. “I have associates, professionals in their field, who can handle explosives. They’ve done excellent work before.”

“Explosives? What are we going to blow up? Her?”

“No, you fool. We’re going to create a distraction. A big, showy, loud one.” I thought about where to stage it. Someplace she’d believe… “The bank. We’ll make her think you’re breaking into the bank to get to the safety deposit boxes. It’s someplace she could have hidden the real thumb drive, though I doubt she’s dumb enough to have done that. Still, she’s the sheriff and will have to respond.”

“And then?” The eagerness was back, as though he’d forgotten his earlier stupidity.

“While the cat is away, the mice will play. You’ll go back to the station, the last place they’d expect after what you did tonight. And you’ll search that building top to bottom to find the real thumb drive.”

Chip didn’t reply, but the crackle of the line spoke to his inadequacy. I clicked off the call, refusing to allow incompetence to stand in the way of my revenge. Rebecca West had defied me once, but she would soon learn the cost of her audacity.

I envisioned the scene—sirens blaring, tires screeching, her team rushing to protect the assets of the town’s citizens. All based on false pretenses. It was delicious, the madness I could orchestrate with a single command.

But as I savored the thought, I knew Rebecca was cunning. It might take some interrogation of her second family to learn the location of the device.

Her little female deputy seemed promising. And Senior Deputy Frost had a wife, ripe for the taking. I doubted either woman could withstand much pain. If it came to that, I knew people who could handle that task.

This wasn’t just about reclaiming and reselling the information held on a cheap piece of plastic and metal.

It was about retribution.

I wanted to dismantle her life piece by piece, to take everything she valued. Her friends, her allies—I’d watch them fall like pawns on a chess board. And with each loss, I’d savor her despair.

Glancing at the rearview mirror, I watched the shadows of Shadow Island recede into the night. The game was set. The pieces were moving. And I, the mastermind behind it all, held the power of life and death in my hands.

15

Hoyt lay still, the weight of the duvet a poor substitute for peace. Angie’s rhythmic breathing and Boomer’s occasional dream yips were the only sounds punctuating the silence. Amber streetlights filtered through the window, casting an ethereal glow on his wife’s serene face. Hoyt envied her calm, even as his own thoughts churned like the winter sea surrounding Shadow Island.

They’d told Rebecca she could crash in their guest bedroom while her house was still a crime scene. Angie had put fresh linens on the bed and cleaned the room from top to bottom. While he’d worried about keeping their house safe, Angie had worried about their friend. She was a better person than he was.

Of course, Rebecca wasn’t there. She was still working the stakeout with Jake. So all he could do was wait and worry. An unease he couldn’t shake had settled over him while watching the forensic team work at her house.

That damn present to Humphrey with the shoe imprint on it is going to stick in my head forever.

Stretching his arm over the side of the bed, he ran his fingers through Boomer’s fur. She always slept on the floor, usually on his side of the bed. Had since the day he got her as a puppy, when his boys were still young.

Her fur was mostly white now, and her movements were slow as she licked his hand, but her presence was reassuring. Maybe he could let Rebecca borrow her while she stayed over. Humphrey was staying with Kelly Hunt for now, and Rebecca could use a furry friend to help her out.

The image of Humphrey’s trodden present sent his stomach twisting again.

If that kind of violence happened in his house…

“Is everything okay?” Angie’s voice, tinged with concern, almost sent him tumbling off the edge of the bed. He hadn’t felt her wake up.

“I don’t know.” His words tangled with a sigh. “I’m worried.”

“About what?” She pulled the blanket closer and snuggled against him.

“Everything. Rebecca. Humphrey. Boomer. Most importantly about you, Ange. What if you went to stay with one of the boys for a bit?”

“Nice of you to remember me after Rebecca and two dogs.” Angie propped herself up on an elbow, her eyes searching his in the dim light. He was worried for a moment until he saw the laugh lines. “Do you really think I would leave you here alone? I couldn’t stand it. What if something happened to you while I was gone? This is my home, and I’m not leaving it.”

“Angie—”

“I didn’t leave when any of those other crazies came to our island. We’ve had drug runners and all the insanity with the Yacht Club.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I left when the hurricane hit. And hated every minute of it. But this is my home, my life, and I won’t be chased away by shadows and what-ifs. And certainly not while I have company.” Her eyes twinkled. “You and Rebecca would end up eating takeout for every meal. That’s not healthy for either of you.”

He knew then he couldn’t sway her. In the tapestry of calamities they had weathered together, Angie’s steadfastness was the constant thread.

“All right. But there’s no need for you to worry about our meals. I’m a grown man, ya know.”

Angie snorted and nestled back into the warmth of their bed. “You’d have to drag me away, and we both know you’re too much of a gentleman for that.” Her voice was thick with sleep. She snuggled even closer, her head resting against his shoulder, as if sharing her steadiness through osmosis.

Already, he felt more stable. “I love you more than all the stars in the Virginia skies.”

Her smile, though faint and sleepy, was the most genuine comfort in the dark. “Love you, too,” she whispered before the rhythm of her breathing told him she had succumbed to slumber.

Hoyt counted her breaths, hoping for the embrace of sleep to take him too. But his worries held him captive, the shadows playing tricks on his tired eyes.

Giving up, he eased out of bed, the cold floorboards beneath his bare feet a rude surprise compared to the warmth he left behind.

Boomer got up as well, her claws tapping along the floor behind him.

In the kitchen, the refrigerator hummed a monotonous lullaby as he filled a glass with water, the liquid catching the light in ripples and waves. He took a sip, welcoming the coolness sliding down his throat, even though it did little to quench the unease simmering within.

“All right, Trent. Don’t fail me now.” He reached for the radio Angie kept in the kitchen so she could keep tabs on him. A simple check-in. That was all he needed. Just to hear that the island was as peaceful as the woman sleeping in their bed. “Locke, you got your ears on? How are things looking out there?” Hoyt kept his voice low, not wanting to wake Angie twice in one night.

Static crackled. Trent’s unmistakable tone, a reassuring presence in the dead of night, soon followed. “Frost, I’m here. All’s clear. I’ve got Trooper McCoy riding with me since the boss wants us to use the buddy system. We haven’t spotted any D.C. cars. Elliot’s been quiet, too, so I guess it’s just a rare peaceful shift.”

One deep breath later, a sliver of tension eased from Hoyt’s shoulders. He leaned against the counter, the darkness outside pressing against the windows. “Thanks, Locke. Glad you’re not alone. You two keep your eyes peeled.”

“Always do. Get some sleep, man. McCoy and I got this.”

Hoyt set the glass in the sink, the sound of it clinking against the basin louder than he’d intended. He glanced back toward the bedroom, where Angie remained undisturbed, her faith in him a constant echo in his heart.

He hovered his thumb over the call button on his phone. A thrum of unease tapped out a rhythm in his heart. What if Elliot’s silence wasn’t a sweet respite from chaos? He shook his head. Though he knew he was being paranoid, he had to be sure the dispatcher’s silence was nothing more sinister.

Using the house phone, he dialed the dispatch number. Only the continuous ring, each tone a spike of anxiety, met him.

“Come on, Elliot. You’re supposed to answer any call that comes in. You’d better not have fallen asleep on us.”

No answer came, and after several attempts, the unsettling thrum inside Hoyt drummed harder. No one was picking up at the sheriff’s station.

He switched back to the radio. “Dispatch, this is Frost. Are you getting my phone calls? Do you copy?”

The radio remained stubbornly silent. He tried again.

“Dispatch, did you fall asleep? What’s going on?” Hoyt’s brow furrowed, a crease deepening as scenarios played out in his mind’s eye.

Elliot wasn’t one to shirk his duties. From his first day, he hadn’t failed to respond if he was working.

“Elliot, you there?” Rebecca’s voice came over the radio.

There was a long pause while they all waited for a response.

“Dispatch, check in.” Worry laced Trent’s voice. The chorus of attempts to reach Elliot fueled Hoyt’s growing dread.

No response came to settle their nerves. If Elliot had stepped away, protocol dictated rerouting calls to a messaging service. That deafening silence shouldn’t exist.

With a grim set to his jaw, Hoyt keyed the radio’s mic again. “Something’s off.” Even saying that aloud had tension knotting his muscles.

“Agreed. We’ll check on Elliot.” Rebecca’s concern further unsettled Hoyt.

“I’m coming too.” Hoyt had seen the boy grow up with Viviane. He was like family. And family looked out for one another, come hell or high water.

Stepping into the laundry room, he pulled on his clean uniform. Still buttoning his shirt, he moved to the front door to slip into his coat.

As he stepped into his boots, Boomer whined at him.

Hoyt cast a last glance toward the bedroom. Angie slept in peaceful repose as a storm brewed within him. He hated leaving her when danger might be lurking unseen, but she’d be the first to tell him he had a duty to uphold. “Take care of her, Boomer. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

16

Night wrapped around the police cruiser like a shroud as Rebecca navigated through the festive multicolored streets of Shadow Island. “Elliot, come in.” She tried again and again, her voice crackling through the radio static. No response. She clenched her jaw, trying not to think the worst.

But the premonition of disaster gnawed at her. Something was deadly wrong.

As she pulled up to the curb in front of the station, Hoyt’s truck slid into place beside her. They exited their vehicles in sync, moving with purpose in the stillness of the night. Not even a breeze was blowing.

The familiar brick facade of the sheriff’s station loomed large, its coziness at odds with the tension in the air.

“Something’s on the door.” Jake pulled his gun, eyes darting up and down the deserted street.

Rebecca grabbed her gun without another thought. Every sense went on high alert. As she stepped closer to the door, she saw it too.

Black knit fabric, about the size of a football, hung from the middle hinge of the door.

“What is it?” Beside her, Hoyt also had his gun out. He swiveled at the hips, checking every angle.

Was Elliot hiding?

Moving closer, Rebecca detected no marks on the windows or doors. She pulled her glove from her pouch, holding it like a tissue so she didn’t have to put away her gun. The reflective film on the glass, a safety precaution that was effective if they were inside the building, prevented them from checking on their team member.

She moved quietly in her sneakers, the silence broken by the heavy clomp of the boots worn by her deputies. Reaching out with the glove, Rebecca lifted one end of the fabric, hanging like a black flag from the door.

The hemmed edges of two eye holes became visible, followed by the opening for the mouth.

A ski mask? Like the one worn by the person in Leslie Tabbart’s surveillance video. Is this a declaration of war? God, please let Elliot be okay.

Leaving the ski mask in place, Rebecca used the glove to push open the door.

The scent of cinnamon and coffee hung in the air, remnants of the day gone by, mixed with the stink of gun powder and fresh blood.

Just past the door mat, a Glock lay on the floor.

“Gun.” Rebecca stepped around it.

Hoyt was at her back with Jake following. Moving as a well-oiled unit, they cleared the lobby first.

She didn’t focus on the Glock, but in the pit of her stomach, she knew it was hers. A message to her.

Maybe the smell is from a misfire. Dropped Glocks can go off on their own.

Denial was a hell of a drug. Enough to make her want to forget everything else she’d seen and smelled.

“Blood.” Hoyt’s voice was tight and snapped Rebecca out of her spiraling.

She followed his line of sight. Bright crimson blood speckled the back wall.

The dispatch desk sat empty.

Even the chair, which normally poked up behind the desk, was gone.

A line of blood ran down the wall, to the floor, leading to…

Blood on the tiles.

Blood on the cupboards.

Blood on the sheets.

Rebecca bit her lip, refusing to go back to the dark time with her dead parents.

Though she knew what she was about to see would add to her trauma.

Ignoring the chant of no that played on repeat in her mind, Rebecca moved forward, leading her crew toward the half door next to the dispatch desk that was the only access to the bullpen and office.

And there he lay.

Blood on the tiles.

Blood on the cupboards.

Elliot Ping, motionless, a dark pool beneath his head. His legs rested on the legs of his stool, indicating he’d been seated when he died. His eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

Blood on the sheets.

The hole in his forehead was small, with only the thinnest line of blood circling it. But Rebecca knew the type of ammunition in the gun that killed him.

Hollow points.

They expand on impact. In like a finger and out like a fist. That’s why I bought them, so they’d do exactly this.

The ammo had been her “fuck you” to those who stalked her. And now that same ammo had destroyed poor Elliot’s head. Skull fragments and parts of his brain formed a scattered, gory line away from his position at the desk.

Blood on the tiles.

Her breath hitched, and the world stilled, the gravity of the scene sinking into her bones.

I bought those bullets. I loaded that gun. I never changed the code to my safe.

Guilt surged within her, followed by a hot, seething anger that overwhelmed it. Overwhelmed everything.

Dead eyes staring. Staring at her.

“Fuck!” Jake stood frozen at the desk.

He’s dead because of me.

Hoyt grabbed the radio on his shoulder, his fingers unsteady. “Locke, we need you at the station now. It’s an emergency.”

“Coming.” Trent’s voice crackled over the line, his lack of questions disturbing Rebecca in ways she couldn’t wrap her mind around yet.

Was it because he’d deduced what happened?

Elliot’s dead because I underestimated how far Morley would go to get the thumb drive. In his vendetta against me.

A sudden horrible thought raced through her body like lightning, tightening her hand on her gun.

Elliot’s killer could still be here.

Her attention jumped to the empty hallway stretching to the back of the station. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. The dull throb was her only shield against the flashbacks threatening to overtake her.

“We need to clear the building.” She barely recognized her own voice.

As if her words had transferred the jolt, her deputies squared up, their focus darting to the hallway and the direction of their guns following.

Hoyt, being the closest, took the lead.

Rebecca followed him, two steps behind. “Coffey, guard the lobby.”

“Right.” Jake turned, protecting the station and Elliot now that it was too late to get anything more than justice for him.

I’ll settle for revenge instead.

Together, she and Hoyt cleared the rest of the station, ending in the jail room. Nothing was out of place. No doors forced open. Nothing was missing.

Except everything that mattered.

Walking back toward the front, Rebecca stopped to unlock her office door while Hoyt went to join Jake. A quick glance showed no one had been in there since she’d left earlier. Even the pile of paperwork on the corner of her desk was undisturbed.

Pushing her chair out of the way, she signed into her computer and pulled up the security footage. She copied the files she’d need and sent them to a new case file, not wanting to leave her men alone for a second longer than necessary. Then she unlocked her desk and grabbed her tablet.

A pit formed in her stomach as she braced herself to do the thing she couldn’t put off. As the boss, the sheriff, the friend, this was all on her.

She dialed Viviane, her fingers trembling as the hollow ringing echoed in her ear.

“Hey, Rebecca. What’s up?”

“Viviane, get to the station.” Rebecca’s tone left no room for argument.

“What happened?” Viviane’s voice quivered with alarm.

“I…just hurry.” Rebecca couldn’t finish.

A flurry of fabric rustled before the line went dead, a soft click signaling Viviane would be there as fast as she could.

Rebecca turned away from the grim scene before her in the lobby—Elliot, young and full of humor, now silenced forever. She clenched her jaw tight, fighting the wave of emotion threatening to break her composure.

“Shit. We need our M.E. here.” She dialed the number that Elliot usually called. He and Bailey got along well, for someone as morbid as Bailey and as green and soft as Elliot.

Why did I leave him here alone? Why didn’t I schedule someone to stay at the station at all times?

“Rebecca? Why are you calling me at home in the middle of the night? What’s wrong?” Bailey’s voice was groggy with sleep.

“Bailey, it’s Elliot.” The words were like shards of glass in her throat. “He’s been shot. He’s…he’s dead. Killed in the line of duty. Can you come to the station?”

“My god,” Bailey choked out. “I’m there. Give me twenty minutes.”

As she ended the call, Rebecca took a deep, bracing breath. Jake was on the phone with forensics, asking them to come work the scene. She couldn’t stand there any longer. Using her fob to unlock the half door, she stepped through again. Her feet felt like cinder blocks.

She examined the lobby and the area behind the dispatch desk, the details imprinting themselves in her memory—the splay of Elliot’s fingers, the angle of his fallen chair, the glow of the computer screen where he’d been playing solitaire casting shadows across his still form.

When Wallace had died, she’d been running an investigation with a skeleton crew who didn’t even know her yet, looking for the killer he’d asked her to help find. When Darian had died, she’d been in surgery, nearly dead after she fought to make sure her deputies could get away from an ambush. When Greg had died, he’d been in the hospital while she tracked down his killers.

This was the first time she’d had to walk up to a member of her team and stare down at their dead body. The blood was still fresh. Taking hold of her emotions, she balled them up and shoved them down, pushing hard until the burning tears at the backs of her eyes faded.

She would process this later. There would be time to mourn and second-guess her decisions. She had the rest of her life to do that.

Right now, she had to work. To find out why he’d been murdered, identify the bastard who did it. And bring that person to justice.

For Elliot.

The smell of blood and gun powder were rancid in her mouth. “Let’s secure the scene. No one touches anything until Bailey and forensics get here.”

Hoyt nodded, his gentle blue eyes clouded with a mix of sorrow and anger. Rebecca could see the gears turning—he was already cataloging, analyzing, preparing for the investigation ahead.

Jake moved from his frozen stance, his hands in fists at his sides. They all felt it. The violation of their stronghold, the raw fury at the injustice of the murder of the most innocent of the group. But Rebecca knew they needed to channel that energy, focus it into finding whoever was responsible.

“Vi submitted the stolen weapon report earlier, right?” Hoyt asked. No one wanted to say out loud that the murder weapon was almost certainly her gun. But they all knew it. “We can check the serial numbers.”

“I pulled the security recordings.” Rebecca lifted the tablet so they could all see. She tapped Rewind until she reached the part with the two men facing each other.

Gritting her teeth, she tapped Play.

Jake and Hoyt huddled around her, and they watched Elliot slumped at his desk, focusing on the map that tracked all units. He straightened as the front door swung open. Rebecca wanted to shout at Elliot to run as a masked man wearing black leather gloves came through the door.

Hoyt grunted, the only audible reaction in the room. This was the same guy they’d seen on the video from the Tabberts’ house. The same man who’d killed Dickey.

They focused on Elliot as he went through the last moments of his life.

“He did everything I told him to. Why…” The masked man pulled the trigger. Then, as if it didn’t matter at all, he dropped the gun and walked out.

“When I find that fucker…” Hoyt trailed off, his voice thick with venom.

Ignoring him, Rebecca focused on the image of Elliot clad in his Kevlar vest under his shirt. The same vest she’d insisted he wear. Her decision haunted her now. Was that why he’d been shot in the head instead?

“Did he see the vest through his shirt?” Jake’s expression was grim. “Did he know Elliot was wearing it?”

“I can’t tell.” Rebecca clenched her hands as a wave of guilt washed over her. The idea that her insistence on the vest had made Elliot a target for a more lethal shot shook her…this young, vibrant life snuffed out in an instant because of her orders.

Because they were coming for her.

She made an involuntary sound in the back of her throat, so soft that she hoped no one else heard it. But Hoyt twisted toward her, pulling his hat off like he wanted to throw it. “Boss, this isn’t on you.”

Rebecca found the time stamp at the bottom of the footage. “Forty-five minutes ago.”

Her fury simmered. What kind of monster targeted someone like Elliot? A man who brought nothing but joy and dedication to his work. And Dickey—another innocent soul caught in the crossfire. Both men were undeserving of such a cruel fate. They only had one thing in common.

“Whoever did this…they’re trying to hit me where it hurts.” The resolve in her voice laced down her spine, steeling her determination. “They want to punish me. Punish us.”

“Then we’ll find them.” Hoyt’s anger resonated with Rebecca’s. “We’ll get justice for Elliot. For all of them.”

She turned to her senior deputy. “If I could, I’d end this nightmare with one bullet right between this masked man’s eyes.” The confession hung heavy between them.

Jake watched her but said nothing.

“But I can’t.” She gritted her teeth. “Because killing this goon won’t stop anything. He isn’t Morley. We need to find him to find Morley.”

Before she could say more, the front door swung open with an urgency that sent a chill through the room. Viviane stumbled in, her face tight with fear. Trent and Trooper McCoy followed, expressions grim as stone.

“What is it? What happened?” Trent’s gaze jumped to the bloodstained wall. Then he reached out and grabbed Viviane before she could take a step closer.

She looked away from Rebecca, following Trent’s line of sight. Her face went ashen. “Elliot…” Viviane choked out, her voice a whisper.

“Viviane, I’m so sorry.” Rebecca handed her tablet to Jake, stepping forward to take the hand of her deputy, her friend. “He did everything right. It wasn’t enough. They took the decoy thumb drive, and they still killed him.”

Trent stepped up next to Jake, his focus shifting to the screen in Jake’s hands, where Elliot’s last moments played out in cruel pixels. Shadows played over his features, accentuating the creases of his brow and the hard set of his jaw. His eyes betrayed a flicker of profound shock.

Viviane’s small whimper sliced through the tense air. The deputy staggered to the side, her shoulders shaking with each suppressed sob. A raw hollowness extinguished her usual playful spark. “No. It can’t be. I told him to wear his vest. What happened?”

“He shot him in the head.” Rebecca’s heart broke. Elliot and Viviane had been high school sweethearts who’d tempered their childhood romance into a solid adult friendship.

“I told his mom he’d be safe working dispatch before I even recommended him for the job here. She was worried.” Viviane pressed shaking fingers to her lips. “He wouldn’t have taken this job, except I talked him into it.”

The burn of unshed tears stung Rebecca’s eyes, but she blinked, refusing to let them fall. Anger simmered within her, a slow and deadly boil threatening to spill over. Grief alone didn’t fuel the fire—rage, pure and scorching, propelled her forward. “We will get them. Each and every one of them.”

Tears ran down Viviane’s cheeks as she looked at Rebecca.

Her own anger and grief reflected back in Viviane’s eyes. Rebecca would make Morley and his people pay for each tear Viviane shed. And all those shed by the rest of the inhabitants of Shadow Island.

17

Rebecca stood rigid, observing the hustle and bustle as the forensic team worked. She was the only one from her crew standing in the bullpen. The techs were meticulous, moving quietly and efficiently, but even their professional calm couldn’t mask their horror at the blood and brains adorning the walls and office equipment.

Her deputies huddled in clusters at the edges of the lobby where they couldn’t see the crime scene. No one wanted to lay eyes on that again. Their faces were hollow from the relentless night. Viviane and Hoyt had already broken the news to Elliot’s family and returned looking even more drawn and pained. Outside, Trooper McCoy stood at his post, although Rebecca believed it was more out of respect for their grief than a need to protect the busy station.

Muted whispers filled the lobby, each word heavy with exhaustion and pain. No one said it directly, but the same question hung unspoken between them.

Who will be next?

“Sheriff?” A young tech approached, his uniform hanging loose on his frame.

“Yes?” Rebecca pulled her gaze away from the scene to focus on him.

“We’ll be wrapping up soon. Once we’re done, you can get cleanup out here…” He stopped, words failing him as he gestured toward the gore. “Just so you know, all the evidence from this case and the other two scenes will be bumped to the head of the list.”

“Thank you. We’d all appreciate it.” This was what cops did. They protected their own.

Except I failed to do that. And that’s why Elliot is in a body bag, about to be hauled out.

Her mind was already racing ahead, past the cleanup, past the guilt, to the threat that lurked beyond these bloodied walls. Keeping her mind busy was the only way not to go crazy.

Morley.

Thinking about him made her grind her teeth. She wanted to pretend the decoy of the fake thumb drive would be enough to make him complacent.

But Rebecca knew better.

Morley was a storm, relentless and destructive. And storms didn’t cease until they’d blown themselves out, regardless of how much damage they left in their wake. He thought he was above the law with his gaggle of lawyers and prominent friends.

Every cell in her body screamed for action, for pursuit. Percy Stillwell was the key. Finding him was essential.

With a deep breath, Rebecca steadied herself. Morley might have drawn first blood within these walls, but she wouldn’t let him win. She would find Percy Stillwell, and she would end this. For her town, for her deputies, for every shred of peace Morley sought to steal.

As the techs packed their gear to move out, the clicks of lids closing on heavy containers landed like buckshot on Rebecca’s nerves.

Bailey stood, digging her knuckles into her back. Today, she moved with a heaviness that contrasted her usually unfazed demeanor. The dark humor that so often danced on her lips seemed to have abandoned her in the face of such tragedy. Now she looked much like Rebecca felt—hollowed out and shrunken.

The deputies emerged from the bullpen, silently gathering around Rebecca.

Most of the forensic techs left then, bobbing their heads with sympathy as they passed her and her team.

Bailey conferred with her assistants and approached Rebecca. “I’m sorry about Elliot. He was one of the good ones.” Her eyes, which had seen so much death, softened with empathy. “The only good news I have for you is he probably never even felt it. I wish I had more. But there’s nothing else I can tell you about this one. It’s just what it looks like.”

“Thanks, Bailey.” Rebecca’s throat went tight. Elliot was tucked away in the body bag, so at least she didn’t need to see him again. Bailey’s team had also collected the bits of brain from the floor. “Then focus on Dickey. Stillwell used my gun he stole from my house to shoot Elliot. And Dickey got in at least a few hits. Maybe you can find trace evidence on him we can use to nab this bastard.”

“It’s my top priority.” Bailey turned to oversee the removal of the fallen dispatcher’s body, directing the assistants lifting him onto a gurney and wheeling him out.

Rebecca held the half door open for them.

On the lobby side of the dispatch desk, Viviane sobbed into a tissue. After a long exhale, she straightened, squared her shoulders, and stood at full attention. Jake followed, his chin jutting forward as his years of Army training kicked in. Trent and Hoyt joined, giving Elliot a silent walk of honor as he left the sheriff’s station for the last time.

The sight sent a ripple of grief through Rebecca, yet it bolstered her too. They’d have to mourn later. Now it was time to act. She watched Bailey’s retreating form, the medical examiner’s French braid swaying as she reached out and placed a gentle hand on Viviane’s arm.

Viviane held firm in her position, acknowledging the touch with only a flicker of her eyes.

The remaining two techs from the forensic team lined up and shuffled out behind them.

Rebecca’s team had already watched and rewatched the security footage, replaying the same moments over and over, scrutinizing every frame for something they might have missed. Pain was the only thing they got from it. The killer had left just his mask on the door hinge. Perhaps forensics would be able to pull some DNA from its fibers.

Otherwise, all they had was a vacuum where answers should have been.

Rebecca surveyed the room once more. This was her battleground. Where she would stand and fight, not just for her own life, but for the peace of her small town. She wouldn’t end this war until Morley was behind bars or dead.

Whichever came first.

And Rebecca knew which outcome she preferred. He’d evaded justice before. There was only one way to stop him menacing her and the people she loved. Even if the justice system sent Morley to prison, he could still pull strings from behind bars. But not even Morley was powerful enough to reach her from the grave.

The shrill ring of the station phone cut through the somber silence.

Dammit, not now! Can’t we just have some time to catch our breath?

The phone was only a few feet away on the dispatcher’s desk. Someone had already swabbed it clean.

Still, Rebecca couldn’t stand the idea of picking that phone up. With a quick pivot on her heel, she crossed the bullpen and ran for her office instead. She lifted the receiver. “Shadow Island Sheriff’s Station. Sheriff West speaking.”

“Good morning, Sheriff. This is William Hargrove from Washington Securities.” The voice on the other end was professional but tinged with urgency. “We monitor the security systems for Sandpiper Bank. We’ve got an alarm activation. Could you check it out?”

Fuck!

“I’m on it.” Her instincts screamed that this was no ordinary alarm. What were the odds the bank was being robbed right after they’d escorted Elliot’s body out? Somewhere around zero.

She set the phone down with a click, only to be met by a thunderous boom that rattled the building. She rushed to the window, peering toward the bank in the distance, even though she couldn’t see it from her vantage point. “Dammit, Morley. What are you up to?”

Rebecca stormed out of her office at a run. In the lobby, the deputies had set aside their grief to rush to the windows.

Hoyt was halfway through the half door and stopped when he saw her. “Did you hear that, Boss? Do you⁠—”

“Frost, suit up. Trent, we’re heading out. We’ve got an alarm going off at the bank.” Rebecca checked her belt, making sure she had everything she needed. “Darby, Coffey, stay here. Keep your eyes peeled. This might be a diversion.”

Viviane nodded, determination lighting her face.

Jake stuck another round of ammo in the pocket of his vest. “Or it could be a ruse to split us up to pick us off easier. Remember, Morley’s smart. He’s playing games with us.”

“Too bad for him we’re not playing around. Frost, Locke, we’re moving out.” Rebecca turned to Hoyt and Trent. She caught the slight lift in Hoyt’s brow, the lines in his tanned face deepening with concern. Trent clenched his jaw, his soft features hardening into resolve.

“Got it, Boss.” Hoyt jammed his hat on and reached for his coat.

“Let’s roll.” Trent yanked the door open, letting them walk ahead of him.

Streetlights illuminated the early morning, making the shadows between them even darker. The alleys were hidden in the gloom, though Rebecca knew where each one lay. She stepped out, scanning the area.

Trooper McCoy stiffened at their abrupt arrival on the sidewalk next to him.

“McCoy, I need you to call in state and federal support. We need backup at Sandpiper Bank for a possible robbery. If this is real, the FBI will need a heads-up to deal with a bank robbery.”

“Roger that. Do you want me to come with you?”

Rebecca hesitated a moment, considering her options. “No. Stay here with my deputies.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Locke, Frost’s riding with you.” Rebecca held her hand up as they both opened their mouths to argue. “If I’m the target, it will be better for me to be far enough away so you won’t get hit with crossfire. And if I’m ahead, you can both watch my back and alert me if I’m driving into something. And you can watch each other’s backs too.”

Without giving them a chance to protest, she headed for her SUV. She refused to lose anyone else. She’d lost too much already.

18

The tires of Rebecca’s SUV squealed as she took the turn heading to Sandpiper Bank only a few blocks away from the sheriff’s station. Thankfully, it was early enough on a Thursday that Shadow Island’s version of morning rush hour hadn’t started yet, leaving her to drive through an empty town still fast asleep.

Although a few heads peeked out of doorways at the noise of the explosion. With the pipe bombs set off in town not too long ago, folks remained on edge and alert. Probably volunteer firefighters were gearing up at this very moment.

An acrid stench of smoke filled the air, and pre-dawn darkness clung to the world like a stubborn mist. Her heart raced in tandem with the engine’s roar, her mind flipping through a thousand possibilities.

It wasn’t paranoia if someone was actually conspiring against her. If they were still after the thumb drive, going to the bank made sense. Her knuckles gleamed white against the black steering wheel.

That’s why I didn’t hide it here on the island.

Behind her, keeping pace, Trent rounded the turn with a squeal of his own tires before revving the engine.

As they neared Sandpiper Bank, the silhouette of destruction loomed large. Smoke billowed from the back of the building, half illuminated in the amber parking lot lights. Red flames jumped and swayed from the bank, and small fires dotted the dead winter shrubs and plants.

Pulling into the parking lot, Rebecca headed straight for the back corner closest to the flames. She slid the cruiser to a stop under the halo of a light pole, the surrounding darkness swallowing everything else.

As she unholstered her gun, she turned on her search light and pointed it to the corner of the building. The light revealed nothing new.

Each passing second before Hoyt and Trent’s cruiser slid in beside her felt like an eternity. Once they parked, they all piled out, guns up and ready.

Hoyt quick-stepped over to her. “McCoy said troopers are on the way. The FBI is sending an agent. And the fire department should be here any minute.”

“Dammit, we need to wait for them. There could be structural damage or loose wires.”

Before the words finished leaving her mouth, the shrill wail of sirens pierced the morning silence, and a fire truck rounded the corner, its red lights cutting through the darkness like warning beacons.

Firefighters jumped from their vehicle and set to work with tense urgency. The largest flames went out in minutes. Soon the firefighters were aiming at the small fires licking at Sandpiper Bank’s lawn.

One of the firefighters, only a shape in the smoke and steam, saw them and raised a hand.

Rebecca ran over to the firefighter. “Okay for us to go in?”

“Are you out of your mind? We need to clear the structure. There could be back drafts⁠—”

“We’ll be careful.” Rebecca tried not to sound like she was begging. “No unnecessary risks. I promise. But this may be our chance to catch a killer.”

“You were there that day at Dee’s Docks, helping put the fire out. I recognize you.” The firefighter gave her an appraising look. “Fine. But no unnecessary risks. And if Dee asks, this conversation never happened.”

“Let’s move.” Rebecca turned toward the fire-lit shadows, ready for anything.

Flashlights in hand, they sprinted toward the destruction at the bank’s rear. Rebecca’s beam bounced over the ground, revealing rubble and scattered debris.

“Watch your step.” Hoyt’s fatherly concern pierced through his professional focus.

“And your head.” Trent ducked under a smoldering tree branch.

A gaping wound pierced the bank’s brick wall, revealing a cement-block center. Morley’s people had used a bomb to blow open the back door.

A lock pick would’ve been simpler.

The layout of the bank was etched into Rebecca’s memory from a previous scene, when a robber had trashed the place, scared the daylights out of the employees, and beaten the bank manager to within an inch of his life.

To her left dangled the remnants of the electrical panel—a tangle of wires and metal that explained the absolute darkness throughout the entire building.

“Still as a grave,” Hoyt whispered behind her, voicing the disquiet hanging in the air.

“Looks like the party’s inside.” Trent ran his flashlight over the twisted and hanging door, his humor failing to mask the tension in his voice.

“Then let’s crash it.” Brick and metal both still steamed in the cold air. Rebecca inhaled, trying to quell the unease in her gut.

Hoyt positioned himself by the gaping hole where the door used to be.

The knot of tension in Rebecca’s stomach tightened. The emptiness of the bank gnawed at her—desolate and silent, with no signs of life, no sounds of a crime in progress. No scuffle of feet, no whispered conspiracies. Just the rumble of firetruck engines drifting their way and a lone fire alarm still going off somewhere in the building.

Trent’s tone was grim. “Ready when you are, Boss.”

Rebecca led them through the back door into the dark void of the bank.

The three of them wasted no time, clearing corners with precision. Hoyt covered the manager’s office, his light slicing through the stale air, revealing nothing but scattered papers and the lingering haze of mortar dust.

They moved down the hallway to the lobby, flashlight beams passing over two round tables and a coffee nook that seemed almost comically normal amid the disorder. Rebecca noted the shattered windows on the right side of the lobby. Collateral damage from the explosion.

“Clear.” Trent was off to her right, examining the lock and testing the entrance to the lobby. The door didn’t budge. “Nothing tampered with here.”

“Same here.” Rebecca’s frustration boiled hotter as each cleared space reinforced her theory that this was a wild-goose chase.

Even the vault stood pristine. No signs of tampering marred the heavy metal doors that enclosed the safety deposit boxes. It was looking more and more like a loud diversion.

Did they lure us here for an ambush or to distract us while they strike somewhere else?

“Frost, call the station and give them a heads-up. We need to clear the tellers’ windows next.” Rebecca approached the last area to clear.

A distant boom rolled over them, vibrating through the walls and floor. Rebecca’s head whipped toward the sound, her heart thundering in her chest. “That came from the direction of the sheriff’s station.”

“Viviane,” Trent said under his breath. “Jake.” Unspoken worry hung heavy between all of them.

Shit. Am I too late to save my deputies again?

Torn in two directions, Rebecca rushed behind the tellers’ windows, finding nothing but empty chairs and idle computers. The place was deserted.

She’d finish the sweep and leave to check on her staff. She pulled her phone and tapped Viviane’s number. It rang several times before her friend’s cheery voice asked her to leave a message.

Shit.

Her hammering pulse nearly deafened her as Hoyt’s voice cut through the stillness. “Clear.” The word echoed off the cold walls of the bank lobby, but it offered no comfort. Her instincts, honed from years with the Bureau, gnawed at her.

“Someone needs to wait outside until the Feds arrive to take over.” She considered her deputies, weighing the options. Before she made a decision, Trent stepped forward.

“I’ll do it. I’ll cover the fire crew and make sure no one enters the bank.” When Rebecca opened her mouth, he raised his hand. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

Rebecca pivoted on her heel and sprinted toward the open back door, Hoyt at her side. The thought of Viviane and Jake in danger propelled her back to the station, where Elliot’s blood still stained the walls.

19

The first light of dawn hadn’t yet touched the sky when I settled on the couch in the sad excuse of a beach house Claude Bennet had let me use while I was in town. The fool had paid an insane price for this shabby place, situated in so arrogantly named a location as Sand Dollar Shores, according to a tacky wooden sign. He thought he’d done me a favor letting me hide out here, but the stink of dogs was as stubborn as the old wood it clung to.

The front room sprawled out in an open mockery of privacy, leading to a dining area and kitchen like some pathetic stage set for domestic bliss. It even had one of those stupid bars to sit at, as if the people who built it didn’t understand the concept of a private dining area.

And the entire place was a hideous blue-green with gaudy, beach-themed decorations scattered around. A beach house didn’t need to look like the beach. That was what the picture window with its view of the ocean was for—to let the beach speak for itself. This place was the poor man’s idea of beach living.

No matter. It served its purpose. No one would look for me here.

My team, including the new recruits I’d brought in, were about to start the real attack. For this operation, I’d insisted on overseeing every step with a live stream, including sound, visuals, and the ability to give them orders in real time.

The live stream would let me keep tighter control of the situation…but if I was being honest with myself, the anticipation of watching events as they unfolded was the true reason I was so intimately involved with operations. Seeing Rebecca West’s little empire crumble was too sweet an experience not to enjoy.

Raising my tablet, I scrutinized the grainy feed from Chip’s body camera. “Come on, boys.” I willed them to move faster as they left their vehicle to run down the street. The night vision kicked in as they slipped into a dark alley. My heart hammered with glee at the sight of her precious sheriff’s station, the bright-red brick wall no barrier to my plan.

This was more than revenge—it was a performance, and I had the best seat in the house.

The live feed showed them setting up the explosives, their movements hurried but not haphazard. These were professionals and knew their trade well. They should be able to keep my guy from screwing things up.

Even through the screen, I could taste the tension, feel the pressure mounting. This would be the moment Rebecca West would know there was nowhere she was safe. Not for the thumb drive. And not for her.

After a breathless pause, the blast jolted me forward in my seat, the screen flashing white before settling into a haze of dust and debris. I strained my eyes, searching for signs of success. But as the cloud dissipated, I realized the stubborn wall of the sheriff’s station stood intact. My blood boiled.

“Useless!” I spat out the word like a curse. The incompetence on display was staggering. They could blast their way into a bank but couldn’t take down one measly station wall? It was amateur hour, and I was done with it. “Give it another go. You have the second charge. Set it, and don’t screw this up! There isn’t much time before they realize the bank explosion was a ruse.”

I watched Chip relay my orders, his movements frantic, a panic settling into his posture that I found distasteful.

“Get moving!” I bellowed when I saw them hesitate. Another bomb was ready, yet they faltered. Cowardice in the face of adversity.

For a moment, I thought I heard a woman’s voice yelling. The sound of a gunshot followed. Then another. Of course West left some of her crew behind to guard the station. Perhaps that was proof the thumb drive was still hidden there. Good. My team could wipe out more of her extended family and grab the drive.

The shots echoed so loud that the microphone popped and hissed. I pulled the headset away from my ears, but I still heard the last order Chip gave my pros.

“Abort! We’re bailing!”

“Like hell you are!” I roared, but my words were lost in the commotion.

Chip’s voice crackled through the video feed. I watched him running as he barked orders, his words drenched in fear, desperation tainting every syllable.

Anger coursed through me, hot and poisonous. They had another chance, another bomb, but their window was closing fast, and I was out of patience.

“I’m not paying you to run away, you cowards!” Even as I roared the command, I knew the futility of my words as I watched panic seize them. Chip’s command to retreat was a slap to my face, a betrayal. “Finish what you started, or so help me⁠—”

The screen went black, gunfire the last sound to pierce the silence before my connection to the assault broke.

“Dammit!” I hurled the headset across the room with enough force to leave a satisfying crack as it impacted the floor. But my gaze never wavered from the dead screen. There might still be hope, a chance for that signal to reignite and show me…something. Anything.

Incompetence surrounded me like a foul swamp, far worse than the stink of dog in this godforsaken house. At that instant, my control slipped away, the operation spiraling into failure. And there, in the silence that followed, I knew the truth. I was surrounded by fools, and if I wanted revenge on Rebecca West, if I wanted her father’s work to make back my fortune, I’d have to be the one to act.

It was time to get my hands dirty.

20

Viviane and Jake sat in the lobby, waiting to hear back about the explosion at the bank. They’d been on edge since Rebecca left, taking Hoyt and Trent with her.

With a sudden jolt, the windows rattled, lights flickered, and ceiling tiles sent down a fine dust. Instinctively, Viviane ducked, throwing her hands over her head. Trooper Bluford McCoy burst through the front door and leaped over the half wall into the bullpen, his head moving in a slow arc to survey the area.

“What’s going on?” He was breathless but calm.

“That was a bomb detonating.” Viviane whipped her head around to Jake, whose wide eyes mirrored her own shock as he pressed himself against the other wall, the one that wasn’t shaking.

After the last bombing of the station, the Select Board had decided to rebuild the wall up from the foundation instead of just repairing it. Part of the work was fortifying the building so it would hold against a category five hurricane. As the dust settled without any further sounds of destruction, Viviane realized the new wall could hold up to a bomb as well.

Considering how many bombs they’d heard go off just over a month ago when a reckless assassin had driven through town throwing pipe bombs as a distraction, she thought Jake would have recognized the sound even without his military training. But clearly the trooper wasn’t as familiar with bombs detonating around him.

Crazy what living on this island makes you get used to.

Jake’s hand was already on his gun as he knocked the dust from his hair. “It came from the alley. Let’s go!”

Viviane sprang from her seat, drawing her gun in one fluid motion. Together with McCoy, they bolted out the front door, adrenaline surging with each stride as they turned right, heading for the cloud of smoke and dust.

A thick haze obscured the alley. Tendrils of smoke and fine particles of debris clawed at Viviane’s throat. Stepping quickly, Jake crossed the mouth of the alley to set up against the other wall. McCoy hung back, guarding their rear.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she had no time to answer. Probably Rebecca, and she hated to worry her, but now was not the time.

As Viviane gripped her weapon tighter, rage fermented within her, a seething brew of anger and sorrow. With every fiber of her being, she vowed to bring justice for Elliot.

Through the haze, three figures emerged, shouting and gesticulating. Peering around the first corner, Viviane squinted to make out the shapes. Her blood turned to ice when the silhouette in the center coalesced into a familiar shape.

The stout, nervous frame of Percy Stillwell.

Am I hallucinating?

Viviane shook off the disorienting fear clawing at her. All the horrible thoughts that had overwhelmed her when she walked into the station today came flooding back.

Elliot was dead because she’d talked him into taking the job. He was dead because she’d left the dispatcher position to become a deputy. But for them, killing Elliot wasn’t enough. They’d come back to…what? Finish the job? Destroy the station itself? They’d already taken the dummy thumb drive—the thumb drive that had cost Elliot his life. What else could they want?

Whatever their reason, Viviane refused to let them get away with it. “Focus, Darby,” she whispered, echoing the stern yet supportive tone Rebecca would use. “What would Rebecca do?”

She’d blame herself first, then force herself to see the truth. And she’d uphold the law despite her feelings.

Viviane knew the truth, even if it scorched her soul to admit it. Elliot made his choice, aware of the risks of working in the sheriff’s station. The blame rested on the shoulders of Morley and Stillwell, those who’d orchestrated this nightmare.

“Put your hands on your heads! This is the sheriff’s office!” Viviane’s voice cut through their frantic shouts to each other as she trained her sights on the silhouettes before her.

The trio hesitated, their arguments dying in their throats.

Instead of complying, one figure, a man with a chaotic mop of hair, darted his hand toward his coat. Viviane’s heart slammed against her ribs. Time slowed as the man’s gun glinted in the weak lamplight piercing the smog.

“Gun!” Jake’s warning cry came a split second before Mop Hair fired his weapon.

Her brain yielding to instincts honed by countless hours at the range, Viviane squeezed the trigger before diving for cover behind the corner of the station.

Shit. If I drop one of them now, will it look like I did it for revenge?

Jake had assumed a standard kneeling position, his weapon already spitting fire back into the alley. Trooper McCoy wasn’t firing, since he’d be shooting past her and Jake. With the bad angle and the limited visibility from the settling concrete dust and pre-dawn gloom, he could accidentally shoot them.

The loud retort of the gunfire in the narrow, brick-lined alley made Viviane’s ears ring. She gripped her gun tighter. These men were criminals trying to kill her. She had to protect herself, Jake, McCoy, and the community.

They blew up a bank and a sheriff’s station. Get your act together.

If she lost Jake or the state trooper, if she allowed anyone else to fall because of her hesitation, she’d never forgive herself.

Viviane ducked as bullets chewed into the brick above her head, showering her with debris. She peeked around the corner, squeezing off two shots, her breaths coming in sharp bursts. The weight of her Kevlar vest was reassuring, a solid reminder of the line between life and death.

Except it didn’t save Elliot.

“Abort! We’re bailing!” one of the men bellowed, panic tinging his voice.

Viviane poked her head around the corner again and saw her chance.

As two of the men rose from their makeshift cover, firing in her general direction, she tightened her finger on the trigger. The dust settled, making it easier to see. This time, her aim was true. Her bullet struck one man in the chest. He crumpled without a sound, his body hitting the pavement with a heavy thud.

“One down!” She didn’t feel the least bit bad.

Of the remaining two, each had dark hair, but one sported a tan that stood out beneath the white dust covering him. Both men turned to run.

Smoke stung Viviane’s eyes as she bolted after the retreating figures. Adrenaline surged through her veins, lending speed to her pursuit. The one with tan skin was slower, his movements betraying panic as he glanced over his shoulder while running from her.

Shooting him right now was well within her rights, but she couldn’t question a dead man, and she had plenty of questions to ask.

“Stop!” She gained on him, her breath forming clouds in the chill air. With a final burst of energy, Viviane lunged and tackled the man to the ground, the impact jarring her bones.

His adrenaline must have been pumping, because despite hitting his chin on the pavement, he still tried to fight her.

Jake was beside her in an instant, his large frame slamming on top of the perpetrator and pinning him to the ground. Trooper McCoy raced up as well, still covering them as he scanned the alley.

Viviane reached behind her back, yanking out her cuffs from her duty belt. With Jake’s help, they got the man’s wrists pinned and cuffed. He spat out a string of profanities, his words edged with a Pennsylvania Dutch accent.

“Shut it. You attacked a sheriff’s office. What the hell did you think would happen, you idiot?”

With the second man secured, Viviane snapped her focus to the alley’s mouth, where the other assailant had disappeared. Her mind screamed at her to give chase. Elliot’s killer was getting away. Without a word, she sprang to her feet, leaving Jake to handle the cuffed man.

“Darby!” Jake called out, but she was already gone, racing toward the street behind the station.

Footsteps echoed behind her, and she glanced back to find Trooper McCoy running to catch up with her. She rounded the corner just in time to spot the stout man sprinting left, a fleeting shadow against the drab buildings. Viviane propelled herself forward, her boots pounding the pavement as her focus narrowed to the rhythm of her pursuit.

I can’t let him get away.

Despite Viviane’s best efforts, the man stretched the distance between them and darted around another corner, having to take it wide, he was going so fast.

Viviane’s lungs worked like bellows, and she pushed for any reserve speed she might have. But the lack of sleep and hours spent grieving had left her exhausted. Although she was faster than McCoy, who still hadn’t caught up to her.

A sharp squeal of tires shattered the moment. She reached the corner but found only empty street, no sign of the man or the vehicle that had spirited him away.

“Dammit.” As she searched for any sign of the last man who had attacked them, Rebecca’s words echoed in her head.

None of you goes anywhere alone from now on. We’re all targets until this is over.

Guilt twisted in Viviane’s gut, mingling with the fear that had settled like a stone. She’d left Jake alone. And she hadn’t checked to make sure the man she’d shot was actually dead.

What if he was wearing a bulletproof vest? He could have played possum until McCoy and I ran off and Jake turned his back. I knew they were setting traps for us, and I still ran off like a damn idiot!

She spun on her heel and came face-to-face with the trooper. “Let’s go. We need to make sure the one I dropped is still down.” As she dashed back to the alley, dread clawed at her throat. Her anger had made her reckless, and she’d put Jake at risk.

As Viviane approached, she scanned for any sign of trouble, any indication that her partner might be hurt. But Jake was standing his ground, gun still drawn, vigilant over their captured suspect.

The sight of him—unharmed, in command—soothed her jangled nerves. She sucked in a breath, relief flooding her senses and almost bringing her to tears.

“Keep still.” Jake shifted his feet, his voice a low rumble as the cuffed man squirmed and spat curses that were lost in the musty alley air.

“Need help, Coffey?” Viviane managed between heaving breaths, moving up beside him. She looked down at the subdued figure just as footsteps pounded on the concrete.

Rebecca’s familiar form appeared at the mouth of the alley, accompanied by Hoyt. They both quick-stepped down the alley, holding their guns at low ready. “You three all right?”

“Still kicking.” Smiling at her own half-hearted attempt at levity, Viviane holstered her weapon as she spoke.

“A-okay.” McCoy nodded toward Rebecca and Hoyt.

Rebecca paused to kneel and press two fingers against the neck of the man halfway down the alley. With a look at Hoyt, she shook her head. “The explosion at the bank was a diversion. We were just getting ready to call you when we heard the ruckus here. But it looks like you handled things.”

“You think I can send a tip to the construction company who did the remodel? Those reinforced walls held up like champs.” Viviane patted the wall, which was scarred and cracked but still upright.

Rebecca snorted, and though she tried to smile, Viviane could tell how much the small action cost her.

Unbidden, Viviane’s gaze drifted to the lifeless body sprawled a few feet away, a dark stain spreading beneath it.

In the post-adrenaline clarity, doubt crept in.

Did I have to take that shot?

The anger that had fueled her was tinged with something colder now, something hollow.

She studied the fallen man, the permanence of his stillness. Regret should have gnawed at her conscience, but all she experienced was relief that she’d caught one alive.

Now they could question him about who killed Elliot.

21

Just after lunch, Rebecca stepped into the sheriff’s station, her stride reflecting the weariness that clung to her like the remnants of a bad dream. Her morning nap at Hoyt’s place had been more of a tease than a real restoration, leaving her mind foggy and her body sluggish. She brushed a stray blond hair from her face, securing it back into the tight ponytail that had started to fray at the edges.

Taking a long swig out of the coffee cup Angie had handed her after her nap, Rebecca ignored the empty dispatcher desk. Calls were being rerouted to the answering service. No one would be staffing the dispatch desk in person until Stillwell and Morley were behind bars.

The aroma of caffeine failed to cut through the harsh chemicals the cleanup crew had used. But at least the station was clean.

That was the first step in getting past what had happened there and who they’d lost.

Jake nodded at her as she passed through the half door to the bullpen. His face gave nothing away, not a hint of anger or pain. “Staties showed up at the bank. Feds cleared it as destruction of property and not an attempted bank robbery. As we expected, the explosion was just a diversion. Locke’s doing the handover to them now.”

“Thanks for running the prisoner around for me, Coffey. Why don’t you get some sleep now?” Jake had already done his part by escorting the cuffed prisoner, identified by his fingerprints as Fred Watson, to Coastal Ridge Hospital so he could be medically cleared before questioning. The suspect was now waiting for them in the interrogation room.

“On it.” The ex-MP leaned back in his chair, pulled his hat down, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Just like that, he was out.

“Show-off.” He could sleep deep enough to get rest but not so deep he couldn’t hear and react to everything around him. Most military members developed that trained skill—and Rebecca had always been jealous of it.

Heading back to the interrogation room, she stopped when she saw Hoyt and Viviane waiting in her office.

“Boss.” Hoyt was in his usual spot across from her desk, his feet resting on an old box of copy paper he’d converted into an ottoman.

Viviane sat in the chair closest to the door. Her eyes were still swollen from tears. Losing a friend did that to a person. But she’d taken some time to clean herself up, and her posture was rigid. She was all business now.

Rebecca sighed, the sound heavier than she’d intended.

Protocol dictated that Viviane should be home on administrative leave, gun turned in, following her officer-involved shooting that left a suspect dead. But how could Rebecca bench one of her best shooters when the coming hours promised to test them all? The thought of Viviane, rifle steady in hand, was a rare comfort against the backdrop of escalating conflict.

“Darby.” Rebecca set her cup down but didn’t bother to take her seat. “You know what comes next. Hand over your weapon. Take a leave. Three days is the requirement.”

Viviane met Rebecca’s gaze, her russet-brown eyes unflinching as she pulled her holster from her belt and laid it on Rebecca’s desk. “Boss, you know I have more at home. And you can strip me of my badge. You can fire me, if that’s what it takes. But I’m not leaving your side. Not until Morley and his people are behind bars or in the ground.” A steely resolve had replaced her usually playful tone. “I can do this as a duly sworn deputy or as your friend.”

Pride surged through Rebecca, despite their precarious position. She looked down at the holstered gun, picked it up, and weighed her options. “Was Trooper McCoy present for everything that went down in the alley?”

“He was.”

“Okay. I’m going to have him handle the investigation into the shooting. That way there won’t be a conflict of interest. Shouldn’t take him long to gather statements and complete his report.” She held Viviane’s gaze for a beat before calling for the trooper. “McCoy?”

The lanky state trooper appeared in her doorway. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I need you to handle the investigation into the shooting in the alley. You’re a neutral observer.”

He scanned the others before settling his attention back on Rebecca. “Yes, ma’am. I actually already started on that.” Turning to Viviane, he gestured toward the hallway. “Deputy Darby, if you’ll wait for me at your desk, I can take your statement as soon as I’m done with Deputy Coffey.”

As Viviane walked into the hallway, McCoy turned and looked at Rebecca. “Ma’am, may I say something off the record?”

Hoyt scrambled to his feet without a word and closed her office door behind him on his way out.

Rebecca just hoped it wasn’t bad news. “Of course.”

“I need you to know what my report is going to conclude. This was a clean operation. Deputy Darby and Deputy Coffey acted with bravery while defending the station and attempting to apprehend the bombers. I’m not going to hamstring your department with extended administrative leave.” He waited, searching Rebecca’s expression.

She’d had her issues with corrupt state troopers in the past with Trooper Dolph Burke, but McCoy was clearly one of the good ones. Rebecca offered only the slightest nod before speaking. “I’m sure Rhonda will support your conclusions either way. Can you get that report written for me ASAP?”

McCoy smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I’m on it.” He opened the door and walked to the bullpen.

Before Rebecca could react, Hoyt was leaning against the doorframe. “Everything okay?”

“It is. I need you to lock up Darby’s gun until Trooper McCoy wraps up his investigation of the shooting.”

Hoyt lowered his voice to a whisper. “Do we have anything to worry about?”

With a loud, clear voice, Rebecca emphasized each word. “Trooper McCoy is going to conduct an unbiased investigation and file his report.”

As the words left her mouth, Hoyt smiled. Two thumbs up followed.

Before continuing, she dropped her voice to a barely audible level. “The idea of moving forward with this case with one less gun and without Darby at our back had me concerned.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

Rebecca rose to her feet and stepped into the hallway, gesturing toward the interrogation room. “Now let’s go see what else we can learn.”

Shoulder to shoulder, they walked to the small room. Hoyt opened the door, and Rebecca stepped through and strode to the camera to begin recording.

As Rebecca took her place across from Watson, the man lifted his head, causing his curly hair to jostle. He shifted in his chair, giving her a glimpse of the sweat staining his armpits.

“Mr. Watson.” Rebecca was happy to witness him flinch. “Let’s talk about last night.”

The soft shuffle of Hoyt’s boots whispered across the tile as he moved behind the suspect.

Watson, the nervous energy palpable in his jittery movements, looked taken aback. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The chains connecting his handcuffs to the table rattled as he fidgeted.

Rebecca’s gaze bore into Watson. “Where’s Stillwell?”

“You know it’s Stillwell?” Surprise flickered across his tanned features before his gaze darted away.

Rebecca nodded, a silent confirmation as she pressed on. “And we know you were after the thumb drive.”

“Yeah, well…” Watson’s voice was laced with frustration. “We would’ve had it, too, if that idiot hadn’t botched the explosives.”

“Where did Stillwell go after he ran?” Rebecca kept her face impassive. “Morley isn’t going to protect you now. He doesn’t care whose fault it is. Once someone’s screwed up, they lose his backing. Cooperation could mean a lighter sentence for you.”

Watson fidgeted in his chair, his curly hair seeming to bristle with his growing anxiety. Name-dropping Morley had him way twitchier than bringing up Stillwell. “You don’t understand. Morley…what he’s capable of…it’s a death sentence to talk.”

“Oh, trust me. I understand completely.” Rebecca leaned forward. “I’ve seen the bodies of the people who’ve gone against him or even just refused to work for him.”

Blood on the cupboards.

Blood on the pillows.

She mentally shook her head, clasping her hands together on the table. “They look just like the bodies of those who failed the tasks he gave them. It’s all the same to Morley. Either you’re a valuable puppet or you’re dead.”

That seemed to strike a chord, and Watson slumped. “I don’t know where Stillwell bolted to. They call me in for these quick jobs. They pay well, but they never give me all the details. Honest. I just happened to be nearby when they needed some extra hands. It was supposed to be simple. Break in, find the thumb drive, and leave with as many electronics as we could. I didn’t even know the target was a sheriff’s station ’til we got done bombing the bank.”

Rebecca flattened her palms against the table. “Morley’s empire is crumbling. Help us stop him, and the Commonwealth’s Attorney will hear how cooperative you’ve been.”

But Watson shook his head, a defeated laugh escaping him. “You think prison scares me? Out there,” he jerked his head toward the station door, “that’s where the real danger is. No, thanks.”

Rebecca leaned back in her chair, her thoughts racing. Watson had confirmed the thumb drive was the target, but Stillwell remained a missing piece in Morley’s dangerous puzzle. One thing was clear—she wouldn’t let fear, or Morley, keep justice at bay.

She studied Watson’s face, searching for any crack in the facade of a man who had chosen a life of peril. “Morley is going down. You’ve seen the mess he’s made, the failures piling up. You can help us put an end to his plans.”

Watson’s brow furrowed, his hands twitching as he weighed his options. The stains under his arms seemed to spread, and the rank, brassy smell of sweat mingled with the coffee and cinnamon in the air, telling Rebecca more than his words ever could.

“Help us find Morley or Stillwell.” She pressed on, leaning forward just enough to claim his wavering attention. “Staying loyal to a sinking ship won’t do you any good.”

Watson’s head drooped, a haunted look crossing his features.

Silence hung heavy between them. Rebecca considered her next words carefully, knowing they could tip the balance of Watson’s resolve. “We can offer protection. A case as big as this one…I bet we could get you into the witness protection program.”

“Protection?” Watson barked a hollow laugh. “From Morley? In a federal program? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Defiance flared in his eyes. He pushed back from the table as much as the cuffs allowed, as if distancing himself from the offer and the vulnerability it implied. “I ain’t saying another word.”

The stillness returned, leaving Rebecca to ponder the man too entangled in his own fears to reach for salvation. At least he hadn’t asked for a lawyer. That was a silver lining. And she’d have time to grill him later. “Then we’ll just book you on all charges and give you space to think.”

Motioning to Hoyt, she stood. Just because Watson hadn’t given them any new leads didn’t mean they’d wasted their time. She’d been able to connect him to Morley and Stillwell, at least. That wouldn’t go far in a court of law, but it was a start.

22

The interrogation room’s door clicked shut behind Rebecca, its finality echoing through the hushed corridor. The steel in her spine hadn’t yet relaxed, and her emotions teetered between grief, hopelessness, and fury.

Rebecca paused at the open door of her office. The space was neat, a reflection of her methodical mind, with every file and pen in its place. She tossed her notepad onto the tidy desk. The pages were filled with scribbles, notes, and questions that clawed for the truth like talons, but none of them offered answers today. She returned to the hallway, heading for the front.

“Sheriff West?” Trooper McCoy rose from the desk he was using in the bullpen.

“Yes?”

“I’ve concluded my investigation. Would you like a copy of the report I’m filing?” A trace of a smile played at the edges of his mouth.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “What were your findings?”

“The shooting was clean. Deputy Darby and Deputy Coffey acted in accordance with all regulations. I found no reason for any disciplinary action for either deputy. They can be fully reinstated.” He cleared his throat and whispered, “Honestly, I’m glad I was here so I could clear their names.”

“Thank you for taking care of that, Trooper McCoy.” Rebecca smiled at the lanky man whose uniform hung loose on his frame.

“You can call me Blu.”

“Okay, Blu. Why don’t you check with Frost and see if there’s anything new on Stillwell? I need to go check on the exterior wall.”

“Will do.” McCoy moved over to Hoyt, who was just settling in at his desk.

Rebecca kept walking through to the lobby. She pulled open the heavy front door and stepped into the brisk coastal air.

Outside, the sun cast short shadows from the quaint brick building that had withstood more than a century of chaos, natural and human made. Both a structural engineer and Larry the handyman had assured her the damage was only cosmetic, but she still wanted to see it for herself.

She headed for the alley where the bomb had gone off. The wall loomed ahead, charred in places but structurally intact, a monument to the poor planning of the attackers. She crouched, running a hand over the brickwork, feeling the pockmarks where the C-4 explosive had bitten but not devoured. Underneath lay the silent strength of metal slabs, something she’d insisted on after the prison break had taken down this same wall.

Change was often slow in small towns like hers, but Shadow Island was learning and adapting. For a while, they’d hidden their heads in the sand, pretending that big-city crimes weren’t happening in their little seaside town. But that time was over. Their heads were no longer buried. And everyone was tired of being bullied by criminals.

She stood there a moment longer, tracing her fingers along the lines of the thwarted destruction. Later, she’d make the call to her construction contractor, the same one who’d repaired and reinforced the wall, and ask him to come make cosmetic repairs. And thank him for his excellent work the first time around.

Rebecca’s boots crunched brick chips and rubble as she returned to the front of the sheriff’s station. She made it to the sidewalk just in time to see Trent pull into the side parking lot.

Despite her gratitude for the wall’s durability, her mind was a tumult of thoughts and what-ifs. The reinforced wall stood as a testament to her determination to protect her team, but it also served as a stark reminder of her failure elsewhere.

She should have insisted on a bulletproof screen for the dispatch desk. The old-world charm of that space, embraced by her deputies for its inviting feel, now felt like fatal naivety.

Elliot’s easygoing laugh echoed in her memory. Silenced by a single bullet. As much as Rebecca had fought against importing the big-city mentality to Shadow Island, the violence had found them anyway, and Elliot had paid the price.

She paused at the entrance, taking a deep breath that did little to steady the regret gnawing at her. Her phone vibrated, jarring against the fabric of her coat. She pulled the device out to see Rhonda’s name on the screen. Rebecca answered with a brisk, “West.”

“Rebecca, I’ve got something you’ll want to hear.” Rhonda’s voice was brightened by a levity that felt out of place on such a day.

“Before we get to that, I need to let you know that Darby and Coffey were involved in a shootout at the station. One of your people, Trooper Bluford McCoy, was on the scene and has conducted an investigation. He interviewed everyone involved and is filing a report.”

“Yeah, that came across my desk a few minutes ago. Looks like everyone followed procedure. Glad he was there to expedite things for you.”

“It’s one small thing that worked in our favor, not that I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth. McCoy’s been great. Maybe I’ll steal him from you when all this is over.”

“You gonna keep taking all my best people? First Coffey, and next McCoy? You’d better be careful, or I’m going to stop helping you out…which brings me to the reason for my call.”

“Right. Please tell me it’s good news.” Rebecca was desperate for even a sliver of hope.

Trent walked up, slowing as he reached for the front door. She waved him inside. Before entering the building, he glanced up and down the street. She’d told them all not to go anywhere alone, yet here she was, pacing on the sidewalk in front of the station, knowing the men who’d been following her had been audacious enough to attack the station not once, but twice.

Do as I say, not as I do. I’ve got to stop being a bad influence on everyone.

“Well, it’s news…” Rhonda broke her from her train of thought. “One of my people picked up Percy Stillwell in Norfolk this morning.”

That should have been good news. “What’s the ‘but’ I hear in your voice?”

“But that’s maybe not good news. He picked Stillwell up a bit before seven.” Rhonda paused to let that sink it.

Rebecca leaned against the cold brick wall for a moment. “The bomb at the bank went off at a quarter after six. The one at the station was about ten minutes after that.”

“Yep. You’re also not going to be surprised that he claims he’s innocent. Says he’s been home sleeping, not traipsing around your island playing bomber. Looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, cup of joe in hand and all. His girlfriend corroborates where he was, and they’ve got a doorbell camera. We’ll check that to make sure.”

“Is that so?” A mixture of skepticism and curiosity laced Rebecca’s words. The thought of Stillwell in bed with the island under attack seemed far-fetched. But stranger things had happened.

“Indeed. He was completely clean. Not a trace of dust in his hair or clothes. The K-9 unit didn’t react to the scent of explosives either. We already tested that.”

“He wouldn’t have had enough time to get from here to there.”

Rhonda sighed. “Even if he drove more than one hundred miles per hour and traffic was nonexistent, which it wasn’t, he’d still be at least dusty, from what your report said.”

Rebecca stifled the series of expletives fighting to be freed. “Him being clean and passing a K-9 sniff test does make his story more than puzzling.”

“But he seems open to talking. Claims he doesn’t want a case of mistaken identity hanging over his head and making him seem guilty.” Rhonda’s offer cut through the static of Rebecca’s doubts. “He’s got a record too. One with an interesting ending you should check out.”

“Yeah, I’ve read that book. Found the information buried in that ‘insurance policy.’” Rebecca knew someone could be eavesdropping on her conversation, so she kept references to the thumb drive vague. “Armed robbery with all charges dropped.” But he was offering his cooperation, and their research into the man had uncovered no other criminal charges against him since the one decades ago.

“Seems like you’re one step ahead of me on this. He’s already on his way. I borrowed Norfolk PD for that task. Don’t ever say I don’t get you nice things.” Rhonda laughed and hung up before Rebecca could respond.

Considering one of the things Rhonda had gotten Rebecca was a review and overwatch, not to mention a few corpses pushed along by the currents, Rhonda had a bad track record as a gift-giver.

Still, if this helped close the case, Rebecca was more than willing to call it even.

She checked the street, glad to see no unusual activity or suspicious vehicles, then went inside. There, she found her team huddled around Trent’s desk, their faces a canvas of concern.

“Good news. Not only is the wall fine, but Percy Stillwell was picked up in Norfolk at seven this morning.” She watched as bewilderment clouded their expressions.

“Norfolk? But Watson said he was with Stillwell this morning, and I saw someone who looked a hell of a lot like Stillwell running away…” Viviane trailed off, her eyes narrowed in thought.

Trooper McCoy chimed in. “Coffey and I saw the same figure. Whoever he was, he looked an awful lot like the man in the photo.”

“Could Watson be lying about Stillwell?” Trent posed the question they were all considering, his forehead creased.

“We already know Stillwell is involved. His company rented the cars they used to stalk the boss.” Viviane pressed her lips together.

“Maybe he rushed to Norfolk after the crime?” Jake shook his head as if he didn’t believe it either.

“K-9 didn’t signal for any traces of explosives.” Rebecca watched their faces, hoping one of them had a good explanation for that. When that seemed to only confuse them more, she added, “But he’s willing to talk because he claims he’s innocent. Not to mention his girlfriend can alibi him, and they’re pulling doorbell camera footage to verify his story.”

“Agreeing to an interview doesn’t fit a guilty man on the run.” Hoyt crossed his arms. “He’d be throwing a fit, calling a lawyer, anything he could do to get out of there and keep running. Not handing over video evidence and coming up for an interview.”

“Maybe Rhonda’s crew grabbed the wrong Stillwell?” Jake’s voice was brimming with skepticism as he slid his finger along the route on a wall map.

Rebecca shifted to look at him, but Viviane spoke up first.

“The wrong P. Stillwell? How likely is that? If there was no traffic…or if he took the toll roads up…” Viviane trailed off, shaking her head. “I don’t see how it could be him.”

Hoyt, standing just a shoulder’s width away from Rebecca, cleared his throat. “Boss, what’s our play?”

Rebecca glared at the map, wishing she could find her answers there. “I’m going to ask Watson about it.”

Leaving them to mutter among themselves, Rebecca went back to the interrogation room. Throwing the door open, she hoped to startle Watson.

But he seemed ready for such a tactic.

“Whaddaya want now?” Watson didn’t bother raising his head to make eye contact.

Rebecca leaned over the table, lowering her head so she could see his face. “What kind of car does Percy drive?”

Watson blinked, confusion creasing his features. “Percy? Who the hell’s Percy?”

“Stillwell.” A knot formed in Rebecca’s stomach. Maybe they really did have the wrong P. Stillwell. “The man you were working with.”

“Ah, you mean Parker,” Watson corrected, an odd mix of relief and annoyance playing across his face. Then his body stiffened, and he slapped the table with his cuffed hand.

Rebecca grinned. “Yeah, that’s who I meant. Thanks.” But as soon as she left the room, the grin slid right off her face. They’d fucked up.

Who the hell is Parker Stillwell, and does he have anything to do with the man coming down to clear his name?

23

I slammed my fist onto the cheap desk as Parker Stillwell slunk into the room, his face a sickly shade of defeat. The chilly December air from Shadow Island had followed him inside, nipping at my patience.

“Boss, the explosives. I don’t know what kind of crap your guy got, but it didn’t do nothing on the station wall,” Chip stammered, tripping over his excuses and wringing his hands.

“Didn’t do nothing? What the hell does that mean?” I found it nearly impossible to believe I’d trusted such a serious task to someone who sounded like an uneducated hick.

“We did everything by the book, but⁠—”

I didn’t let him finish. “By the book? What book? Do you even know what you’re talking about? And what about the others? What happened to them?”

“Watson’s caught. And the bomb guy’s dead.” Chip’s eyes darted around the room, avoiding mine. “If he wasn’t, I would’ve brought him back to answer to you himself.”

“You let him get caught? Fred’s got the spine of a Twinkie. He’ll crack under pressure the second they start asking questions.” A sense of foreboding settled in my gut. Fred Watson could ruin everything with his anxious blabbering. “At least the other incompetent idiot is out of the picture.”

I reached into my inner coat pocket, fingers wrapping around the cool metal of the gun there. Before he could even blink, I pulled it out and aimed it straight at Chip’s trembling form. “You are running out of chances. Do you know what I do to people who fail me?”

“Please, I can do this!” His voice cracked as he begged, the fear in his eyes palpable. “Please don’t kill me. I’m your son!”

The bond of our shared blood stayed my hand, even as fury raged within me. The incompetent figure before me was my illegitimate spawn. Ever since he found out I was the one who knocked up his mom, he’d been eager to be part of my life. Everyone always wanted a piece of me.

I’d demanded from Meredith that the boy not be given my surname. And my instincts had been right. He wasn’t worthy to be a Morley. At least, not yet.

Though Parker thought I’d nicknamed him Chip because he was “a chip off the old block.” In reality, it was that he was damaged goods, like a chipped tooth you wanted to get capped. And “capping” him was exactly what would happen if he failed me again. I smiled at my mental image of him begging for his life while I blew a hole through his head…just like he’d done to that surfer dispatcher.

I wouldn’t kill him, not yet, no matter how much he reminded me of his whiny, needy mother. Disgusted, I holstered the gun.

“You call yourself my son, yet you still can’t do this one simple task.” I made sure he could see in my face just how much I wanted to shoot him right there. “One last chance, Chip. Fail again, and you’d better pray I never see your pathetic face again.”

I turned away from him, my mind racing. Maybe I should’ve put some of my regular people on this job. I’d given Chip his shot to prove himself, and look where that got me.

“I can still⁠—”

“You’re an embarrassment.” I made shooing motions at him, and even though he was several feet out of reach, he flinched.

Chip slipped into the corner, hanging his head.

I stared out the window, watching the bare branches sway in the biting wind. If Chip screwed up again, there’d be hell to pay. For both of us. I rose from my seat and paced the length of the front room, the taste of displeasure like bile at the back of my throat.

Though his initial actions had impressed me, Chip had done nothing but disappoint me since, just as his mother had at the end of our affair. Why did my own flesh and blood have to screw up when we were so close? He took the time to ransack West’s house. Why hadn’t he thought to search the station, too, right after he killed the dispatcher? Then we might be done with this already.

He’d offered to go back in to search more thoroughly. But that was too risky. Neither of us knew if the dispatcher had activated a silent alarm before he died.

It seemed Chip was only good for basic murder. He excelled at snuffing out life, but anything more complicated was beyond him.

The cold December air seeped in through the cracks of the old window frames, mirroring the chill that had settled in my heart.

“Fatherhood,” I scoffed. “What a cursed concept.”

He’d been so sure of himself when he started, doing so well. Now all he could seem to do was fail. Then come crawling back, seeking validation for his incompetence. That was what got me. Failure wasn’t to be rewarded, but I could have accepted it if he’d worked to rectify his problems without running to me for help first.

I couldn’t fathom it. How could this sniveling creature be my offspring? Shooting a man point-blank was child’s play. But orchestrating a successful heist? That required finesse, a trait Chip lacked.

It was clear he took after his hapless mother more than me.

“Dammit, Chip!” I barked as he stood in the corner like a scolded toddler, a picture of misery. “You’ve been begging for a chance your whole life. I hand it to you on a silver platter, and what do you do? You don’t bother to search the station after some dude hands you a random thumb drive.”

The room was quiet save for the ticking of my Patek Philippe watch, a relentless reminder that time was slipping away. Time I could not afford to waste on such folly.

He practically crawled back to beg at my knee. “Father, I⁠—”

“Do not call me that. Not until you finish this. One simple task. One. Get the fucking thumb drive. How hard can it be?” I was inches from his face now, watching him recoil at my fury. My words were venom, dripping with disdain.

Chip’s eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. He knew he’d failed me. I turned from him, staring out at the ocean waves crashing onto the beach, their churning water mimicking the chaos whirling within me.

“Listen closely, because this is your last chance.” I turned back to face him. “You mess up again, and you’re dead to me. And if you think that’s just an expression, you’re sorely mistaken.”

I stalked out of the room, leaving the boy to sulk. His incompetence rankled me. As I dropped into a chair in the living room, gazing through the window out to the sea, I consoled myself with the fantasy of killing the woman who had drawn me to this godforsaken island in the first place.

Rebecca.

Her name was like a curse. Maybe my team was inept, but the idea of being the one to finish her…I licked my lips. Normally, that sort of work was beneath me, but now I relished the thought of pulling the trigger that would snuff out Rebecca West’s life.

24

The heavy door of the sheriff’s station swung open, and a Norfolk officer walked in, accompanying an agitated man with short brown hair. Rebecca stood from behind the dispatch desk. By sitting in Elliot’s seat, she hoped to demonstrate her commitment to getting justice for the slain man.

It would never again be business as usual for their tiny department. And nothing symbolized that more than the sheriff sitting at the dispatch desk. Plus, she didn’t want to work in her office while the sounds of mortar scraping against brick resonated through the walls.

“Afternoon, Officer. What can I do for you?” Rebecca leaned forward, inspecting the man he’d brought in.

Percy Stillwell’s hunched frame bore little resemblance to the figure Viviane, Jake, and Blu had described. Like the fugitive from the alley, this person was a white male, but that was hardly a smoking gun.

Very odd.

“I’ve got Percy Stillwell here for you, ma’am.” The officer stepped forward.

“Boss.” Viviane had come up behind Rebecca and was looking over her shoulder. She kept her voice to a whisper. “That isn’t him. I saw the guy during the shootout. He wasn’t this old.”

Percy took in the lobby before settling his gaze on Rebecca with a mix of confusion and indignation. “Why the hell did you drag me all the way here just to answer some questions? If we’d have done this on a call instead, I could have gone to work today.” His voice was rough, like gravel tumbling down a hill, barely contained anger simmering beneath each word.

“Are you living in Norfolk now, Mr. Stillwell?” Rebecca ignored his outburst as she observed how he gnawed at the inside of his cheek, a telltale sign of his struggle for control.

“Now? Still. I grew up there. You got a Percy Stillwell down here making problems? It ain’t me.” Percy crossed his arms.

“I appreciate you coming all the way out here. Let’s go into my office where you can get comfortable.” She rose from the dispatch desk without waiting for his reply. The state trooper accompanying him tapped him on the arm and motioned him forward. Rebecca waited, holding open the half door to the bullpen.

Once Percy got settled into the chair opposite her and the officer posted up outside her closed office door, Rebecca resumed her questioning. “What’s your relationship with former senator William Morley?” She watched his response, though she was grateful her body camera would capture every reaction and word from him.

At the mention of the senator, Percy’s composure cracked, his face falling like a cliffside worn away by relentless waves. “I should’ve guessed that bastard was mixed up in this. Did that motherfucker steal my identity?” His drawl thickened with resentment. “I don’t have anything to do with Morley anymore. Is that bastard saying I did something for him? Because I didn’t. Whatever he’s saying is a lie.”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “You think Morley would talk to us in order to frame you?”

The question hung in the air between them, charged with potential implications. How he responded would answer the few questions she had after reviewing the information from Rhonda.

“If it got him outta trouble, yeah. I wouldn’t put it past him.” Percy shrugged, resignation seeping into his tone as he looked away. The overhead light accentuated the weary lines etched into his skin.

Rebecca noted his reaction. Percy Stillwell might end up being many things, but today, he wasn’t the villain. She leaned forward, her elbows on the desk separating her from the man opposite her. His emotions were a patchwork of anxiety and defiance.

“You seem pretty familiar with Morley’s tactics. Did he ever call in a favor after he got you off those charges, or do you still owe him?” A muscle twitched in Percy’s jaw, and she knew she was correct. “Someone with power helped you. There’s no way your public defender got those charges dropped on his own.”

“I’m not here to talk about ancient history.” Percy’s voice was toneless, a flat veneer over his simmering frustration. “I can prove I didn’t commit these crimes on your island. If you’re looking for a Percy, it’s not me.”

“Right.” Rebecca studied the lines of his face, marked by years and mistakes. She could push him on Morley, but she sensed other battles were more worth her time. “If you’re telling the truth, we’ll clear this up quickly.”

Percy exhaled, the fight leaving him in one long breath. “That’s all I want. Then I can get back to my job and explain to my boss why I’m late. Or you can.”

“I’d be happy to call your boss and tell him you’re helping with a police investigation.” Rebecca knew well enough that innocence didn’t always mean clean hands, but for now, Percy Stillwell just might be an unwitting pawn in a larger game. “One more thing. There’s a dummy corporation in your name. Care to explain?” Her voice held the steady cadence of authority, but her eyes, sharp and assessing, searched for the truth.

“Mine?” Percy’s brow furrowed.

“P. Stillwell. Cars rented to that company have been seen on Shadow Island for the last few weeks.” Rebecca decided to up the stakes with a few minor lies. “Stalking, harassing, not to mention all the parking tickets they’ve been racking up. And the property damage. Are you telling me you don’t know what your company has been doing?”

“Nah. If there were a company in my name, the IRS would have come calling when I didn’t report…” A spark of realization lit his tired eyes. “Dammit. It must be my nephew, Parker.” He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “P. Stillwell. That’s the kind of stupid thing he’d do just because he was asked to. That idiot’s been Morley’s lapdog since he found out he was that bastard’s son.”

“Morley’s son?”

Holy shit.

Rebecca hadn’t expected that. The ex-senator had a son. Was Morley manipulating him? Maybe the kid was a willing pawn. They’d known from the thumb drive contents that Morley had cheated on his wife. The man had no morals. But a son from that union…

“My late sister had a fling with Morley ages ago. It was brief, but…Chip’s the result.”

“Chip?” Rebecca cocked an eyebrow.

“Birth name Parker, but he makes everyone call him Chip. Anyway, I got out of Morley’s shadow long ago. He scratched my back. I scratched his. Favor for a favor. Didn’t talk to him after that. And that was more than ten years ago. But Chip…” Percy’s voice trailed off as he shook his head once more, his jaded view of family ties evident in the slump of his shoulders. “He got even worse after his mom died. As if Morley could replace her in his life.”

“Would you be willing to help us find Chip?” Rebecca made her tone softer, almost coaxing. She needed Percy on board. He’d already agreed to answer questions, but if he cooperated further, it could pivot the case. And if Percy had worked with Morley before and knew enough to get out, he wouldn’t want his nephew to keep working with the man.

“Anything to cut Morley out of my life. Chip’s the only thing still connecting us. My statute of limitation is up on the kid.” Percy leaned forward, his posture eager. “I feel bad for him, sure. But if a stint behind bars is what it takes to yank him out from under Morley’s thumb…” He sighed, the sound a mix of regret and resignation.

“Good.” Rebecca stepped out and told the waiting police officer to head out. They’d be taking care of Percy Stillwell now.

A plan began formulating in her mind. Percy Stillwell wasn’t their man, but he was the key to finding who was. The lead was worth pursuing, and she intended to follow it to the end.

25

As Percy promised, his camera footage verified his alibi. At the time the bombs were going off, he was warming up his car and scraping frost off the windshield. Rebecca turned to Percy, sitting in a spare chair next to Jake’s desk. “Call your nephew, see if he’ll talk with you. Then see if you can get him to listen to reason.”

Without hesitation, Percy pulled out his phone, fingers gliding over the screen before he laid it flat on the desk and tapped the speaker button.

The phone rang three times before someone answered.

“Hey. It’s me.” Percy glanced at the deputies watching him with a forced calm.

“Uncle Percy?” Chip’s voice crackled from the speaker, taut with alarm. “I⁠—”

“Talk to me. Why were the boys in blue knocking on my door?” Percy leaned on the edge of the desk. His knuckles whitened, revealing the anger he tried to hide under a cloak of concern.

“Man, I don’t know. It’s all messed up.” Chip’s voice pitched higher, edged with panic. “It’s this thing…for Morley.”

“Thing” echoed ominously in the air. Rebecca read the tension in the creases of Percy’s forehead, the rigid set of his jaw.

“Look, you used to do these kinds of jobs long before you ever crossed paths with Morley, right? Before you got caught and Dad got you off. I need help, Uncle P. Can you get to Shadow Island? It’s just a few hours from Norfolk. And I’m willing to pay for your help. Big time.” Chip’s desperation and inexperience bled through the phone.

Percy raised his gaze to Rebecca, a silent conversation passing between them. She overlooked the reference to his earlier criminal activities and gave a curt nod, her ponytail swishing against the collar of her coat. Percy leaned back, squeezing his eyes closed as if he were in pain.

“If I don’t get stuck in rush hour traffic,” Percy paused, as though he were doing arithmetic, “I figure that’s two hours.”

“Somewhere quiet.” Chip was nearly breathless. “I’ll text you an address.”

“All right,” Percy agreed, his tone noncommittal, and ended the call.

Rebecca turned to face her deputies. “We’ll have teams ready when Chip sends that location. Darby and Coffey can get set up to find a clean shot.”

“We can use backyards if we have to.” Hoyt’s eyes gleamed as he began strategizing the approach.

Percy spun on them, holding his hands up. “None of that will be needed. Let me talk to him. I can sort this out before it gets worse. He’s my nephew, and as much of a screwup as he is, I don’t want to see him dead. I reckon if I can just sit down with Chip, I can talk some sense into him. No one wants to go to prison, but it’s a better option than death. Or staying connected to Morley.”

Rebecca studied Percy, searching his anxious expression for signs of deceit or desperation. She’d read his file, so she knew a bit about Chip too. The only family they had left was each other. “It’s too risky. We can handle this without putting you in harm’s way.”

“Look, the kid’s gonna face hard time regardless. If there’s something I can do to lessen that blow, it’s worth the risk.” A plea for understanding filled his eyes. “He’d get a bit of leniency if he turned himself in, right? Or if I get him to turn on Morley?”

There was truth in his plea, the genuine concern of an uncle for his nephew. With a reluctant nod, Rebecca conceded. “All right. But we do this smart. We’ll be nearby, ready to intervene if things go south.”

“Understood.” Percy gave a shaky laugh. “In fact, I’d prefer it that way. I’ve been out of the game a long time. But I still remember how fast things can turn bad. I’d like it if I had the cops on my side this time, ready to haul my ass out of there.”

“We’ll be there.” Rebecca addressed the room, her tone shifting to one of conversation. “Okay, team, how are we going to play this?”

26

Watching through binoculars, Rebecca followed Percy Stillwell’s slow, careful driving. She had parked perpendicular behind a dumpster with only enough of the vehicle peeking out to allow for a line of sight. They were two blocks away, almost too far, but this way they wouldn’t be detected.

Percy maneuvered Hoyt’s personal truck down the sand-dusted cul-de-sac where Chip had said to meet him. There’d been enough time for Rebecca and her team to get into place. Jake and Trent were waiting in the front room of the home of a nearby volunteer.

Having locals as deputies was a help, but having residents invested in assisting the police was a godsend.

“Keep it steady, Percy.” Rebecca’s words came out as vapor in the cold air. The sun was slowly setting, but the temperature had already dropped.

Beside her, Viviane drummed an anxious rhythm against the dash.

Doing his best to lean forward from the back seat, Hoyt adjusted his deputy hat, frowning with concern for his prized vehicle. “I swear if he scratches my baby⁠—”

Rebecca shot him a sharp look before returning her attention to the scene unfolding before them. “Focus, Frost. If your truck gets scratched up, you’ll get a new paint job on the county’s dime.”

While that might have reassured most people, or even made them hopeful, it only slightly lessened Hoyt’s complaining. They didn’t have an impound yard to pull from on such short notice.

If Rebecca’s truck hadn’t been so recognizable to Morley’s people, she’d have offered up hers. Neither Viviane’s van nor Coffey’s Jeep offered a good view through the back glass, and Trent’s car was in the shop getting the brakes fixed. So Hoyt just had to suck it up.

They’d outfitted Percy with a wire so they could listen to and record the entire interaction between the two men.

Chip pulled up in a car with Virginia plates.

Viviane jotted down the plate number without needing any signal from Rebecca, but she didn’t pull the registration yet. That could wait ’til everyone was safe.

Morley’s son stayed in his car.

The tension was a living thing, coiling around them as Percy parked behind a blue sedan with local plates. Chip emerged from his car, a slightly pudgy figure stepping out into the crisp winter day.

“Here we go. On the right. That looks like the man I chased.” Viviane growled low in her chest.

The man now crossing the street matched the general description of Chip Stillwell, though from their angle, they couldn’t see his face. Running his name had turned up no police record, but they had his driver’s license photo and descriptions from the deputies, Trooper McCoy, and Percy Stillwell.

His quick stride took him around the front of the sedan. Rebecca tracked his every move until he slid into the passenger side of the truck.

Chip’s voice came through the hidden microphone, along with the squeak of springs as he settled into the seat. “Hey, Uncle P. Thanks for coming.”

“I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Parker, but I don’t appreciate cops showing up at my door. I’m living clean and above board, and now…you’ve got state troopers harassing me. Whatever it is, you need to stop.”

“Don’t call me Parker. Dad calls me Chip ’cause I’m a chip off the ole block. Call me Chip.”

“You can’t be serious.”

The brief silence was interrupted only by the creaking of the springs in Frost’s front seat.

“I am serious. Listen, I don’t know why the cops are bugging you. Everything I’ve done has been on the island, not in Norfolk.”

“Well, they paid me a visit just the same. So spill it. What the hell did you get mixed up in?”

“I got myself in a real jam here, but I can fix it.” Chip’s voice was unsteady, his breathing rapid.

Percy looked out the driver’s window. “Why the hell are we on some damn suburban street? Is Morley holed up in one of these houses?”

“What? No. It’s less obvious here. We blend in. And there’s no way for the cops to sneak up on me. See? I thought of everything.”

“And what makes you think you can get yourself out of trouble?”

“Well, you’re here now. You used to do illegal shit. If you help me, everything will be good again.”

Percy shifted to face his nephew. “Don’t pull me into your crap. I drove all the way out here because you’re family. We’re all we have left. But I’m not willing to do anything illegal. And you shouldn’t be either.”

“It’s too late for that. And I have other family. You know that. Mom might be dead, but I’ve got Dad.” His nephew raised his chin. “And I’m doing this for him.”

“That guy’s trouble, Par…I mean Chip. I should know.” Percy tapped his chest. “I’ve dealt with him before. You need to walk away.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Chip paused and looked around before turning back toward his uncle. “Will you help me…please?”

“Help you do what?”

“I need to break into the sheriff’s station.” Desperation laced Chip’s declaration.

“The sheriff’s station?” Percy’s voice rose an octave. “Are you serious? Boy, are you trying to get life in prison?”

“No! I’m trying to get a life. A real life! One where Dad accepts me and I can live as a Morley and not a Stillwell.”

From her vantage point, Rebecca watched their silhouetted conversation growing animated.

“You had a life before you started trying to suck up to your deadbeat dad. That man doesn’t give a damn about you. If he did, he would have adopted you as an adult when you asked. And there’s nothing wrong with being a Stillwell. Don’t disrespect your mama like that.”

The truck shook as Chip leaned toward his uncle, wagging his finger in the older man’s face.

“She’s got digital proof of things he’s done over the years. When I retrieve those files, he’ll have to accept me. And when I kill this sheriff, no one else will have anything on him. He’ll put me in his will!” Chip sounded almost giddy.

Hearing him talk so glibly about killing her sent a shiver down Rebecca’s spine. She took in a deep breath and held it.

“Dammit, Chip. He won’t. He’s lying to you.” Percy’s disgust was palpable. “That man is nothing but trouble.”

“Stop! Don’t say another bad word about him. I’m warning you.”

“Warning me? You ask me to drive out here to help you, and now you’re threatening me? Don’t be a punk. Man up and walk away from this before it’s too late, Parker.”

“I told you not to fucking call me that.” Chip rustled with his coat, and a gun appeared in his hand, as if conjured by his anger, pressing against Percy’s temple.

“Shit. Move out. Now.” Rebecca maneuvered the sheriff’s cruiser down the street and came to an abrupt halt, barricading Hoyt’s truck.

In what seemed like a perfectly choreographed movement, the doors of the SUV flew open, and the three of them spread out to surround Hoyt’s truck, weapons at the ready.

“No one shoot the truck. My baby isn’t a threat to anyone,” Hoyt grumbled as they approached.

“Hands up, Chip! Step out of the vehicle!” Rebecca hoped using his preferred name would help to defuse the tension. Her heart hammered against her rib cage, adrenaline fueling her focus as she trained her weapon on the condensation-lined windows.

Chip’s face contorted into a mask of panic as the deputies’ figures materialized in his peripheral vision. A frenzy took hold, and he lunged to slam down the door lock.

“Come on, Chip.” Rebecca tried to distract the man. “Make the smart choice. Watson’s already spilled his guts about you.”

The gun shook in Chip’s hand but didn’t leave Percy’s temple. “You’re a damn traitor to your own blood, Uncle P!” His voice, distorted by rage and betrayal, seeped through their shoulder-mounted radios still broadcasting the transmission from the hidden microphone.

Rebecca read the silent plea on Percy’s face—a desperate signal for rescue. He’d overrated his ability to talk down his nephew.

“Drive, Uncle Percy! Now! If you don’t⁠—”

“There’s nowhere to go, Chip. Step out of the truck!” Rebecca’s words hit a wall of obstinance.

Chip was spiraling beyond reason, twisting back and forth as he tried to keep an eye on everyone at once. “Drive, or I swear I’ll do it! I’ll shoot you right here. Right in front of the cops. I don’t care!”

Reluctantly, Percy acquiesced, hands trembling as he gripped the steering wheel. The truck jerked forward. With the road blocked by her SUV, Percy drove through front lawns to get out.

Rebecca’s mind raced. She was furious at herself for succumbing to a well-meaning uncle’s biased view of his nephew. Scenarios flickered through her thoughts like frames in an old movie. She knew Chip’s cornered-animal mentality made him unpredictable, lethal.

She grabbed her shoulder-mounted radio. “Suspect’s on the move with a hostage. I repeat, this is now a hostage situation. The driver is a hostage. Suspect is armed.”

They piled into their idling cruiser with urgency. It surged forward, chasing the red taillights that cut through the frosty air of Shadow Island. Behind them, Jake and Trent raced out of the home they’d been hiding in, jumping into their hidden cruiser to join the chase.

27

Percy clenched the steering wheel as the tires hummed over the road. Fifteen years of clean living, not a heist or a stickup, not even a picked pocket or sleight of hand.

It had all evaporated like mist off the chilly Virginia coastline.

Now he was even deeper in the mire than he’d been in when he’d been caught fair and square. But the cops knew he wasn’t part of this. At least, he hoped they remembered that.

He shot a sidelong glance at Parker. Or Chip, as he’d insisted on being called.

At Percy’s look, his nephew set his jaw hard enough to scratch diamond. “Unbelievable. Done in by my own damned family.”

His nephew, once a scrappy kid with skinned knees and wide-eyed innocence, now exuded the dangerous air of a cornered animal. He’d never seen this ruthless streak before. The kid must’ve kept it hidden. The revelation pierced Percy’s chest, a pang of betrayal mixed with an uncle’s concern. Morley had inflicted incalculable mental trauma on Chip.

What the hell did Morley do to this poor kid? He pulled a gun on me. On his own uncle!

Granted, they hadn’t exactly stayed close over the years. But they were still family. Even if only on major holidays.

Flashes of that fateful phone call flickered in Percy’s memory. His sister, voice quivering like a violin string too taut, had confessed she had spilled the beans to Chip about his biological father’s identity.

She wasn’t scared that Chip finally knew. No. She was scared that he’d immediately started writing letters to his dad, begging to be part of his life.

Morley. The same man who haunted the darkest corners of both Percy’s and Meredith’s pasts. Morley, whose name and face represented money and power—temptations for anyone, especially a kid who couldn’t even graduate high school. Chip not only lusted for that prestige, he’d begun to think it was his birthright.

But those in power didn’t get that way because they shared it.

No.

They used people, then discarded them when they were done.

Morley’s influence had coiled around Chip’s soul like ivy on an old brick wall until Chip had announced he’d do anything to have the kind of wealth and privilege his old man had. He’d clearly never matured past the idea. “Guess you found your calling.”

The stupid kid looked proud hearing that. He lifted his chin and smirked at his uncle, bobbing the gun to draw attention to it, like some kind of badge.

Percy was glad his sister wasn’t alive to see this.

From his first meeting with Morley, before Chip was even born, Percy had known the senator was bad news. But Morley had pulled strings to get the prosecution to drop the charges against Percy, and Percy wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not when all he wanted in return was one small job.

After completing that job, he’d been square with Morley and never struck another deal. In fact, he’d cleaned up his act so he’d never be tempted to help the corrupt senator again. And now here he was in the thick of it.

Fucking hell.

Chip shifted restlessly beside him, the tension thick between them. Percy’s heart hammered against his rib cage, a reminder that he was still alive. He still had a chance to right the ship before it capsized in the storm his nephew had summoned.

I should’ve seen this coming.

He couldn’t outrun the shadows, no matter how brightly the holiday lights twinkled. Percy knew that much. The chill seeping through the old truck wasn’t just from the winter air. It was the cold realization that his life’s ledger would never truly balance.

The engine’s steady purr was a deceptive lullaby. Percy knew this could only end one of two ways.

With help from Sheriff West, who’d trusted him against her better judgment, or with the pull of a trigger.

Chip’s breaths were sharp intakes, cutting through the rumble of the engine like a blade.

“What’s your play after this? The cops here aren’t blind, and neither are the troopers on the mainland.” Percy fought to keep his voice steady despite the tremors threatening his composure.

A muscle twitched in Chip’s jaw, his grip on the gun unwavering. “Shut up. Just drive, or so help me⁠—”

“Or what? You’ll kill the only man who ever called you family?” Percy’s challenge hung between them, a dare laced with desperation. In his peripheral vision, he caught the young man’s eyes, wild with tears welling in the corners. “If you pull that trigger, we’re both goners. Is that what you want?”

The silence that followed was louder than any shout, punctuated only by the hum of tires. Percy could see the wheels turning in his nephew’s head, the reality of their situation dawning on him. But pride and panic were a volatile mix, and Chip was clearly stewing in both.

“Think, man,” Percy urged, softer now. “You kill me, and this truck goes out of control. Then you’re left in a wreck with another body to your name. And no family left. It isn’t worth it.”

Chip snarled, a sound more pained than angry. “I said shut up!”

Christmas lights twinkled from the homes they passed, a cheerful counterpoint to the darkness inside the car. A reminder of what once was, a time when December meant something other than cold sweat and colder choices.

“Whose house are you going to go to for Christmas? Maybe my burgers aren’t as good as your mom’s hams were, but they’re better than nothing. And who’s going to get you a stocking filled with chocolate oranges?”

“Uncle P…don’t. I can’t. I have to. He’ll kill me if I screw up again.” Tears spilled down Chip’s cheeks. “He’s the only parent I have left. I can’t give up on this.”

Percy’s gaze darted to the nearing turnoff for the sheriff’s station. It would be a gamble, a roll of the dice with stakes too high to calculate. But it seemed better than risking his nephew’s life.

That was a step too far.

They were all the other had left in the world. Two broken men with pasts that haunted them.

“The sheriff can help us.” Percy had been driving around the island in broad circles. He didn’t know the area well enough to take side streets, and his nephew was in no condition to navigate. Now Percy raised his foot slightly from the accelerator. The decision settled heavily in his chest, a weight he’d carry no matter the outcome. “But I gotta stop the truck, Chip. You gotta let me help you.”

“Like hell!” Chip’s reply came fast, the barrel of the gun shaking.

“Listen to me.” Percy tried to ignore the cold metal against his temple. Meredith’s voice was like a ghost in the back of his mind. “If not for me, then for yourself. Don’t throw your life away. Your mother will kick both our asses in the afterlife if you do.”

His foot hovered over the brake, ready to force his nephew to face the consequences of his actions. Percy Stillwell, once a man resigned to the shadows, now clung to the hope that redemption might bloom even in the harshest winter.

Both for himself and for the nephew he barely recognized.

Tires screamed against the cold asphalt as Percy stomped on the brake. The world outside jerked to a halt in a blur of Christmas lights and inflatable cartoon animals as they stopped on an empty residential street not far from the sheriff’s station.

Chip slammed forward, which was what he deserved for not wearing a seat belt during a police chase. His high-pitched shout pierced the cab , raw with panic. “Drive! What are you doing, dammit? Drive!”

Percy’s heart drummed with desperation. He swiveled in his seat, reaching for the trembling gun in Chip’s grip. “No more running, kid.” He grunted, fingers closing on empty air as Chip jerked back. “That gun’s going to get you killed.” He reached again, but his seat belt kept him pinned, and Chip managed to pull away.

Popping the catch loose with one hand, Percy slid across the seat, not willing to give up on his nephew. Percy’s palm slapped against Chip’s wrist, forcing the gun to the side.

His nephew’s more youthful strength pitted against Percy’s seasoned resolve. The gun wavered, inching closer to Percy’s head with every second.

“Dammit, Chip!” He looked his nephew in the eye and held his gaze. “You don’t want to do this. If you shoot me, they shoot you. Everyone loses! Except Morley, who put that gun in your hand in the first place. He gets to walk away clean after destroying all of us.”

The gun hovered unsteadily between them, a lethal pendulum that could swing either way. Chip’s eyes, wild with fear and confusion, met Percy’s. For a heartbeat, Percy sensed a flicker of hesitation, a silent plea from his nephew who had once been just a reckless kid.

But he wasn’t a kid anymore. And it was past time he grew up and faced facts.

Percy took advantage of that hesitation and swung both their arms over his head and into the hand crank for the truck window. The side window inched down, then inched again as Percy forced his nephew’s hand to hit it a second time.

“Hell, the cops are right behind us. They’ll put you down if you keep this up.” Percy’s voice was softer now, but his arms stayed strong. “This isn’t the path you want.”

Chip’s breath hitched, and in that fragile moment, Percy acted. With a swift tug, he wrenched the weapon free from his nephew’s grasp and threw it out the partially open window.

Suddenly unarmed, Chip lashed out. With no weapon left, he swung wildly with his fists.

Percy took several blows to the face and neck before he could get his arms up to protect himself. He sensed movement outside the truck. Was it the cops? What was taking them so long?

His nephew would go to prison, but he could still turn on Morley and get a reduced sentence at the very least.

“How could you do this to me?” Chip screamed, kicking Percy for all he was worth, leaning against the passenger door for more leverage. “This was my last chance! He’s going to kill me, and I’ll never know what it’s like to have a father who loves me. He could have given me everything. You took that from me. And all because I trusted you to help me!”

Something inside Percy broke. Either his heart or his ribs. Either way, the pain was overwhelming. “Morley only loves power. The only thing he gives is orders.”

“No!” Chip lashed out, kicking like a toddler having a tantrum. But coming from a man in his thirties, those kicks had serious force behind them, and in the small confines of the truck’s cab, Percy couldn’t protect himself.

Sheriff West’s voice crackled through the partially opened window. “Sheriff’s office! Chip Stillwell, get out of the truck and put your hands up!”

Chip finally stopped, panting as he stared at his uncle. “This…” His hand shook as he pointed at Percy. “This is all your fault. You deserved it.” Chip fumbled with the lock, then threw open the door, scrambling out of the truck. His movements were as erratic as a startled deer, and he fell over himself trying to get away.

“Damn fool.” Percy watched the young man’s retreating figure through the open door, gasping through the pain in his chest. At least he’d gotten the gun away from him so his nephew wouldn’t be shot down like a dog in the street.

Despite the chill seeping through the broken window, a warm relief began to thaw the icy dread in Percy’s veins. If luck was on their side, he might have just steered the Stillwell men clear of a bloodier fate.

28

Rebecca followed Hoyt’s truck, her cruiser’s flashing red-and-blue lights reflecting off the vehicle’s back window. “He can’t know this island very well, so where the hell is he going?” The setting sun painted the small-town roads in shades of orange and purple, casting long shadows from the quaint houses adorned with holiday decorations as she peered through the windshield.

Unexpectedly, the brake lights flashed, halting the truck with a screech that tore through the quiet evening.

Rebecca’s instincts, honed razor-sharp from years with the FBI, flared into action. She jammed on the foot brake and yanked the emergency brake once the vehicle slowed enough. The cruiser slid a little, and she let it, grinding her tires against the road to decelerate faster. She threw the cruiser into park, and she and Viviane were out before the echo of squealing tires had faded.

“Dammit, Percy!” Hoyt’s Virginia drawl was thick with frustration, and he kept shifting in the back seat. “You’d better not have⁠—”

“Frost, cover me!” Rebecca unholstered her weapon. Reaching back, she opened the door so Hoyt could get out as well, then moved to the side for a clear shot, assessing the danger with cold precision. This was it. This was the lead she needed to tie all of this to Morley. She wasn’t going to let him get away. “Do not kill him unless you have to.”

Within the truck, the gun glinted menacingly in the waning sunlight. The cab erupted into an altercation, the two figures grappling violently within.

“Careful. He might try to take a shot!” Viviane moved the other way, her gun up and ready for a clear shot.

Hoyt was also at the ready, his own firearm drawn.

But as Rebecca took aim, the tables turned inside the truck. Percy wrestled the gun away from his nephew, whose curses sliced through the air, more desperate now. With a final shove, Percy tossed it out the window and onto the pavement. That sent Chip into a rage, and he started beating the older man mercilessly.

“Sheriff’s office! Chip Stillwell, get out of the truck and put your hands up!”

Chip finally tumbled out onto the road. He took one look at them and scrambled to his feet. Rebecca had a nonlethal shot, but since he wasn’t waving a weapon, she chose not to take it.

She desperately hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

Chip bolted, leaving Percy and the truck behind.

Rebecca lowered her weapon slightly. They were deep in a residential area now. The risk of a bullet going astray was too high. And this son of a bitch was not going to get away from her. She’d have to go after him on foot. “Stay with Percy! I’m going after Chip.”

“I’ve got Percy.” Hoyt ran for the truck.

“I’m on your six, Boss!” Viviane swooped around Hoyt’s oncoming figure and ran after Rebecca.

The chase stretched down the block, past homes where families were oblivious to the drama unfolding outside their windows. Rebecca’s focus narrowed to the fleeing figure ahead, adrenaline fueling her pursuit as she closed the distance between them. She had no trouble keeping up with him. He kept looking over his shoulder and putting on a tiny burst of adrenaline-fueled speed, only to slow down again a second later.

Rebecca’s long strides ate up the distance between them, her focus as sharp as her will to survive. Her breath came out in forceful but controlled puffs. She dodged a bicycle abandoned on the sidewalk, lowering her center of gravity as she gained ground.

Chip glanced back, his eyes wide as he saw Rebecca catching up to him. He pushed himself harder, but fear tripped up his steps and slowed him.

Moving with agility, Rebecca closed the final gap. She launched herself at the man, tackling him onto someone’s festively decorated front lawn.

They rolled, a tangle of limbs and grunts, each vying for dominance in the scuffle. Rebecca kicked an inflatable herd of reindeer off their anchoring posts as she fought to control Chip’s hands.

Chip kicked and screamed, flailing his arms as he tried to push her away. He was strong. And if they’d been upright, he might have had a better chance. But the kid knew nothing about fighting or grappling. This wasn’t the schoolyard, and Rebecca had been training for years. She got his arm and managed to turn him over, straddling him so he couldn’t keep kicking at her.

“Need a hand, Boss? Or are you just going to let him wear himself out?” Viviane’s voice pierced the struggle, tinged with that familiar sarcasm.

“Wouldn’t say no, Darby.” Rebecca grunted, finally getting a knee on Chip’s wriggling back. Viviane deserved to get in on this anyway. It would do her good to help bring in Elliot’s killer.

Together, they maneuvered Chip’s arms behind his back. Viviane’s presence seemed to have sapped him of his resistance.

The click of handcuffs sounded almost musical in the quiet that followed Chip’s submission. He panted heavily—either that or he was crying. Rebecca wasn’t sure which. And she didn’t really care.

Viviane grabbed his cuffed arms and hauled him up to sit on the icy ground. “Good work.”

“Thanks for the assist.” Rebecca blew a stray lock of hair from her face.

“Boss!” Hoyt’s voice came over the radio, along with the crunch of glass.

Rebecca looked up even though she couldn’t see the truck from her location. “How’s he doing?”

“Percy’s in bad shape. He’s got chest pains and can’t catch his breath. I need to get him to the hospital. I think it’s his heart, but I can’t tell. He might have a broken rib…could have punctured something.”

“Go.” Rebecca glanced down at their captive. “We’ll handle it from here.”

“I’ve got the weapon. I need someone to retrieve it.” Hoyt was cool in the face of Percy Stillwell’s medical crisis.

“Got you, Frost.” Trent’s voice came over the radio.

Jake came around the corner, driving his cruiser past Rebecca and Viviane toward Hoyt’s truck.

“Perfect timing.” Rebecca turned to Chip, still sitting cuffed and defeated on the ground. A touch of pity mingled with her resolve. Was Morley really so morally bankrupt he’d use his own son like this? She turned to Viviane. “Let’s get him up.”

It took both of them hauling at his arms to get him to stand. All the fight was out of him. He stood there, breathing hard but otherwise motionless. Rebecca hoped he was realizing he’d thrown his entire life away for nothing. Running her gloved hands down Chip’s sides, she searched his pockets. Her fingertips brushed against the outline of a device, and she extracted it with one swift motion.

A cell phone that was likely a lifeline to his father, now evidence that could unravel their criminal dealings.

“Found something?” Viviane peered over Chip’s shoulder.

“Could be our direct line to dear old Dad.” Rebecca couldn’t help but smile at the thought. How ironic that Morley had taken her parents from her, and now she was taking his son from him. Though she was certain Morley didn’t care even a fraction as much about Parker “Chip” Stillwell as she had her parents. “With lots of juicy evidence for us to use against them both in their trials.”

“Let’s hope so.” Viviane’s eyes reflected Rebecca’s determination to close the case at last.

With the phone secured in an evidence bag, Rebecca gave the younger Stillwell a slight push forward, signaling him to walk. They moved toward the cruiser as the sky deepened into twilight. “Chip Stillwell, you’re under arrest…”

29

Rebecca eyed Chip Stillwell over the rim of a paper cup filled with tepid coffee. He slumped in the metal chair of the interrogation room, his bruised knuckles a testament to the scuffle that had landed him here. His eyes flitted nervously across the room to her. She watched him, sipping the coffee with a grimace.

They’d taken their sweet time to fingerprint and book him, using extra care to draw out every little step. Not out of courtesy, but because Rebecca wanted to give him time to think about just how bad he’d messed up. And, with each passing moment, to show him that no one was going to come save him. Certainly not dear old Dad.

No lawyer materialized to defend Chip. He knew he didn’t have legal representation yet still didn’t request a public defender. Morley had fired staff members for trivial offenses like getting his coffee order wrong, according to one of the newspaper clippings from the Lankford thumb drive. Rebecca shared that story with Chip, emphasizing how screwed he was.

He looked truly terrified, as limp as a marionette with cut strings. He sat in the chair, his arms resting on the table where his handcuffed wrists were bound with a chain. His dark hair hung over his forehead.

“It’s over, Stillwell. You’re looking at charges for assault, use of a bomb, evading a police officer, and three homicides.” For starters, you asshole. “That includes one of our own. It doesn’t matter who your daddy is now. Nothing is going to exonerate you. I’m certain the FBI will want to chat with you as well.”

Viviane leaned against the wall, arms folded. She watched every movement like a cheetah stalking its prey, just waiting for Chip to make a misstep.

“Cooperation is your lifeline.” Rebecca held him pinned under her gaze, unyielding as handcuffs. “Whatever you know about your father’s plans, his whereabouts, could help you.”

“I won’t say a thing.” Defiance and dread mingled in Chip’s voice. “You don’t know how powerful my father is. My fate isn’t in your hands. It’s in his. The same as yours.”

“Mine? No. He tried that before. And he failed then too. Just like he did this time.” Rebecca leaned forward to stare into Chip’s eyes. “But I bet he didn’t tell you that, did he? Men like him pretend they’re untouchable. Infallible. Perfect in every way. But it’s all a lie. An illusion.”

Chip shook his head as if he could keep his ears from hearing the truth. “You know nothing about him.”

“I might know him better than you do. I know he squeals like a pig when he gets handcuffed,” Rebecca bluffed. When her colleagues had hauled Morley out of his car in the parking garage where she’d gotten shot, she’d already been unconscious, or most of the way. But she liked to imagine that he’d squealed.

Viviane laughed, a harsh snort of derision. “And he stamps his feet when people call him Mr. Morley instead of Senator Morley. Even though he’s not a senator anymore. I’m sure you know that, though. Tell me something. Does he throw a fit when you call him Dad instead of Senator Morley too? He seems like that kind of guy.”

Viviane really knew how to dig the knife in deep. Rebecca was proud of her and how much she’d learned in her short time as a deputy.

“I told you. You know nothing about Morley.” Chip kept to his story, but his gaze wandered for a second.

“That’s a real shame.” Dark sarcasm laced Viviane’s tone. “Because if Fred Watson incriminated you and Morley after just one failed heist, imagine what your father has in store for you now.”

“Watson’s weak,” Chip shot back, but his tone lacked conviction.

“Sure.” A small smile played on Viviane’s lips despite the tension. “But even he knew better than to keep quiet. He knows what Morley’s capable of. He wanted everyone to know it wasn’t his fault. It was yours.”

“Multiple times you’ve botched getting that thumb drive.” Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “That was the job, wasn’t it? That’s why you broke into my home after killing Simon Lankford. A poor old man who only wanted to help the world with his new technology. And he’d even agreed to play ball with the senator.”

Chip fidgeted but didn’t respond.

Rebecca leaned closer, her presence an inescapable force. “As a matter of fact, two of the men you killed were older men. And then you kicked the crap out of your aging uncle. Did you do that because you’re too scared to do what you really want? Attack your father. Kill him for what he did to you and your family.”

“If we let you walk out now, do you really think you’d be safe from your father?” Viviane cocked her head, her lip curled in a wry grin.

Good cop, snarky cop wasn’t a routine Rebecca had done before, but she liked it a lot.

Still, Chip’s lips stayed sealed, bound shut by loyalty or fear. Rebecca searched his face, a seasoned detective seeking the cracks in his armor. But Chip Stillwell, terrified and worn down from everything he’d been through, remained silent, imprisoned not by the law but by the blood ties that bound him to his father’s merciless judgment.

“Look, Chip.” Rebecca’s voice was steady and calm as she leaned against the cold metal table separating them. “You can either be unhelpful and get no leniency from anyone, or you help us, and maybe, just maybe, we can protect you from your father’s wrath. Because let’s be clear. He’s going to blame you for this. And likely get rid of you.”

Chip slumped as far back in his chair as his cuffed wrists allowed, a petulant scowl creasing his face. He moved to cross his arms before remembering that his shackles wouldn’t allow it. Rebecca could see his inner turmoil clear as day. This guy was scared out of his wits, yet pride or some twisted sense of loyalty kept him mute.

“Come on, Chip.” She slid his phone across the table toward him. “All you have to do is unlock it and call your dad. Find out where he is.”

“Can’t do that.” He still didn’t meet her gaze.

Rebecca had known it wouldn’t be easy. She reached for the phone and held it up, angling it toward the man’s downturned face. The screen blinked to life as the facial recognition did its job. Chip’s head snapped up, and his eyes widened with panic.

“What are you doing?” His voice cracked, an edge of desperation creeping into the question.

Ignoring his protest, Rebecca changed the settings, eliminating the need for a password, fingerprint, or facial recognition. She pocketed the unlocked phone as she pushed herself away from the table. “Just playing the hand I’m dealt. Don’t worry. I’ll let your dad know I got all the evidence from you. Because you failed again.” She stood, smiling down at him. “Like father, like son, I guess.”

She turned on her heel and exited the room, Viviane following, leaving Chip pale and shaken.

Outside, in the quiet hallway of the sheriff’s office, she paused to consider her next move. Parker “Chip” Stillwell wasn’t cut out to be a career criminal. He was too shaky, too nervous, too inexperienced. Yet Morley had chosen him for the crucial task of retrieving that elusive thumb drive. Why?

As she walked down the corridor, the soft hum of the overhead fluorescent lights mingled with the faint echoes of deputies discussing case details. She pondered Morley’s motives. The man was heartless, but his instinct for self-preservation would propel him to bury the scandal of his son. Especially a son who would be in prison for the rest of his life.

Rebecca ran her hand over her ponytail as a plan began to take shape. Morley might not care about much, but he cared about appearances. Maybe it was time to play the prodigal son against the patriarch. She;d always been good at using leverage, and now she might have found the perfect pressure point.

30

As Rebecca and Viviane strode into the bullpen, Jake and Trent looked up at them expectantly. “Locke, good to see you’re back.” Rebecca clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “We’ve got work to do. And this is going to be the fun part where we need all hands on deck. Hoyt is still at the hospital with Percy Stillwell, so it’ll be up to us to formulate a plan.”

“Did you get him to roll on his dad?” Trent squeezed his fist, popping his knuckles. “Tell me we’re about to meet up with Lettinger and take this asshole down for everything.”

“No. Chip Stillwell has happily drunk the Morley Kool-Aid. I doubt we could ever get him to testify against his precious daddy.” Rebecca’s words were more venomous than she’d intended. She had to admit she might be projecting just a bit. This case had brought back enough bad memories before she even knew about Morley having a kid nearly the same age as she was.

Save that for the therapy sessions. I’ve got to focus on the case.

“But we have something he wants.” She brandished Chip’s phone like a talisman, the screen glowing with untapped potential. “His son. While dear old Dad may not love him, he’s still our leverage. Knowing Morley, he’ll want his son back so he can put a bullet in his skull to keep him from testifying against him.”

“How is he leverage?” Viviane lifted an eyebrow in question.

Rebecca handed Viviane the phone and went to get a fresh cup of coffee. She desperately needed it. “As part of our criminal case against Stillwell, we’ll need to take a sample of his DNA.”

“And…?” Jake raised an eyebrow as well. His and Trent’s twin expressions amused Rebecca.

“The thing Morley loves most in the world is Morley. And that includes the image he’s created of himself. Chip is the child of an affair. As soon as his DNA hits the system, it will find a genetic link, William Morley, who got swabbed after his arrest.”

“Okay? And…proving they’re related isn’t proof Morley was involved in these deaths or your stalking. Or the bombings.” Jake shot Viviane a perplexed look, and she also started to appear confused.

“But it’s still not information Morley wants public.” Rebecca poured her coffee and turned to lean against the counter. She was so tired. To the marrow of her bones. To her very soul. She just wanted this shit to be over with. This had been hanging over her head, driving every move, every big decision, for years. She wanted her life back. The chance to move forward without always needing to look over her shoulder.

“Here’s how it’ll go down.” Rebecca took a long drink of her coffee, scalding her tongue and throat but tolerating it for the needed caffeine. “I’ll reach out to Morley using Chip’s phone. I’ll offer him a deal. He can have his son if he promises to leave Shadow Island and never bother us again. Ever. There’s no statute of limitations on murder, after all.”

Trent shifted, his thick-muscled frame tensing at the proposition. He caught Rebecca’s gaze with a silent question.

She held up a hand, forestalling any doubts. “Morley knows the island is what I care about. At the end of the day, innocents are dying, and that’s not something I can tolerate.”

“We can’t just give him a murderer. Chip wore gloves while handling the gun, but the idiot loaded the thing with his bare hands. Chip’s prints are all over the bullets. That puts him inside your home. He killed Tabbert. He killed Elliot!” Jake, usually the cool and collected one, looked ready to snap the arms off his desk chair.

Viviane looked like she was about to cry. “What if we gave him another dummy thumb drive? Convince him it’s the original to make sure he takes the bait?”

And those reactions let Rebecca know this ploy was going to work. If her team thought this was something she would actually be willing to do, then so would Morley.

She smiled. “We tried that trick once. Morley didn’t buy it the first time. He’s not going to fall for it the second time. No, this is the only ploy that might work.” She let the words hang in the bullpen, heavy with unspoken intent.

The deputies exchanged looks, their trust in her written in their expressions, each one ready to follow her into the fray.

“Ploy?” Trent scowled.

Rebecca nodded. “Ploy.” She pointed to each of them. “If I could sell the trade to you, make you think I’d be willing to do it even though you know me, then we can sell this to Morley.”

“And when he shows up to save his son and his own reputation, that’s when we’ll bust him?” Viviane straightened, still looking a bit shaken. “Why wouldn’t he insist that we just let Chip go straight from the cell and be done with it?”

“Because I’ll tell him I want to look him in the eye when he promises to never show his face around here again.” Rebecca thought back to the first time she saw Morley. “And because he’ll want to. You’ve heard my whole ordeal. Morley put the hit on my parents and then gave me some of the information I needed to find the assassins. And he showed me his face at that meeting in the D.C. parking garage when he planned to have me killed.”

“Why?” Viviane gasped.

“Because he wanted me to look him in the eyes when I realized he’d betrayed me. And I did. As soon as I saw him, I knew. And he knew I knew.” Rebecca waved her hand around her face. “Because I can’t hide what I’m feeling. And he knows it. So even if he thinks it’s a trap, he’ll still want to be there in person so he can look at my face and see if I’m lying.”

“And how will you fake it then?” Trent uncrossed his arms just to fold them a different way, as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“I won’t.” This part would be easy. “I will let him see how disgusted I am. How much I hate him. How I never want to see him or his spawn again. He fooled me once. With an ego as big as his, he’ll think he can do it again. Except you three will be waiting, in places you’ll pick so I won’t accidentally glance at you and give anything away.”

“You want us there but don’t want us to tell you where we’ll be?” Jake shook his head. “That’s too dangerous.”

“Morley will insist on picking the spot to meet.” Rebecca gestured to Trent and Viviane. “They grew up here. They’ve worked here as cops for longer than you or I have. They know this island inside and out. It doesn’t matter where on the island Morley picks. Darby and Locke will know the perfect ambush spots.”

Trent shot a glance at Viviane before nodding at Jake. “She’s not wrong. I used to play paintball all over this island.”

“Same.” Viviane licked her lips. “The only places I can think of that we couldn’t use for an ambush are places Morley would never pick. Even if he chose the school parking lot, we could still sneak up on him.”

“Oh, that would be easy. All those dunes around it. Plenty of places to hide.” Trent looked like he was really getting into this. “This could actually work.”

“I hope so.” Rebecca took a deep breath and another swig of coffee. “I’m going to be the bait on this one. And I’d very much like it if this shark didn’t take a bite out of me.”

Too late, Rebecca realized what she’d said.

Trent went white, and Viviane’s eyes widened.

The last time she’d played bait had been under Sheriff Alden Wallace. Viviane had known about the plan, even though she’d been the dispatcher back then. But Trent had screwed up his part and failed to follow SOP. Rebecca had been pinned down by gunfire, and Alden Wallace had been shot and left to bleed out on the sand.

Rebecca drew in a shaky breath. She held their gaze. “We’ll do it right this time. I trust all of you to have my back.” And she meant it, without a single reservation.

Trent nodded. “I won’t let you down.” His voice was tight, and he swallowed hard.

“We’re going to have beers and salsa on the day Morley and his son get convicted.” Viviane referenced the first time they’d hung out, back when Rebecca was a temporary deputy.

Jake narrowed his eyes, and Rebecca was sure he felt like he was missing something, but as usual, he didn’t insist on talking about it. “What about Frost?”

“I’m not sure. Let’s see where he’s at.” Rebecca pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed his number, knowing if he was in the hospital, he’d likely have his radio turned down.

“Hey, Boss, I’m still at the ER. Percy wasn’t doing well, so I’ve been hanging around to see if he’s going to make it. No official updates on his condition yet. What did you get from the nephew?”

Trent snorted but didn’t say anything as Rebecca filled Frost in on the plan.

“Sounds risky,” Hoyt cautioned, the soft beehive-like hum of hospital workers punctuating his concern. “You sure he’ll bite?”

“It’s the best shot we have right now. We just need him to expose his neck a bit. He thinks he’s smarter than all of us. When we offer him a deal, his ego won’t let him refuse.” The old bullet wound in her shoulder twinged at the thought, but she kept her voice level. “And even if he doesn’t take Chip, Morley relishes the personal touch of betrayal. He’ll come just to look Chip, and me, in the eye, believing he’s twisting the knife deeper.”

“We’ll use that against him.” Hoyt sounded like he approved, and Rebecca could picture him nodding. “I’ll get my ass back and be ready as soon as I can. Don’t go doing anything without me. This guy’s shown he’s not playing by any sort of rulebook. He might try to show up early and change the plans. Be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name.” But they both knew that was a lie. Caution had its limits in their line of work, and they’d find those limits soon enough.

31

The moment I heard sirens, I knew it was game over for Chip.

That damn kid was always a step behind where he needed to be. I should’ve gone with a pro, not a greenhorn who fumbled the job even when I got him extra help. Despite assistance from professionals, the failure that’d stalked him his entire life had gotten the best of him. He’d started off solid with Lankford, but after that first kill, he’d completely floundered.

But I took a small comfort in knowing that Chip, even with his jelly spine, wouldn’t dare cross me. Fear was a powerful gag.

The silence shattered when my phone played the opening bars from “Bastard” by Mötley Crüe—the ringtone I’d assigned to Chip’s number.

“Oh, you stupid, worthless brat. Your mother should have aborted you.” I snatched up the phone, already smelling the stench of betrayal. “What?”

“Morley.”

It wasn’t Chip whimpering on the other end.

It was her. Rebecca West. The woman who just wouldn’t die.

I braced myself. “Why are you calling from this number?”

“Your son is under arrest, and we confiscated his belongings, including this phone.”

Shit. She knows that screwup is my son.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the crap. I’ve got a deal for you.”

“A deal?” I let the word hang in the air. “I’m listening.”

“It’s simple. Your boy for your absence. You and your cronies leave Shadow Island, never show your face here again.”

I almost laughed out loud. She thought I’d trade my position, my future, for my worthless illegitimate spawn. If the situation wasn’t so laughable, I’d be disappointed she thought so little of me.

My worthless bastard son could rot in prison for all I cared. What I needed was that flash drive. A lot of blood had already been spilled over the information on that fucking drive, and I did not give one sweet fuck how many more died to get it. I wasn’t going anywhere without that thumb drive.

“Morley?” That bitch’s voice cut through my anger.

“Fuck that idiot. He’s clearly worthless if you caught him so easily. Let him rot. He means nothing to me.”

“The boy might not mean anything to you, but the secret of his existence does. So let me rephrase. Your secret son for your absence. I’ll release your son before I’m required to submit a DNA sample for the courts.”

My disappointment in her dissipated. I appreciated that she could see the whole picture. Her words were calculated, meant to rattle me. Perhaps she was a worthy adversary.

But she still didn’t quite appreciate who I was. I was the boss who bought, sold, and discarded armies. Legal and illegal.

The thought of trading to get Chip back did prick at me, though. The bitch had a point about my image. I could always dispose of him later.

“What do I care if you get DNA from that loser? What’s the worst that could happen? You go public with it and show that another politician had an extramarital affair? Hardly headline news.” I sneered into the phone, feigning indifference.

“It will become clear that he’s a chip off the old block and that he followed where you led.” Something in Rebecca’s tone—a steel edge of confidence—told me she had more cards to play. “His work’s been sloppy, Morley. Sloppy enough to tie him back to Daddy dearest. Your power and influence will evaporate once we prove he killed a man who you paid off years ago to stay silent.”

Dammit. The bitch had a point. And one I didn’t like. But I still wasn’t leaving this island without the thumb drive.

It was time to remind Rebecca West and everyone else just how ruthless I could be. “You want a deal? Fine. But I don’t just want Chip. I need the flash drive too. That way, I know for sure you’re not coming after me.”

“I don’t need the thumb drive to come for you.”

I laughed out loud. West was tough, but she wasn’t the greatest bluffer. “If you could share the information on that drive, you would’ve already done it. Which tells me you haven’t managed to break whatever protections Lankford put on there. All you’ve got to do is hand it over.”

There was a pause on the other end, and I imagined her blond ponytail swinging as she shook her head in defiance. “No deal, Morley. You know as well as I do that thumb drive with its information is my trump card in case you come after me later.”

“For a girl, you’re generally pretty bright. But you’re being dumb right now. The thumb drive is the only reason I’m on your island. Give me that, and you and your people are safe.” The lie came out smooth as butter. I would leave this island when I had the flash drive in my hand and Rebecca’s body bleeding out on the beach.

“You want Chip.”

“Because he’s my kid? That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Because Chip’s a coward.” Rebecca’s tone was icy calm. “He’ll talk. Even if he doesn’t talk to the cops, you really think he won’t try to sell your information to score some protection in prison from a rival criminal enterprise? Or maybe he’ll explain the true origins of the information on this drive to an intrepid young reporter. I can make that happen. Let’s face it. Your boy is a liability as is, but you’ll win his loyalty forever if you save him from big bad me.”

She was playing hardball. I let the silence stretch, turning over possibilities like a gambler shuffling cards. The more I calculated, the worse my own hand seemed. I needed something to shore up my position. In the meantime, I wasn’t giving in to this blondie.

“I won’t meet you if the thumb drive isn’t part of the deal. I’ll follow you wherever you go, for as long as you live.” I dropped my voice into a deadly growl. “There is no corner of the planet where you can go that I won’t find you. If you want peace, real peace, you’ll have to surrender the drive.”

There was no reply except her breathing through the phone.

“Tick tock, Sheriff. The drive or no deal.”

“Fine. You can have the damn thing. But if I catch wind that you’re anywhere near here after this, it will be you who won’t be able to hide from me. Understood?”

“Just turn over the thumb drive. And my dumbass progeny.”

“You can have them. Just leave me and mine alone, Morley. That’s all I want.”

I almost laughed. If only she knew how little I cared about what she wanted. “What do you propose?”

“Meet me at midnight. You can pick the location. I want to look you in the eye when you say you’ll leave me alone. That you’ll leave the island and its citizens behind. I’ve never come after you, and you can extend me that same courtesy. You’ll forget we ever knew each other. If you continue what you’re doing now, I’ll prosecute your son, and that might complicate your previous criminal case and any agreements you made about staying out of trouble.”

I trusted Rebecca West about as much as a pit viper. She was capitulating a bit too easily to my mind. But I offered next steps. “This island isn’t as familiar to me as it is to you. But since I’ve been here, I’ve learned of your lighthouse and its history…both past and more recent. I understand it just became operational again. Let that structure’s new beginning be ours as well.”

I pictured the lighthouse, standing tall and solitary against the night sky as it protected the island from approaching boats. In that way, it was much like Rebecca herself. And an appropriate place to end this standoff—and the sheriff. I weighed my options, the silence between us stretching thin as wire.

“The lighthouse at midnight. See you then.”

After hanging up, I paced the room like a caged animal. There had to be something, some Achilles’ heel to exploit.

She wanted me gone so her life would return to normal and her friends would be safe, but I needed leverage. A final, crushing blow that would leave her reeling. I could see so many strings to pull, so many lives to unravel. Deputies, friends, lovers. Rebecca had ties to them all. But it had to be personal. It had to cut deep.

The corner of my mouth curved upward as I ran down the list of her deputies. I’d learned enough from my surveillance team to know who mattered to her most. She’d lost a few of her colleagues in her short time on the island. Each fallen deputy created a weak spot.

Why they mattered to her when she’d known them for such a short time was beyond me. But they did. And they were her weaknesses. I’d gotten her off-balance before by removing her from her family, friends, and coworkers. It would hurt even more the second time.

Revenge was a game for the patient, and I had been patient long enough.

32

The chill of the night seeped through the cracks of the old house, but Angie Frost hardly noticed as she cinched her thick robe tighter around her.

On the nightstand, the digital clock cast a soft glow over the family photos lining the walls of their bedroom, each capturing snapshots of a life filled with love and laughter. She glanced at the empty side of the bed, the sheets cool and undisturbed, and sighed.

“Dear God, let Hoyt come home safe. Amen.” She whispered the same prayer every night when he had to work late or was unexpectedly called in, her voice laden with the worry that had become her constant companion.

In the oven downstairs, the chicken pot pie she’d made—his favorite—sat wrapped in foil. Tonight, his portion waited next to the one she’d set aside for Rebecca. Angie shook her head, the strands of light-brown hair escaping from her bun brushing against her cheeks. The habit of keeping dinner warm for him had become an all-too-frequent ritual these past weeks.

She padded to the bedroom door, peering out into the darkness that enveloped their Shadow Island home. Although she couldn’t see her, Angie knew Boomer was curled up like a furry welcome mat by the front door, snoring softly, her dreams undisturbed by the weight of the world outside.

Though Rebecca was staying with them, she’d insisted that Humphrey remain with Kelly Hunt. She’d prattled on about not wanting to be more of a bother than she already was.

It was nonsense. And Boomer would have enjoyed the company. Although Rebecca wasn’t wrong that two dogs would be a lot of work, especially since Hoyt and Rebecca never seemed to be around. Still, Angie was sorry not to get to spend some time with the goofy pup.

“Any minute now, girl,” Angie murmured, more to comfort herself. The dozing collie didn’t even lift an ear. At her age, Hoyt or Angie had to call her name loudly before she woke.

Hoyt’s retirement was a real possibility now, one Angie clung to with both hands. After years of late nights and dangerous calls, surely they were owed some peace. But with every new case and unforeseen twist, that hope flickered like a candle in the wind.

Still, she held on to that dream. That Hoyt wouldn’t work himself to death. That one day, soon, they could spend their time relaxing, fishing, and visiting their boys. None of that would mean much if she didn’t have her better half by her side while she did it.

Moving into the bathroom, she took her nighttime prescriptions. Then she rinsed her cup and set it upside down on the counter to dry. Staring at the frosted glass window, all she could see was a reflection of herself. An old woman with messy hair, worried eyes, and as many wrinkles as old Boomer. “Lord, watch over him.” Angie’s faith was a stronghold in the storm of her fears.

The sudden creak of the front door opening jolted Angie from her prayer.

Her heart leaped. Hoyt was home! Relief and happiness flooded through her. “Hoyt, that you? How did work go tonight?”

But the house remained eerily silent. No warm greeting in response, no shuffle of Boomer’s paws on the hardwood floor as she struggled to get up and meet her best friend. Their lovable furball was almost completely deaf. But each time Hoyt came home, he gently roused her to scritch her ears.

Angie’s smile faded, replaced by a frown of concern.

She stepped into the hallway, her fluffy winter slippers protecting her bare feet from the cold wooden planks. A dim nightlight gave everything a yellow cast. Her pulse quickened. “Hoyt, is that you?”

There was no answer, only the sound of footsteps—deliberate, unhurried, unfamiliar.

Panic prickled at her skin.

Those weren’t Hoyt’s steps. Angie knew the sound of her husband walking through their home. Besides, he would’ve called out, would’ve shed his shoes at the door without fail, even after the longest of days. It had taken her years to break him of wearing his shoes in the house, but that had been decades ago.

Angie’s heart raced like a trapped bird in her chest as she stepped into the bedroom, silently closing the door to the hallway. She wished the door had a lock.

She started looking around for anything she could use as a weapon. While her husband had a service weapon, she’d never gotten a gun of her own.

Angie reached for her phone. Before she could even grab it, she saw the red notification at the top. No signal. Hoyt had told her about signal jammers when they’d been used to keep Rebecca and him from calling for help during the ambush on Little Quell Island.

Which made her glad they’d kept the landline. But before she could do anything else, the bedroom door swung open with a menacing whoosh that sent shivers down Angie’s spine.

In the door stood an imposing figure, a tall, bald man with a sharp nose and an olive complexion.

With nothing in her hands, she prayed again. This time for strength as she braced herself to confront the unknown man who trespassed in her home. “Get out!”

Baldy remained silent, his dark eyes fixed on her as though she were prey cornered in her own den.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

Instead of answering, he stepped forward, a chilling command on his lips. “You’re coming with me.”

Though Angie’s heart hammered against her rib cage, her spirit was steeled by years as a deputy’s wife and tempered by steadfast faith. She refused to cower. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” The resolve in her tone belied the tremble in her limbs.

He lunged, his intentions clear in his reach, but Angie was expecting it.

With a swift motion born from survival instinct, she landed a powerful kick with her slippered foot where it would hurt most. Baldy doubled over, a guttural groan escaping him.

Seizing the moment, Angie bolted past the writhing figure, her robe and nightgown billowing behind her as she dashed into the kitchen. Her heart raced as she saw Boomer, leashed and tied to the front door. The dog’s old body was only now springing to life with protective barks as the vibrations from the commotion woke her. “Good girl, Boomer.”

Dashing into the kitchen, she spotted a different man striding across her back porch. The light from the house illuminated his face. He had a gruesome scar running diagonally down his left cheek.

The radio was on the counter, but her first attacker was right behind her.

Angie was cornered.

Her hands trembled as she found the familiar weight of the cast-iron skillet. She spun around, the heavy skillet raised like a shield, just as Baldy staggered into the kitchen.

His eyes narrowed, a predator focusing on his prey. “You’re lucky they want you brought in alive and mostly healthy. But don’t push me, you fat old bitch.”

“I may be fat and old, but I haven’t shown you what a bitch I can be.” Angie swung the skillet down on his arm as he reached for her. “Lord, give me strength,” she muttered as they clashed in a dance of desperation.

One hit wasn’t enough to deter him, and he aimed a punch at her face.

Angie swung the skillet to protect herself, connecting with Baldy’s fist and cracking bone.

Boomer’s barks crescendoed as the man stifled a scream.

“Try it again, and Boomer’s going to eat good tonight.” Angie’s breath came in short, ragged gasps as she wielded the skillet with the ferocity of a cornered animal.

Thunking him wasn’t enough, nor were her threats to turn him into dog food.

Baldy lunged, his bulk looming over her, and for a heart-stopping moment, their struggle was a blur of motion and clattering kitchenware as he managed to grab the skillet.

She pulled in a desperate tug-of-war, but he was too strong for her to get a good yank at him. “Get back!” Angie’s voice was a fierce snarl, but her arm was tiring, the weight of the skillet turning it into a burden rather than a weapon.

A swift, unexpected twisting movement from Baldy sent a shock of pain through her wrist, loosening the skillet from her desperate grasp.

It hit the linoleum floor with a clang, barely missing her foot. The man twisted her arms behind her back with brutal efficiency.

A tight band constricted around her wrists, the squeak of zip ties vibrating against her skin.

“Let me go!” Angie’s scream pierced the stillness of the night, echoing off the walls as she wildly attempted to trip the man first using one leg and then steadying herself before trying the other leg. Boomer barked helplessly from the front of the house.

Baldy grabbed her by the shoulder, pushing her forward.

Angie’s teeth found the edge of his hand, where she bit down hard in a primal effort to break free.

But he merely grunted, his grip like iron. “I gotta give it to you, you’re a feisty one. Quiet now.” He pulled her to the back door and let in the other man who’d been standing guard on the deck.

Scarface was wearing a heavy coat and had a gag ready. He shoved it between Angie’s teeth, silencing her.

Boomer howled and strained against her leash.

Angie thrashed, her mind racing with panic and fury. Why take her? What did they want? She knew that death would be simpler, cleaner. If they needed her alive, it meant she was just a pawn in some cruel game.

Never.

She wouldn’t become a tool for these monsters, a means to hurt the innocent. Hoyt had spent his life fighting against such evils. She would not dishonor him, would not betray everything he stood for. And she would never let herself be used against him. That was the only reason she could come up with for someone kidnapping her.

“Stop fighting, lady!” Scarface grabbed her upper arm, helping Baldy drag her out the back door.

But Angie only fought harder, every twist and muted scream a declaration of defiance. She might have been overpowered, but surrender had never been part of her nature. She would fight them until their plan failed, even if it was to her last breath.

33

Hoyt’s boots echoed against the sterile linoleum, his steps purposeful as he paced the hospital’s bland corridor. The scent of stale coffee and old pastries hung heavy in the air, the polar opposite of the homemade pot pie he yearned for. Angie had messaged him earlier, letting him know it was waiting for him and Rebecca in the oven at home.

Home.

Of course, that would have to wait. He still needed to get caught up with Rebecca and find out how Morley responded to the offer of a ceasefire.

“Deputy Frost?”

Hoyt turned, halting mid-step.

Dr. Nick Bryant, the surgeon who’d saved the life of a young mother only a week ago, strode down the hall. His green scrubs whispered with each step, and the surgical cap could not quite tame his unruly brown hair. The doctor was Rebecca’s new romantic interest, a fact that made Hoyt appraise him closely as he approached.

“Got a minute?” Nick adjusted his glasses as he caught up to Hoyt.

“What’s the good word, Doc?” Hoyt tried to smile to hide his weariness.

“About Percy Stillwell.” Nick glanced down the hall before continuing in a lower tone. “We’re keeping him overnight. You were right to be worried about his heart. Is there something you can tell us about what happened to him tonight? Something that would explain why he’s so depressed?”

A flicker of guilt passed through Hoyt. They had dragged Percy into this mess, and he hadn’t been up to the strain. “It was his nephew. Percy was trying to help us get the guy out of a mess, stop him before things got too nasty. When the nephew found out he was working with the cops, that’s when he beat him. And tried to shoot him.”

Nick rolled his lip over his teeth. “That could do it, yeah. All right. We’ll get a victim advocate down here and let them know too. His girlfriend is already on her way. I think with some extra support, he’ll pull through. Thanks.”

“All right. Keep me posted.” Hoyt’s mind was miles away, so it took him a moment to notice the doctor wasn’t walking off. “Something else on your mind, Doc?”

Or more like someone?

“Ah, was just wondering if the sheriff planned to visit the victim too?” Nick didn’t bother to hide the hope in his eyes.

Hoyt lifted his eyebrows. The doctor’s interest in Rebecca was obvious, and that made him feel good about this man being interested in his boss. “Not today, no. She’s wrapped up in other things.”

“Ah, well, I’ll try to call her later anyway. Thanks again.” Nick stepped aside to let Hoyt pass. “And I’ll make sure his medical team notifies you if his condition changes.”

“Thanks. I’ll go let the sheriff know…about Stillwell.” Hoyt headed for the door again. Now he really couldn’t wait to get home and tell Angie this latest bit of potential gossip.

As Hoyt stepped into the biting chill, a sigh escaped him, visible in the frosty night. Curling up beside Angie, enveloped in the sanctuary of their bed while they talked about their day, seemed like a distant dream deferred by the harsh reality of the badge pinned over his heart, a symbol of the promises he’d made to the town that was both his charge and his legacy.

Tonight, there would be no quiet reprieve beneath the quilt she’d sewn with meticulous care. Instead, he’d probably end up hunkering down behind a tree somewhere, waiting for Morley to show up. Hours of boredom, a few minutes of adrenaline-packed action, then hopefully more boredom.

Boredom really is underrated. I could stand to have a bit more of that in my life.

He reached for his phone, a habitual check-in. Rebecca had texted him. Trade’s set with Morley. Midnight but we’ll get set up around eleven. You’ve got a few hours. Get some rest if you can.

Hoyt’s creases of concern deepened. He checked the time the text had come in, then called Angie as he walked to the fleet SUV. Since his truck was still a crime scene, he’d had to take Rebecca’s where they’d captured Chip, and she was now driving his. He held the device to his ear, anticipation giving way to confusion, then worry as the call went unanswered.

“Damn.” He dialed the landline in hopes of a different outcome. It was unlike her not to answer, especially when she’d promised him earlier to keep an eye on the phone all night.

When Angie failed to answer the second call, he rang Rebecca’s cell phone.

“What’s up, Frost?”

“Hey, Boss. Percy Stillwell is being held overnight for observation on his heart.”

There was a drawn-out pause. “Okay, but why do you sound so worried?

Trust Rebecca not to miss that. “I’m trying to call Angie, and she’s not picking up. She knew I was going to call when I got out of the hospital. Maybe this is me being a paranoid husband, but do you think you could⁠—”

“I’ll swing over and make sure everything’s okay.”

“Thanks.” Genuine gratitude relieved some of the dread that had settled over Hoyt’s shoulders like a heavy cloak. “It’s just it’s too early for her to be asleep. Even if she was in bed, she’d have her phone and be watching her shows.”

“I’m on my way.”

He ended the call.

As Hoyt strode through the parking lot, the fleet vehicle came into view. He paused, hovering his hand over the door handle as he dialed Angie again. The uneasy rings terminating in her voicemail again prickled at the back of his neck.

“Come on, Angie.” He gave his phone one last hopeful glance before slipping it into his pocket. Exhaling a frosty cloud of resignation, he swung open the SUV door. Before he could settle in, a flurry of footsteps rushed his way. He started to turn, but a gloved hand shot out from behind him, pressing hard over his mouth.

Hoyt’s instincts roared to life, his muscles tensing for a struggle, but the chilling touch of steel against his temple halted him mid-motion.

“Make a sound, and your wife pays the price.” The hissed threat was close enough that he could feel the warmth of breath against his ear despite the hand muffling his own attempts to speak.

Panic surged through Hoyt, a wild torrent threatening to drown his senses.

No. Not Angie.

34

“I need to run over to the Frosts’ real quick.” Rebecca glanced at her team in the bullpen going over their plan for that evening. “Angie’s not answering, and it’s got Frost worried. I told him I’d check on her.”

“And get some dinner while you’re at it?” Viviane grinned at her, a speck of jealousy in her eyes.

Rebecca slowed and stopped, halfway past the bullpen. Grabbing dinner hadn’t been on her mind, but she’d be stupid to turn it down. Angie was a hell of a cook.

Chip’s cell phone screen lit up, piercing the room’s tense silence with its shrill tone. They hadn’t put it in the evidence locker in case Morley used it to reach back out.

Everyone else froze, but Rebecca had been expecting it. Morley was going to try to throw a wrench into the deal. She knew that with certainty. She’d considered a variety of possibilities, though it was anyone’s guess as to which one he’d try.

One way to find out.

Jake stepped forward, leaning over to read the screen without touching it. “It’s a video call from someone called Boss. What do you want me to do?”

“I’ve got it.”

Rebecca strode over to the phone and answered the call. “Hello?”

Morley’s face appeared, a devilish grin stretching across his chiseled features. He was in his car, the darkness outside betraying nothing of his location. “Evening, ex-Special Agent West.” His tone oozed sarcasm. “I just wanted to call to let you know that I’m tweaking our little arrangement.”

“Color me surprised. What now, Morley?” Rebecca’s eyes narrowed as she braced for whatever card he was about to play.

From the corner of her eyes, she spotted Viviane pulling out her phone and tapping the video button. She moved close enough to record the conversation without being seen.

With a chuckle, Morley extended his arm, rotating the phone. The image shifted, revealing Angie and Hoyt, bound and gagged in the back seat. Angie’s hazel eyes were wide with terror, while Hoyt’s glower cut through the shadows, a silent promise of retribution. Neither one looked hurt, but Angie was in her nightgown and a robe.

Rebecca’s breath died in her lungs.

But I was just talking to Frost!

Her heart throttled against her ribs, and desperation clawed at her throat, a visceral reaction to seeing her friends reduced to pawns on Morley’s sick chessboard.

“Touch them, and⁠—”

She was too choked with fury to get all the words out.

Morley swiveled the phone back to his smug face. “You’ll do nothing. But don’t worry. We’re still on for midnight, Rebecca. If you don’t hand over the thumb drive, the real one this time, these two won’t see the sunrise tomorrow. I’m bringing a laptop with me so I can check the drive. Since you can’t be trusted, I decided to bring along some insurance.”

Breath returned to Rebecca’s body, fueled by rage. “You won’t get away with this. Kidnapping a law enforcement officer? Are you insane?”

“I simply want you to see how far I will go to get what I want. And how easy it is for me to take whatever or whoever I want. Remember that. And don’t try anything stupid.” The video went black before she could respond.

“Boss?” Jake stared at her with wide eyes. Neither he nor Viviane had been able to see Morley’s captives.

She lowered the phone. “It’s Hoyt. And Angie. He’s got them both. Morley’s made his move.”

Viviane went ashen, and for just a moment, she wobbled. But before anyone except Rebecca noticed, she bit her lip and straightened her spine. “He’s not getting away with this.”

“No, he’s not.” Trent’s lips were white with anger.

“Midnight is still the hour. But he’s changed the terms.” Rebecca paused, the gravity of the situation settling over the room like a shroud. “We knew he’d pull something. And if we don’t deliver the real thumb drive…” Her throat tightened at the threat.

“We don’t have the real one on us.” Trent rested his hand on his holstered weapon. “I say we give him a fake and storm the place. Unless you plan to go inside the lighthouse itself, the meeting will have to be in the parking lot. Plenty of trees to hide behind there.”

Rebecca shook her head, her ponytail swishing behind her. “No. He made it clear. Any deception, and they’re dead.”

The deputies exchanged uneasy glances. Morley had them cornered.

“Boss, we can’t just⁠—”

“Darby!” Rebecca’s tone silenced Viviane mid-sentence. “I know what Hoyt would say, but I won’t gamble with their lives. Not like this. We have to do this. It’s not worth it.”

Viviane pressed her mouth into a thin line.

Rebecca’s decision was final. She glanced at the clock. “I can call in a favor from Rhonda, and she can get the flash drive from the bank in Norfolk. If she rushes and throws her clout around, she can even get it here in time.”

“Are we really going to let that scumbag win?” Viviane glanced at the other two, the anger in her eyes betraying her determination.

Rebecca pulled out her phone, turning for the door again. “We’re not letting him win. We’re playing it smart to keep Angie and Hoyt alive. And then we bring Morley down. Hard.”

Gulping in a deep breath, she called Rhonda. As the ringing filled the silence, the team rallied around her, bound by duty and the unspoken promise to see this through—together.

“Rhonda, it’s Rebecca. Remember that safety deposit box key I sent you, in case something happened?” She squeezed her eyes shut tight for a moment. “Well, something happened.”

35

Rebecca climbed out of the SUV usually reserved for Hoyt, facing the lighthouse. Its beacon cast long shadows across the ground. She left the dome light on in the vehicle, effectively turning the tinted windows into mirrors and preventing Chip, handcuffed in the back seat, from seeing out.

Still, she wouldn’t risk anything. In the distance, the road snaked its way through the island, a dark ribbon against the rotating light. This place held memories of desperation, of loss. She had combed through these very woods months before, searching for answers that only led to more questions and an unexpected body hidden in the roots.

Now Rebecca’s shoes crunched on dead leaves as she left the parking lot and entered the dark woods. The bald cypress trees stood like wind-blown guardians, and she turned once more to make sure Chip Stillwell was still tightly confined in the back seat. He hunched his shoulders, sullen and pouting.

Sneaking through the woods around her, forgoing flashlights to remain unseen, Jake and Trent were nearby. She’d sent them out first, while she was getting everything she’d need to make the exchange tonight. That way, Chip wouldn’t know where they were hiding, and she wouldn’t be walking into an ambush.

“As far as we can tell, no one else is here.” Jake’s voice crackled through her shoulder-mounted radio. She’d turned the volume down so only she could hear it. Each member was going to report in once she arrived at the lighthouse.

She pictured Jake’s towering figure blending with the trees, his eyes constantly moving as he glanced along the thickets where sea met sky. When he’d suited up back at the station, he’d had two handguns and a shotgun. He was also loaded down with ammo, not only for him but for the others as well.

They’d all learned some tough lessons out on Little Quell Island over the summer. None of them would be taking any chances during this showdown.

“Nobody except us.” Rhonda was somewhere out on the water. Another lesson learned at Little Quell. This time, she was in place before anything went down. Earlier, she’d raced into the station waving her hand, the matte black thumb drive pinched between two fingers. Now that device was secured deep in Rebecca’s pants pocket.

“You sure you want to do this?” Viviane chimed in. She was crouched atop the lighthouse, a great vantage point for her sniper skills, where she carried a rifle with extra rounds in several clips and her handgun in her holster. Viviane was the only deputy whose position Rebecca knew, since it’d been her idea to put the best shot in the department at the best location.

“I have to do this.” Rebecca reached into her pocket and felt the device again, making sure it was still there. Such a little thing, but oh, how much damage it could do. Once Morley knew exactly what she had, he could start destroying the evidence against him. But none of that mattered when good people were in danger. “If either Angie or Hoyt dies because of me…I’ll never forgive myself. Even if they’re only hurt, I won’t.”

Rebecca hadn’t cued her mic when she’d spoken that last sentence, but her voice must have carried across the cold night air to wherever her deputies were hiding.

“We know, Boss. But don’t worry. We’ve got your back, no matter what happens.” Trent buoyed her resolve. They were all in this together.

Once, hearing that from Trent Locke would have made Rebecca laugh. But now she appreciated the sentiment. His words were heartfelt and backed up by hard work and training. Trent had proven repeatedly that he was a man she could trust to have her back, just like the rest of her team.

Like Jake, he was armed to the teeth. In addition to a shotgun, he was carrying a spare pistol on his thigh, and numerous spare magazines and clips. Their team wouldn’t run out of ammo tonight.

And having Trooper McCoy present to conduct an investigation into the earlier shooting had been fortunate. With Viviane set up in her sniper’s nest, it might just be the advantage they needed.

“We’re out here waiting. Our lights are out, and we’ll go radio silent when you give the word.” Rhonda’s presence was reassuring. Despite the fiasco that had occurred when she’d been sent to oversee the escalating crime rate on the island, she’d also proven herself trustworthy.

“Thank you. I know this is a big ask, but the upside is you’ll get good press if we manage to pull this off.” Rebecca scanned the surrounding trees but couldn’t see where her people were stationed. “Viviane, keep sharp. Locke and Coffey, let me know if you catch sight of anyone.”

A chorus of “Copy that” sounded through the radio. Rebecca slowly turned in every direction, unsure of which way Morley would make his approach from. She scanned the woods around them and the cruiser where Chip was still seated in the back. Finally, her gaze returned to the water.

“Remember, keep communication lines open. We’ll end this tonight.” Rebecca knew that everyone would do their job to the best of their ability. Everyone was also wearing a bulletproof vest, the same as she was.

Though that hadn’t helped Elliot. She pushed her grief for the fallen dispatcher aside. There’d be time to mourn later. Now was the time for her to get into position and be ready for whatever happened.

There was no room for doubt, not when every second counted.

Heading back to her SUV, she once again checked their surroundings. Chip pouted in the back seat. That was fine. He couldn’t see out to observe the operation.

Rebecca stood in the middle of the parking lot next to the SUV. A chilly breeze whispered through the cypress trees, carrying with it the distant murmur of the ocean. She eyed the lighthouse’s sweeping beam slicing through the dark, its cyclical glow offering a false sense of calm.

The tension among her team was as palpable as the cold biting at Rebecca’s skin through her coat. Morley had already changed things by kidnapping Angie and Hoyt. Anything was possible with that man. All they could do was wait.

As the lighthouse’s beacon pierced the darkness, movement caught Rebecca’s attention. Her pulse quickened as shapes emerged on the sea’s obsidian canvas.

A late-night fishing boat?

Viviane reported in, her voice calm. “I’ve got eyes on two vessels. I count eleven people, six on the front boat and five on the one trailing slightly behind it.”

“Roger that, Darby. We have eyes on them too. It doesn’t look like they spotted us out here.” Rhonda confirmed Viviane’s observations.

As the beacon from the lighthouse swept over the water again, it revealed the truth. Two vessels slid over the waves like specters drawn to the shore.

“Let’s do this,” Rebecca spoke under her breath. “I knew he’d bring backup. I’m glad we have Rhonda’s people to help.”

The incoming boats were running silent. Either the engines were specially outfitted or the drivers were so good, they were coasting in under no power. She wouldn’t have put it past Morley to hire literal pirates to help him.

Rebecca edged closer to the tree line, the scent of brine and earth intermingling. She tried to keep her heart rate steady and her breathing and pace even as danger approached from the water. This was no time for fear to take root.

As the boats drew nearer, Rebecca made her way down to the beach to meet them. The occupants became more visible, and she could finally make out some distinguishing features. They stood with the demeanor of hired guns, their weapons firmly in their grasps. It figured that Morley would pay enough for men who would put their lives on the line to keep him safe.

Rebecca could see Angie and Hoyt in the back of the first boat, bound and blindfolded. Damn Morley. A shiver ran down her spine, not from the cold, but from the anticipation of what lay ahead.

She squinted into the darkness, her vision sharpening as the lighthouse’s beam intermittently cut through the night, revealing stark details of the advancing boats. Adjusting her position, she steadied her breathing against the rising tension.

But she didn’t need to strain her eyes. Viviane was relaying everything to the team below her, all hushed whispers through her radio.

“Six on the silver lead boat, including Morley, Hoyt, and Angie. Five on the second boat, which is blue.”

So only eight goons and Morley against the three deputies and Rebecca. Because of the captives, Rhonda and her team wouldn’t be able to fire at the boats from the water.

Rebecca flicked her gaze across the figures huddled on the silver boat. The man at the helm wore a black hat that seemed to swallow any light that passed over him. From this moment on, he was simply Black Hat to her, a nickname she’d remember if things turned south.

As the boats bobbed closer, the lighthouse’s glow offered clarity, illuminating the grim scene one sweep at a time, showing them more distinctly with each pass.

Next to Morley stood two people—Nylon Jacket and Scarface—flanking Angie and Hoyt. Though gags and blindfolds partially obscured her friends’ faces, Rebecca could tell they were swollen and bruised. Their arms were behind their backs, most likely tied or handcuffed.

Rebecca clenched her jaw. He’d hurt them in the process of snatching them, and for that, Morley would pay.

Turning her attention to the other vessel, she noted the blue boat’s crew. The driver, who she nicknamed Suit, maneuvered the craft with a noticeable wince every time his hand slipped on the wheel. A bald man stood among the group, distinguishable enough to earn the moniker Baldy.

The rest of the motley crew—Rat Face, Split Lip, and Neckbeard—held rifles with a menace that sent a clear message.

They were ready for a fight.

Rebecca felt a grim satisfaction knowing she wasn’t outmaneuvered or even outnumbered. The dark water held her reinforcements. She hoped she didn’t need them, but she was glad of their presence. A small smile tugged at her lips, not from amusement, but from the knowledge that she had prepared adequately for even this level of threat.

The battle at Little Quell Island had been devastating for all of them. Most notably, they’d lost Darian Hudson to the violence when a bullet had caught him under the arm, bypassing his Kevlar vest. Thankfully, his wife and young daughter had been able to see him before he died. And all that was happening while Rebecca was getting the beatdown of her life.

But this time, they were ready. There’d be no more surprises to tip the scales in favor of Morley and his goons. And she refused to lose one more member of her team. Not tonight.

As the boats approached, Rebecca’s mind raced with tactics and contingencies. The pounding of her heart was a drumbeat to battle, yet her hands were steady, her stance unyielding. This was her turf, her responsibility, her friends. And she’d protect them all with everything she had.

36

Rebecca watched the silver boat slowly approaching the shore. Morley’s guards flanked him. The firing squad in the blue boat stayed out of reach but maintained clear lines of sight.

With each pass of the lighthouse beam, the scene flickered into and out of existence—a disco of danger and desperation held at bay by the rhythmic light.

Morley stood at the prow of the silver vessel, his tall frame creating an imposing figure momentarily illuminated by the sweeping beacon. Waves of brown hair lifted in the sea breeze, his thin lips pressed together making his square jaw stand out. “You’d better not be out here alone.”

If only you knew just how not alone I am.

She jerked her head back, indicating the parking lot behind her. “Chip’s in my vehicle. He’s just waiting for his daddy.”

Morley sneered at her, clearly unnerved by her sarcasm. “Go get the boy so we can make this exchange.”

With a glance past the darkened lighthouse, Rebecca took her time heading back up to the parking lot. Every minute she stalled was another minute her team could position themselves to take a shot.

She opened the passenger door and retrieved a search beam. Then she opened the back door and grabbed Chip, pulling him out. “Move down the hill. If you try to run, I’ll kneecap you.”

Her words produced the desired effect. Chip’s eyes were wide. Rebecca held the chain between his bound wrists, keeping him slightly ahead of her while far enough to the side she could see around him. He kept glancing backward as if he was afraid of her.

He can be taught after all.

“Stay with me. And don’t do anything stupid. I doubt Morley would even flinch if I had to shoot you.”

Chip huffed, lifting his chin. “Think again. I’m his son. That’s why he set this meeting up. To save me.”

Rebecca almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He deserved everything he was getting. “Actually, I’m the one who reached out. Your dad didn’t care enough to even call a lawyer for you. What makes you think he would put himself out to free you? You’re just the add-on so he can get his hands on the incriminating thumb drive. That’s what he really wants.”

Though Chip snorted, Rebecca sensed the doubt behind his bravado.

She waited a beat to drive the next part home. “The only reason he’d want you is because he doesn’t want the press to find out you’re related. This is how far he’s willing to go to keep that secret.”

It was cruel, but Rebecca didn’t care.

Chip’s shoulders slumped, his arm loosening beneath Rebecca’s grip. He didn’t even try to argue. She suspected he understood the truth in her statement.

Together, they edged forward, navigating the gnarled roots and uneven ground. When they arrived at the shoreline, she set the search beam on the ground, facing out into the water.

“Hand over my son. Then you get the woman.” Morley ripped the blindfolds off his hostages. Angie’s eyes were wide with fear, but Hoyt kept his gaze steady and stalwart. “After that, the thumb drive for your old deputy. No one gets hurt.”

The lighthouse beam glinted off the three rifles on the blue boat—backup, ready to turn the tide of the exchange with lethal precision. From the light of Rebecca’s search beam and the lights coming from Morley’s boats, none of them seemed to be wearing Kevlar or armor of any kind, though from twenty feet away, she couldn’t be certain.

Using Chip as a shield, Rebecca pulled her own firearm, a cold comfort she kept hidden against the fabric of her coat.

“Let’s take this one step at a time.” Her gaze locked with Morley’s, willing him to understand that she was not to be trifled with. She had come too far, dealt with too much, to let the night end in tragedy. “Before we proceed, I need to hear from Angie and Hoyt. I want proof they’re not seriously injured.”

Morley’s posture stiffened, his expression calculating as he surveyed Rebecca and glanced back at his captives. “You’re hardly in a position to make demands.” His smirk suggested he believed he held all the cards.

“Correction, Morley.” Rebecca tightened her grip blatantly on Chip’s arm beside her. “I have your son and your precious flash drive. Your move.”

A tense silence pervaded the space between them. As the rhythmic sweep of the lighthouse beam cast long shadows that flickered like specters over the scene, Morley hesitated—the standoff a mental chess match in which Rebecca refused to be outmaneuvered.

“Fine.” Morley grunted, relenting with a curt nod. He stepped toward Hoyt, who strained against his bindings, muffled cries attempting to break through the gag.

Rebecca’s attention sharpened, ready for any sign of duplicity.

But Morley veered off course, reaching instead for the silent figure of Angie, who flinched when he touched her. As he peeled away the gag, a breathless moment passed—and then Angie’s voice pierced the night.

“Rebecca, don’t listen to him!” Angie cried out, raw fear etched into every syllable. “It’s a trap!”

Though Rebecca didn’t need the warning, the distress in Angie’s tone sent a jolt through her.

Morley’s face soured, the edges of his mouth twisting with displeasure at Angie’s warning. “I wanted to do this cleanly.” His eyes took on a hard glint in the intermittent light.

Stepping forward, he shot his hand out, his knuckles colliding with Angie’s cheek, the sharp crack resonating like a gunshot through the stillness.

Angie cried out as she tumbled over from the blow. Fury ignited inside Rebecca’s chest, but before she could even imagine a response, Hoyt lurched with a grunt, his tall frame straining against the ropes.

His attempt at heroism was cut short by Scarface, who swung the heavy butt of his rifle into Hoyt’s side. The thud of impact was sickening, and Hoyt froze, his face twisted in pain.

“Enough!” Rebecca dragged Chip to stand in front of her like a human shield. “You keep this up, and you’ll lose your son.”

“Whatever. You’re a cop. You won’t kill someone in cold blood.” Morley turned, signaling the blue boat with an imperious flick of his wrist. “But my men will do whatever I ask of them.”

Rebecca glanced at Chip. Being in the presence of his father seemed to steel his resolve, his eyes narrowed in a silent promise that he wouldn’t go down without a fight. Time slowed as she calculated her next move, the biting cold of the island air stinging her lungs.

But Morley wasn’t going to give her time to think or stall. He snapped his fingers at his men. “Take the boy and the drive. Kill everyone else.”

Chip laughed. “Told ya.”

Morley pointed toward Nylon Jacket. “You…kill her. I’m tired of looking at her face.”

37

Rebecca faced Nylon Jacket’s menacing sneer, her focus drawn to the slight twitch of his finger twitching on the trigger. The gun’s barrel gaped at her like a dead thing’s unblinking eye, cold and merciless.

Her gun was still behind Chip, ready, waiting. She tensed, preparing for the worst, as the world erupted in noise.

A deafening boom echoed through the briny air of Shadow Island.

Nylon Jacket’s expression shifted from arrogance to shock as a bullet struck him square in the chest, sending him staggering backward with such violence that he crashed over the railing and disappeared into the icy waters.

Based on the elevated trajectory and volume of the gunshot, Rebecca was certain it had to be Viviane’s handiwork. No one else could have made that shot with such precision.

“Shadow Island Sheriff’s Department! Drop your weapons!”

Shouts from her team surrounded her.

I knew I could count on Viviane. On all of them.

Rebecca dropped to her knees, pulling Chip down with her. She needed to make herself a smaller target as she searched for the next threat in this deadly dance.

Shots rang out from Morley’s boats, bullets kicking up the sand around her. From the trees, Trent and Jake opened fire. At that distance, they’d defaulted to their handguns, reserving the shotguns for closer range and greater precision, given Angie’s and Hoyt’s presence in the line of fire.

Chip’s muffled yips clawed at the edge of Rebecca’s consciousness, his words lost amid the yelling between the two boats. But her focus was on Morley, who paced behind his men, ignoring the danger with a smug certainty that it couldn’t touch him.

Somehow, he didn’t get shot.

Hoyt was pushing Angie with his shoulder, maneuvering so both of them were down on the deck, below the gunfire ripping through the night. She heaved a brief sigh of relief. They would be safer there.

As the engine of the second boat kicked up to a roar, Rebecca dragged Chip back up to the tree line and behind a trunk.

Twisting his arm, she shoved him to the ground, out of her way and the line of fire. In at least one way, Chip was smarter than his father, as was evident by him curling up with his forehead pressed to his knees.

A spray of machine gun fire tore into the trees from the approaching blue boat.

The only thing Rebecca could do as she bent low behind the tree was hope everyone else had managed to find cover.

Rocks and sand spewed everywhere as the blue boat skidded onto the shore, its metallic hull whining with the impact.

A flash of movement caught her eye—Trent, his burly form a shadow against the tree line. As he returned fire at the gang spilling from the blue boat, he moved with lethal precision. His new training had transformed him into a competent officer who acted with assurance and determination.

His targets ducked behind the blue boat, the machine gun silent for a moment.

In the silver vessel, Morley crouched while Black Hat and Scarface stood tall in front of him, their arms extended, firing relentlessly toward Rebecca’s position. Her lip curled. Of course Morley would hide like a rat while his goons did the dirty work.

Rebecca assessed the scene. Jake was pinned down. Rebecca’s heart hammered as quickly as her thoughts racing to each member of her team, hoping this time would be different and their Kevlar would fulfill its lifesaving promise.

And that none of Morley’s hired goons were good enough to pull off a head shot.

Black Hat crumpled to the deck of the silver boat, his weapon slipping from his grasp as he fell. Rebecca didn’t need to look up to know who was responsible. The angle, the accuracy—once again, Viviane’s aim had been true.

Leaning out from behind the tree, Rebecca fired two shots at the blue boat, keeping the crew down so her people could move. Jake leaned out from the trees, crouched low, then ducked back behind cover as a volley of shots ripped bark from the trunk next to his head.

Gritting her teeth, Rebecca swept her gaze over the beach, trying to determine who was keeping Jake trapped.

Each man beside the blue boat was shooting in a slightly different direction.

Before Rebecca even had time to figure out which one she was looking for, Rat Face collapsed as Trent landed a kill shot.

When Jake poked his head up again, he got a chance to fire off a shot this time.

With Jake no longer pinned, Rebecca’s focus shifted to the silver vessel. Scarface was hunkered behind the gunwale, his weapon tracking Rebecca every time she tried to peer out. She squeezed off a shot, forcing him to duck, but the men from the blue boat commanded her immediate attention as they peppered the air with bullets, bits of bark flying through the night like shrapnel.

“Jake!” she shouted into her radio, her voice cutting through the commotion.

The former MP caught her eye.

She sliced a hand the air, signaling for what she needed so Morley’s men wouldn’t hear.

He nodded once as understanding dawned, then shifted his position to give her covering fire.

To keep Hoyt and Angie safe, she had to eliminate the shooters near the blue boat. But she couldn’t do that from here without risking hitting one of her friends. She tensed her legs, ready to sprint, but the relentless gunfire forced her to hug the ground. Each round’s near miss was a whisper of death.

Jake’s handgun cracked, a single precise note that dropped Baldy mid-stride.

Rebecca seized the opening, but Baldy brought his machine gun came up once more. Her own weapon barked in response, dropping Baldy’s crumpled body with two swift shots to ensure he wouldn’t get up again. One round left. With a swift motion, she ejected the nearly spent clip and slapped in a fresh mag.

Split Lip stumbled backward, his weapon sinking below the ocean’s surface as he crashed into the surf. Suit’s and Neckbeard’s movements turned erratic, their shots wild as panic set in.

Taking that opportunity, Rebecca shot Suit twice.

Neckbeard turned as the man next to him fell, then joined Suit in the water as Locke shot him while he was distracted.

Through the commotion, Rebecca had tracked the demise of Morley’s men. Only Scarface remained with Morley on the silver boat. The entire team from the blue boat had been eliminated.

As the haze of gunpowder from the battle clouded the scene, a piercing wail of sirens echoed across the dark expanse of the ocean.

Rhonda’s distinctive cadence resonated over the radio. “Incoming support. Secure the shore side! The hostages on the silver boat are priority! Watch out for friendly fire. We’ll have them surrounded shortly.”

Relief surged through Rebecca, warming her against the stress sweat already turning cold in the ocean breeze. She gripped her gun as she made a mental note of the shots she’d taken. By her count, she was almost out of ammo, though she had a full clip in her belt.

Rhonda’s arrival with a full team to back her up eased some of the tension in Rebecca’s shoulders. Her location out on the water meant the bastards had no escape route.

You’re not getting away, Morley. This time, you’re done.

The silver boat rocked in growing desperation on the churning water. Morley himself, eyes wild with panic, roughly shoved Scarface aside to pilot the vessel.

He wrenched the wheel hard, the engine growling in protest as he shoved the throttle backward.

The boat reversed, wobbling as the water rushed in around both sides. Morley was trying to drive it like a car, not taking into consideration the buoyancy that caused it to rock back and forth with every movement.

If he didn’t slow down, he’d flip the craft, dumping them all into the ocean.

Hoyt’s wide eyes made Rebecca’s heart clench. If Morley lost control or tipped them over, Angie and Hoyt were as good as dead. Their hands were bound, and it would be difficult to tread water. They’d have to hope someone could rescue them in time.

“Locke!” Rebecca crouched low as she charged forward, adrenaline surging through her veins. “Chip’s behind that tree. Take care of him!”

She didn’t wait for Trent to confirm.

And didn’t need to.

She trusted her team.

Rebecca’s focus narrowed to the receding boat. She splashed into the icy embrace of the Atlantic, determination burning away the cold.

A few powerful strokes brought her within arm’s reach of the stern, her fingers curling around the slick metal railing.

Muscles straining, she fought the drag of the water as she was pulled through the waves and out into the deeper ocean. Holding her chin up, she barely kept her face above water.

Which gave her a perfect view as Scarface stepped closer, the sneer on his face widening with every step. He raised his booted foot, aiming to stomp her fingers and send her into the path of the propeller mere feet from her legs.

A much nastier death than just shooting her with the gun he carried.

A gunshot cracked—the sound shockingly close—and Scarface jerked once, his face contorting in surprise and pain. Another shot by Viviane from her position above them all, like an avenging angel perched on high. Scarface wasn’t dead, though.

Not until Angie’s slippered foot connected with his chest, kicking him over the edge where Rebecca was holding tight.

Gratitude swelled within Rebecca for Viviane’s and Angie’s total badassery. Her pulse pounded in her ears, each heartbeat a reminder of the resolve still surging within her.

The shoreline was mostly quiet now, leaving only the task of collecting Morley’s dead men. But on this boat, it was just her, Morley, Hoyt, and Angie.

A couple of Rhonda’s boats circled to give chase, but Rebecca didn’t need them. The fight between her and Morley was personal.

She had one round left, and if she had to use it, she would.

38

Rebecca clawed at the slick edge of the hull as another icy wave smacked its side, nearly prying her loose. She had to get away from the stern and the threat of the dual engines, but that meant pulling herself up the side against the wake.

The vessel bucked like a wild stallion, its motors roaring in protest against the choppy waves that whipped across the surface.

Her muscles ached with the cold and effort. Every fold in her clothes dragged in the currents, and the thick plates of armor on her torso funneled saltwater against her chest. Morley steered through the breakers, moving them out into deeper waters.

The ocean was much colder here.

Too cold.

But giving up wasn’t an option.

Angie and Hoyt needed her, and the frightened ex-senator didn’t seem to have noticed that Angie had dispatched Scarface. He was hell-bent on fleeing the heavy presence of law enforcement back by the lighthouse, oblivious to all else. And since Rebecca was out of sight, clinging to the outside like a stubborn barnacle, Morley probably believed he was in the clear.

Right now, though, Rebecca’s concern was the old man’s apparent inexperience at navigating the ocean. Morley was going to get them killed either on purpose or by accident if he wrecked.

She’d rather die than give up. Despite her muscles screaming from the cold, cramping as each wave battered her, she clung on, fighting each slap and pull of the wake. Hoisting herself up high enough, she peeked over the railing.

Morley stood at the helm.

Angie and Hoyt were still lying on the deck, but they were each using their heels to pull themselves closer to their captor. Hoyt, wearing boots, had a lead on Angie, who was also fighting against her loose slippers that got no traction.

Rhonda’s crew was somewhere behind them, their lights and sirens swallowed by the black void far from the shore.

It was up to Rebecca to stop this madness.

Morley was too busy fighting the steering to heed anything not directly in front of him. Apparently, the thumb drive and Chip didn’t matter all that much when he was staring down the barrel of several guns and facing imminent arrest.

Holding her breath, Rebecca pulled herself over the gunwale and slid onto the deck, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Reaching up to her shoulder, she found the microphone to her radio gone. Likely ripped free by the rushing sea. The pouch that held the main unit was also empty.

The leather strap of her holster was still secured, as was her weapon. But she was well aware that she only had one shot left, and as much as she wanted to put it between Morley’s eyes, she knew the better course would be to not have to use it at all.

Thankfully, though, modern firearms worked even if they were dipped in freezing water, unlike her body at the moment.

Just a second. Need to catch my breath.

Rebecca glanced at the two hostages. Though Angie’s gag was out, she was wise enough to make no sound that might attract attention.

But then Angie’s eyes went wide, and she jerked her head in warning.

“Dammit!” Morley’s curse sliced through the sound of churning waves.

Rebecca turned her head. He was looking right at her from his place at the helm.

No time left. Got to move!

She pushed herself to her feet but kept her knees bent, absorbing the bounce of the boat. They were past the breakers, so the waves were smaller, not likely to send them flipping. But falling out of the rushing vessel could still be a death sentence. Hitting the surface at high speed would be like bouncing off concrete.

Morley abandoned the wheel, causing the boat to slow and veer erratically every time it hit a wave. He barreled toward her.

The distance between them disappeared in seconds.

One shot left.

Rebecca’s frigid muscles did not react as quickly as she would have liked. Before she could reach for the gun holstered at her side, Morley slammed into her. They tumbled across the deck, his weight crushing the air from her lungs.

“Rebecca!” Angie was frantic with fear, though she couldn’t see the struggle from her vantage point.

Getting into a barehanded fight with a man nearly twice her weight, after being dragged through a freezing ocean when she’d just worn herself out clambering aboard a moving boat, was a terrible situation to be in. But with Angie and Hoyt still on board, Rebecca didn’t have a choice.

This was what she trained for.

Rebecca twisted under Morley’s grasp, refusing to be pinned to the deck, her mind clear and focused even as the icy air bit into her soaked uniform. This was her battle. The one she’d been waiting for. Morley had no more hired guns to dispatch. He’d have to fight for himself.

The boat pitched violently beneath them, a runaway carriage with no driver at the reins, each roll threatening to cast them into the freezing embrace of the ocean depths. Rebecca grappled with Morley, who tried to leverage his bulk against her smaller frame as he flailed his hands, working to gain purchase around her neck.

But Rebecca had her chin tucked with her knee in Morley’s gut as she strained to get a thumb lock on his left hand, hers over the top of his. All she had to do now was find the proper position and straighten her fingers to act as the focal point.

She pushed his right hand off her throat, and Morley took advantage of that. He clenched his free hand into a fist and punched Rebecca’s abdomen. Air whooshed from her lungs in a painful grunt.

“Can’t…take a hit?” Morley taunted, his breath hot and reeking of stinky cheese.

Rebecca rolled her eyes and wrapped her thumb over the back of his, where the bones of the digit met the hand. “I’ve had cramps that hit harder.” Twisting and pressing down with all her strength, she folded his hand backward against his arm, forcing the joint into an unnatural position.

Morley screamed, instinctively straightening his arm to try to stop the torment of the tearing tendons.

Rebecca twisted her hips, pushing against his left side and rolling him over.

He screamed again and kicked, striking her high in the thigh.

If she’d been a man, that blow might have changed the course of the fight. “Figures you’d hit below the belt.” Levering up onto her right knee while pushing off the deck with her left leg, she kept applying forward pressure, twisting his hand to get his arm behind his back.

Despite nearly dancing on his tiptoes from the pain of the joint lock, Morley wasn’t giving up. He punched her again, this time in her cheek.

Rebecca saw stars for a moment, the blow leaving her weak and unsteady.

When he suddenly jerked back on his pinned hand, she stumbled forward, losing her hold on him.

Free to pull himself upright, Morley punched down at her once more.

She lifted her arm in time to block the jab headed for her face and returned it with one aimed at his throat.

Morley stumbled back to avoid the attempted punch from Rebecca’s shorter reach. As he dodged her strike, he feinted a blow to her side. As Rebecca turned to block the expected punch, he grabbed her opposite elbow and yanked.

With a quickness that seemed impossible for the older, out-of-shape man, Morley rode Rebecca to the ground. Straddling her while she was on her back, he wrapped his thick hotdog fingers around her neck. As he applied pressure, the sky briefly lit up.

The lighthouse cast a searching beam, its golden light stretching across the black void of the sea, a hopeful whisper to lost souls adrift in the night.

Rebecca tried to gain leverage to break his grasp, but her cold muscles strained with the effort. As Morley tightened his grip, light pricked at the corner of her vision like the numerous stars in the midnight sky.

She saw five-year-old Rebecca playing on the beach at Sand Dollar Shores with her parents lounging on beach blankets on either side of her. Her mother was reading a book while little Rebecca tried to build a sandcastle. The warmth of the sand between her fingers comforted her like a warm hug from her mom.

Again, the lighthouse beam swept over them.

Now she saw her father’s lifeless eyes, dead in his bed. And her mother’s body, riddled with bullets, bleeding out on the kitchen floor. Blood on the pillow. Blood on the cupboards. Family lost to violence.

The beam glided through the void in a ghostly sweep.

The flash of a muzzle and the stench of motor oil permeated her senses. She was back in the parking garage, and Morley was laughing. Had that really happened? Her body felt cold as she lay on the cement ground.

A light flashed fleetingly through the void, then vanished.

Her hands were pressing on Alden Wallace’s wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Her efforts didn’t matter. She was kneeling by Darian Hudson’s headstone, sobbing. She watched as emergency responders hauled away Greg Abner’s body.

Ghosts from her past. It was her turn now.

Another beam sliced through the darkness like a sharp blade. No. Not a blade. A beacon. It was calling her. Calling her home. Not home to her parents, but home to Shadow Island. Her new home. A place she wasn’t going to leave unprotected.

Snapping out of the parade of images from her past, Rebecca summoned all her strength and bucked Morley off. He lost his grip as he tumbled to the side. Springing to her feet, Rebecca delivered a roundhouse to his face as he tried to stand. Her wet sneaker thudded into his jaw, spinning him around and back to the deck.

But the stubborn bastard climbed to his feet again. Morley’s face was red, and the veins in his neck throbbed. He balled his hand into a fist as he charged Rebecca. “It’s time for you to die, bitch.”

He cocked his arm to deliver a haymaker, but Rebecca ducked under it and spun to the side. As Morley turned to strike again, Rebecca landed a punch to his midsection, forcing the air from his lungs. “Not tonight, asshole.”

Even as he folded over, retching, Morley craned his neck to look up at her. Seething, he dove at Rebecca’s knees, knocking her down. Grabbing the collar of his coat, she used his momentum to flip him onto his back, landing on top of him as they rolled across the wooden deck.

He swung up at her and grazed the side of her head, causing her ear to ring. His other fist whiffed under her chin. Shifting her weight, she drove her fist into his jaw. The fight left him, and like a puppet with its strings cut, he sagged against the deck.

Rebecca didn’t move. Didn’t trust it. Trust him.

Nothing.

Only then did she let out a slow breath and push off him, muscles trembling from exertion.

The frigid wind whipped Rebecca’s ponytail like a flag of victory as she stared down at her enemy, knowing she could pull her gun and finish him right there.

One shot left.

He lay there unconscious, panting, beaten.

A rabid dog finally muzzled.

The sting of cold ocean spray mingled with the metallic tang of adrenaline in her mouth.

A primal urge clawed at her insides.

She rested her hand on the butt of her gun, still safely snapped in her holster. If he’d reached for it, things would have taken a much different turn. It would be so easy to end the man who had brought terror to her home.

To her parents’ home, leaving it stained with blood and regret. To her career. To the homes and offices of every person who had ever tried to stand up for themselves, only to be kicked down by a man who thought he was above them all. Above the law.

“Rebecca?” Angie’s voice cracked from behind, soaked in worry.

“Close your eyes, dear.” Hoyt’s voice was steady and reassuring, protecting his wife as always.

His words steadied Rebecca.

I won’t do something that requires good people to look away.

She was not above the law.

And she would be damned before she stained her badge with the blood of vengeance.

39

Dropping her hand away from her holstered gun, Rebecca pulled out her handcuffs. The two state crafts that had followed them out finally caught up. Beams of searchlights hit them and kept pace as Morley’s vessel continued to surge forward.

“Took you long enough,” Rebecca muttered. She knelt beside Morley. “Your time running this twisted show is over.” Her voice was the calm after the storm as she deftly snapped the handcuffs around his wrists, a sound that echoed with finality and satisfaction.

Now that Morley was secure, Rebecca reached for the throttle, pulling the boat back from its dangerous speed. With the threats neutralized, she reached into her utility belt and removed her knife, heading toward Angie and Hoyt. As she moved toward them, Rebecca stepped over the senator, catching herself as she tripped on the slick deck.

Angie had never turned away. She watched Rebecca’s approach, her eyes filled with pride and respect.

Hoyt’s expression held a tinge of regret, but also understanding. “You should have kicked him harder.”

“And lower.” Angie leaned to the side so Rebecca could reach the restraints behind her back.

“Are you two okay?” Rebecca assessed them with a critical eye as she knelt to cut the zip ties from Angie’s hands and then Hoyt’s.

“We are now.” Hoyt twisted to gather his wife into his arms.

“Thank God.” Angie squeezed her husband tightly before lifting her gaze skyward momentarily.

A bullhorn blared. “Vessel, this is the State Police. Prepare to be boarded!”

Rebecca stood, plucking her badge from her waist. Hoyt did the same. Together, they held them high.

“Shadow Island Sheriff! I’ve secured the boat and the hostages!” Lights played over them, and Rebecca had to squint. “Suspect is detained. We’re returning to the island.”

“Copy that, Sheriff. Do you require assistance?”

Completely exhausted, Rebecca reached down with her free hand to help Angie up. As soon as Angie’s warm hands clutched hers, she felt better. “We’ll need medical as soon as we dock, but we’re good now. Can you radio Special Agent Lettinger to let her know?”

“Will do, Sheriff.”

Rebecca walked to the closest seat and dropped into it, clipping her badge back onto her belt. “Hoyt, take us back to our island.”

“Yeah, Boss.” Hoyt booted Morley, who was already waking up. “Stay there, and don’t move. If you do, I’ll let my wife claim self-defense all she wants.” Standing at the helm, he powered on the lights so they were no longer running blind and turned the steering wheel, slowly opening the throttle.

Angie perked up at that. “They took my cast-iron skillet.” She bent over and unhooked the fire extinguisher from its cradle. “But I have this.” Narrowing her eyes, she shook it vengefully at Morley.

Morley groaned and buried his face in the deck as best he could.

Apparently, he couldn’t take the humiliation of first losing to Rebecca and now getting threatened by an older woman.

The boat bounced slightly as it hit the breaker line. Flashlights on the shore swiveled in their direction.

“West, good to have you back.” The lights settled to point at the ground and water. Rhonda waved, deputies flanking her, and motioned for them to beach the craft down away from the others. “When I saw you getting dragged, I wasn’t sure we’d ever see you again. Smith, call the Coast Guard and let them know we no longer need their help, will ya?”

Rebecca carefully walked to the bow, holding the railing as Hoyt bumped them onto the sand. She hopped down and looked around.

Scarface and Split Lip sat handcuffed and defeated at the feet of a cluster of state troopers, dripping with sea water from their unexpected dip in the ocean. Trent and Jake stood with them.

Viviane was standing on the shore with her rifle slung over her back.

Two troopers walked over with Rhonda and helped Angie to disembark.

“Looks like you had a bit of fun out there.” Rhonda raised her hand to Rebecca’s battered cheek but didn’t touch it. “Medical team is en route. I’ve let them know we got three people who need to get checked out.”

“Four.” Rebecca reached out to steady Angie as she tried walking in her bedroom slippers on the rough sand. “Morley’s face down onboard.”

More lights popped up next to the lighthouse, leading a team of medics down to check over everyone who hadn’t already been cleared.

“No shit? My team said you had him, but I didn’t expect him to have survived. He seemed the type to go down guns blazing.” Rhonda got up on her tiptoes to look over the gunwale. “You did it. Now that we’ve got him on such blatant and obvious charges, you can make every other bit of information from that thumb drive stick as well.”

Hoyt climbed down with a groan, clutching his side as he winced in pain. Despite his obvious discomfort, he pulled his wife into his arms and hugged her close.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed at the sudden release of tension and anxiety, Rebecca hugged herself as she scanned the shore. “Which means this is over.” She couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up out of nowhere. “Locke!”

“Ma’am!” Trent jogged over, looking at Angie and Hoyt, who smiled, indicating they were okay.

“Take over the scene. Get the victims and suspects someplace warm, and get their statements. Make sure Morley is booked properly.” Rebecca reached for her side, pulling open the Velcro of her vest with two harsh tugs. As the adrenaline left her body, she started to shake from the cold.

“Yeah, Boss.” Locke raised an eyebrow, looking her over. “You okay? Are you going to the hospital?”

“Yup.” Rebecca pulled her vest off and handed it to Jake as she headed for her cruiser. “I happen to know there’s an amazing trauma surgeon working tonight. So I’m going to go in and get checked out and warmed up. I’ll see you in a few hours, and we can wrap all this up.”

40

Hoyt’s dress boots tromped heavily against the concrete sidewalk leading up to the doors of Spring Street Church. Angie, hiding her nearly healed bruises under thick makeup, clung to his arm as he guided her through the heavy wooden doors.

An icy draft from Shadow Island’s surrounding waters swept past them, ruffling the hem of Angie’s somber black dress. Inside, the church was a sanctuary of hushed whispers and soft candlelight, the air thick with the weight of communal grief.

Angie moved ahead of Hoyt, stopping to hug and talk with everyone in line.

Viviane Darby, in her neat deputy uniform that seemed too stiff for her usually buoyant personality, stood by the entrance, her russet-brown eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Her mother stood beside her, another familiar face from her time serving as dispatcher and victim advocate at the sheriff’s station. Meg offered a small, sad smile to the Frosts.

“Viviane.” Hoyt extended his arms.

She stepped into his embrace without hesitation, her body relaxing against his sturdy frame. He felt her sigh, a mixture of relief and sorrow, as if sharing the burden of loss made it fractionally lighter.

“Elliot was one of the good ones.” Hoyt pulled back just enough to look Viviane in the eye. “He deserved better than this.” The words were simple but heavy with truth, and she nodded, a silent acknowledgment of a life cut tragically short.

Meg placed a comforting hand on Hoyt’s arm. “We’re all sorry for your loss, Hoyt. But you and the deputies…y’all did beautifully. It’s a blessing you’re safe.”

“Thank you, Meg.” Hoyt felt the familiar swell of pride for his team—his second family. They had faced horrors together, their bonds forged strengthened in the fires of duty and sacrifice.

Angie squeezed his hand, her grip firm and reassuring. She understood the depth of his commitment to the island they called home and the pain of losing one of their own.

The solemn atmosphere of Spring Street Church pressed down on Hoyt as he stepped farther inside among the wooden pews filled with somber faces. It was the second funeral they’d been to in the last week, having laid Dickey Tabbart to rest just before Christmas. He hoped it would be the last funeral he’d have to attend for a long, long time.

His gaze was drawn to Rebecca, also clad in her perfectly pressed dress uniform. She stood at the end of the closest pew like a sentinel, her posture stiff and her eyes betraying a burden that rank and decorum couldn’t obscure.

He was certain he knew what she was thinking.

“Good to see you, Boss. Elliot’s family…they’ll be honored by your presence. Everyone knows how hard you worked to take down Morley and get justice for Elliot and everyone else.” He studied Rebecca’s face, looking for signs she understood his unspoken message.

None of this was her fault. No one on the island blamed her for what happened.

The corners of her eyes softened just a bit as she accepted his reassurance silently, without needing to speak. He doubted she was ready to talk about it anyway. She’d been too focused and hard on herself since everything happened. It wasn’t good for her.

Before the conversation could delve deeper into the communal well of grief, Lilian Hudson entered, cradling her baby, Mallory, in her arms. She, more than anyone else here, knew the pain Elliott’s family was going through after having lost her husband, Darian Hudson, in the line of duty the previous summer.

Little Mallory wasn’t so little anymore, and with a start, Hoyt counted the months since she’d been born. She was getting close to a year old now. The child had grown since Hoyt last saw her, her bright eyes taking in the world with innocent curiosity.

“Look at you, Mallory.” Hoyt couldn’t help but smile, the sight of the child a brief respite from the day’s sorrow. “Growing up so fast.”

Lilian offered him a weary smile, the kind that hinted she knew too much loss for one so young. “It’s good to see you, Hoyt. I’m glad I came. Darian always spoke fondly of Elliot. It’s a relief to see you standing here, whole.” Her gaze held his, reflecting a depth of understanding unique to those left behind by tragedy. “Darian respected you greatly. He’d be glad you’re all right.”

It took a moment for the lump in Hoyt’s throat to dissipate enough for him to speak. “Appreciate that, Lilian.” His heart grew heavier with the grief of their combined losses. “Let’s hope this is the end of it. Shadow Island has seen enough darkness. God willing, this new year will be much calmer than the last, now that we’ve chased out all the corruption that had settled in.”

“I hope so too.” Lilian glanced toward the casket where Elliot lay, a final testimony to the price sometimes demanded by their shared calling.

With a last sad smile, Lilian retreated into the sea of black attire filling the church. A large group of mourners wanting to say their goodbyes.

Hoyt took a moment to hope and pray that this last case was the end to the darkness Shadow Island had suffered. Right now, Jake was running the sheriff’s office on his own so everyone else could pay their respects to Elliot. Hoyt would be ever so grateful if the witch’s “curses” were broken. If young Eliot’s life might make for the last drop of blood this island demanded of them. If everyone left was safe forever.

Rhonda Lettinger entered, wearing her state police uniform. She approached the cluster. “Guys. Angie.” She nodded to each of them.

“Thanks again for coming out as backup during the showdown, Rhonda. And for all the help you’ve given us.” Rebecca reached out and gave her a gentle hug.

“Of course. It’s not only my job. This time was also a pleasure. I’ve been hoping someone could put that, ahhh…” She glanced around the church and at Angie’s raised eyebrow. “That jerk in jail. I just wish we could have done something before they got to Elliot. He always seemed so unflappable, the perfect man for the dispatch desk.”

Her words brought a momentary smile to Hoyt’s face as he remembered the confessions shared in the quiet of the morning shift between just the two of them. Elliot had been anything but unflappable, his nerves often dancing just beneath the surface, yet he had performed his duty with pride.

He’d have loved to know everyone else thought he handled the stress of the job so well.

They made their way down the aisle, closer to the front where Elliot’s casket lay. Before he took a seat, Hoyt paused a moment in front of the casket and rested his hand gently on the cool wood. He leaned in, his voice a whisper meant only for Elliot. “You did real good, son. Took care of this island like it was your own kin. We’re all mighty proud.” A tear traced its way down his cheek.

The low murmur of voices waned as the opening notes of a hymn played softly in the background to indicate the start of the service.

Hoyt wiped his face. He turned back to his family in blue, taking in Angie’s supportive smile, Trent’s stoic nod, and Rebecca’s subtle tilt of the head—signals to gather together.

They found a pew, settling in shoulder to shoulder, right behind Elliot’s family. Viviane and Meg joined them, their presence knitting the group tighter. In this place of worship, under the heavy silence broken only by the occasional sniffle or sigh, they were more than just colleagues. They were a unit, bound not just by duty, but by the shared resolve to hold each other up through the worst of storms.

41

Rebecca cradled a margarita glass, its rim crusted with salt as she sat snug in a beach chair with a blanket over her lap, enjoying the empty shoreline of Shadow Island. With each sip, the tangy bite of lime battled the sea breeze, a reminder that even the cold couldn’t dampen the spirit of New Year’s Eve.

Beside her, Viviane’s laughter mingled with the rhythmic rush and retreat of the waves. “Is it as good as you expected?”

Hoyt shook his head, lifting his own margarita glass to his lips. “I still can’t believe you’ve never had one before. They’re not my favorite, but Viviane does mix a mighty tasty beverage.”

“It’s sweeter than I’m used to, but I think I could come to like this. Here’s to mixing it up.” Rebecca raised her glass to the graying sky. She’d always been a woman of simple pleasures, a beer at the end of a long day, but today, she’d decided to finally get the one drink she’d told herself she would try as soon as she reached Shadow Island.

In her wildest dreams back then, she’d hoped it would be with friends. Looking at Viviane and Hoyt, she was happy she got her “wildest dreams” plus some. She had friends, a dog, someplace that felt like home, and a margarita. She took another sip and sighed happily. She’d never had one before, so she wasn’t sure she could tell the difference in quality of tequila, but she suspected Viviane had used her Christmas gift from Rebecca to make this batch.

Humphrey darted past, kicking up sand as he chased the foamy tide, and barked at the sea as if it were a suspect refusing to cooperate. He was wearing the new collar she’d bought him for Christmas.

Of course, she’d had to rewrap the gift after Chip Stillwell had destroyed the packages under her Christmas tree, including Viviane’s bottle of tequila that she’d had to replace. Humphrey had given the new collar a passing sniff, preferring his other present from Santa, a giant bone. In both cases, his real present had been in tearing the paper off the boxes.

The dog’s joy was infectious, and for a moment, Rebecca allowed herself to be nothing more than a spectator to his simple game.

“Never thought I’d say this, Rebecca, but this is a hell of a place to retire.” Hoyt’s eyes held a new kind of peace as he spoke of his new status.

“Today was the big day. You sure you’re going to make it?” She turned toward him, noting the way the years had etched lines of wisdom into his rugged features.

“Yep. Finished my last report this morning and left it on your desk. I’m not going back except to visit. And maybe file a report about kids playing on my lawn. Don’t think I won’t be abusing my privileges now that I’m a retired cop.” He grinned, a touch of boyish excitement breaking through his usually composed demeanor. “Angie and I are hitting the water a bit later today in my new boat to celebrate. She’s just finishing up some things in town.”

“Sounds perfect. For you. I’m going to sit here and soak up some sun.” Rebecca raised her glass to him before tucking the blanket more tightly around herself.

A sudden commotion drew their attention back to the beach path, where Angie emerged, flanked by two young men whose lanky forms and easy smiles were unmistakably those of her and Hoyt’s sons.

Hoyt stood, his face lighting up like the island’s Christmas decorations. “I didn’t think you boys could make it!” His voice thickened with emotion as he embraced them, one at a time.

“We wouldn’t miss it, Dad.” The taller one, who had to be Adam, clapped Hoyt on the back. “You’ve earned this.”

“Yeah, a ride in your new boat? Of course we’re going to show up for that.” Zach laughed, dodging a swipe from his dad.

Only to move into range of the one from his mother. “And a celebratory dinner with your father, of course.”

Zach took the chastisement well, though he did dramatically rub at the spot his mother hit with her scarf. “And a free meal!” He danced out of the way of a second blow from his mother, moving closer to Rebecca and Viviane. “Viviane, good to see you again. And you must be Sheriff West. I’m Zach, the older and more handsome of the Frost sons.” The young man held out his hand.

“You can call me Rebecca.” She shook his hand from her chair. “Zach, good to meet you.”

As the Frosts gathered their things for the boat ride, Rebecca felt a swell of warmth for her friend and his family. They were the fabric of this small community, woven tightly into its heart.

“Hi. I’m Adam. Thanks for being a great boss to my dad.” The handsome younger man waved over the heads of his parents. “Oh, and happy New Year! Enjoy your⁠—”

“Got to go!” Hoyt started herding his family away. “I’m not waiting one more minute to try out my new ride. Hit me up, Rebecca, if you ever want to go out.”

Settling back into her chair, Rebecca turned her attention to Viviane, who was swirling the last of her margarita in her glass, a contemplative look in her eyes.

“Hey, Boss?” Viviane’s tone told Rebecca that work was creeping into their tranquil moment. “What happened to the thumb drive?”

“Passed it on to my dad’s alma mater.” Rebecca traced the rim of her glass, licking the salt from her fingers. “The head of the engineering department said she managed to figure out the encryption on some of the files. Basically, Lankford was protecting the design itself. He also left testimony and evidence about Morley’s actions. Recorded conversations. Copies of emails. That kind of thing.”

“Wow. The world might actually change because of your dad’s work.” Viviane stared off toward the horizon.

Rebecca followed her gaze, taking in the ocean and the radiant blue sky. Both seemed limitless. “Yeah. They’ve got the brains to pick up where dad left off. And with Morley no longer holding back progress, who knows? Maybe we’ll see those engines humming along before we know it.”

Viviane nodded, satisfied. “Well, now that the Yacht Club’s toast and Morley’s behind bars with no bail, Shadow Island might turn into a ghost town for crime.”

Rebecca snorted. It did indeed appear that she wouldn’t have to worry about Morley ever again, or his murderous son, who was also being held without bail. “You worried we’ll get bored?”

“Maybe a little.” Viviane leaned forward. “I told you I’ve been thinking about the FBI. Well, I did some digging on Quantico.”

“Quantico, huh?” Rebecca set her drink down, not wanting to be distracted if this was going to be a serious discussion. “Remember, the Bureau’s got its own kind of mess. It’s kind of like high school politics but with guns.”

Viviane grimaced but then laughed, the sound carrying over the waves. “Yeah, but think of the good I could do. The real change.”

“True. And you’d be a hell of an agent, Viviane.” Rebecca touched her dear friend’s arm.

Viviane’s face lit up like the horizon they were gazing upon. “Seriously? That’s…thank you.”

“Got a friend named Benji at the Bureau too. He’ll help you navigate the waters there if you decide to dive in.” Rebecca retrieved her glass and swallowed down a grin with another sip of her margarita. Viviane’s cheery attitude would drive Benji insane. The man could stand to lighten up a bit.

“Benji? Your old partner? I met him last year when he came down during the mess with Mason Alton and the hostages at the lighthouse.” Viviane nudged Rebecca with her elbow. “Thanks for the lead.”

“Only the best for my deputies.” Rebecca leaned back, basking in the surge of pride for the rookie beside her—a woman whose aim was as steady as her heart.

Rebecca’s gaze lingered on the sun’s descent as it painted the sky in shades of amber and coral. The rhythmic lapping of waves against the shore soothed her, and she allowed herself a moment to ponder the future.

For years, she had been reacting—to crimes, to threats, to the weight of a badge that had become as much a part of her as her own name. Every day had been a fight, a battle to hold the line and protect the people she cared about. Bracing for the next storm on the horizon.

But now?

The island was still. The town was safe. The people she loved were happy.

In the distance, the glow of a bonfire flickered, laughter rising over the waves as her friends set up for the night’s celebration. Viviane nudged her shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You coming?”

Rebecca exhaled, a slow, steady breath. She glanced down at her drink, swirled the last sip of margarita in her glass, then looked back toward the horizon—vast, open, and waiting.

With Morley behind bars and the town’s biggest scandal resolved, her days might now unfold with an unfamiliar quietude. A smile tugged at her lips—the thought of a peaceful term as sheriff wasn’t unwelcome.

“Thinking about your handsome doctor?” Viviane’s teasing pulled Rebecca from her reverie.

Dr. Nick Bryant, the surgeon from Coastal Ridge Hospital, with his wavy silver-streaked hair and azure eyes, did make her heart flutter whenever she thought about him. Even better, he seemed to have no sociopathic tendencies.

“Maybe,” Rebecca admitted. True to form, her heart skipped a couple of beats. “It’s been ages since I’ve had dinner with someone who didn’t want to discuss crime stats or case files.”

“Go for it. You deserve some fun.”

Rebecca blinked a few times, softening at the prospect. Yes, she could use a distraction—a pleasant one at that.

The waves rolled in, steady and unhurried, a rhythm she rarely had the luxury of enjoying. She let the sound settle into her bones, let the weight of the past years slip just a little further away. For the first time in a long time, she simply existed—not as Sheriff West, not as the woman always bracing for the next shadow’s reckoning, the next battle, the next enemy lurking in the dark. Just Rebecca.

Viviane’s attention darted to her phone as it pinged, and her grin spread wide, igniting Rebecca’s curiosity. Before she could inquire, a chorus of laughter and chatter swelled from behind them.

Turning, Rebecca spotted a procession of familiar faces trailing down the beach path. Rhonda led the pack, waving a bottle of champagne like a flag of victory. Bailey, Kelly, Betty, and Deborah were hot on her heels, each balancing a cocktail in one hand and cheers on their lips.

“Surprise!” they shouted in unison.

Humphrey, caught up in the excitement, dashed toward them, his bark boisterous and filled with joy.

“Did you know about this?” Rebecca asked Viviane, a mix of shock and delight brimming in her voice.

“Guilty as charged.” Viviane laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I wanted to show you what a real beach party looks like.”

Jake, Meg, Trent, and even Pastor Brett emerged from the growing crowd, their arms laden with folding chairs, tables, and firewood destined for a bonfire under the stars. Betty even had a large thermos filled with her famous hot chocolate.

Rebecca watched, touched by the effort, as her community came together, transforming the cold beach into a warm New Year’s Eve celebration.

“How did you manage to get everyone down here? They all have such busy schedules.” Rebecca’s heart swelled. These were the people who’d stood by her through trials and triumphs.

“When you care about someone, you show up for them.” Meg set her chair down next to Viviane’s, sharing a conspiratorial grin. Then she bumped Rebecca’s elbow and pointed with her chin to look again.

Nick Bryant, the doctor Viviane had just been teasing her about, was making his way toward them, but stopped to playfully tug on Humphrey’s ears. The chocolate lab bounced in circles around him, soaking up the attention like a spoiled child.

Rebecca took a sip of her margarita, watching as the handsome surgeon crouched to scratch beneath Humphrey’s collar, his movements easy, familiar—like he belonged here. The low sunlight caught in his wavy hair, teasing out hints of gold, and when he glanced up, his bright-blue eyes locked onto hers.

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips—like he saw something in her that no one else had yet dared to name.

Heat crept up Rebecca’s neck. She wasn’t used to this. The casual ease of a man looking at her like he actually wanted to—not because he needed her to solve a crime, not because she was a force to be reckoned with, but because, for some reason, she intrigued him.

He murmured something to Humphrey before straightening, brushing sand from his jeans as the dog latched onto his side. Despite the pull of the celebration, the rising laughter of her friends, the hum of conversation around them—it felt, for just a second, like it was just the two of them.

Nick took a step closer, his voice warm, edged with something unreadable. “Sheriff.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around her glass. “Doctor.”

Viviane smothered a giggle with a drink.

As he sat beside her as if he’d done just that all his life, Rebecca allowed herself to do something she hadn’t in a long time…look forward instead of back.

Her friends. A lover turned husband. Maybe even a little one, their chubby fingers curling around hers, their laughter carried on the breeze.

For so long, she had been defined by the fight, by the weight of her badge and responsibility it carried. Could she ever set it down?

Maybe. One day.

But not yet.

Four more years. She’d been voted in for four years.

And she was going to honor that with every ounce of her strength. But beyond that…

For the first time in a long time, the horizon wasn’t just the edge of the world—it was a beginning. And life didn’t feel like a weight…

It was a choice.

The End

WHAT’S NEXT?

FREE BOOK OFFER

How did it all start for Rebecca West?

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You’ll also be the first to know as soon as

I have a new book available.

If you enjoyed the Shadow Island Series, I’d love to introduce you to my Sky Stryker Series.

Fatal Secrets (Sky Stryker Series: Book 1)

Sky Stryker arrives in New York armed with a pen and an eye for true crime. When she's pulled into the world of elite modeling by her gorgeous cousin, she expects to be writing about fun and glamor...not human trafficking and murder. When her cousin disappears, Sky finds herself working the case with the help of a handsome fashion COO, a sharp supermodel, a private investigator, and a retired FBI agent. As Sky delves into the secrets, scandal, and seediness of the modeling world, she doesn't realize the killer has a new target: Sky Stryker.

SERIES READING ORDER

Shadow’s Edge (Shadow Island Series: Bonus Story)

Shadow’s Secret (Shadow Island Series: Book One)

Shadow’s Captive (Shadow Island Series: Book Two)

Shadow’s Deadline (Shadow Island Series: Book Three)

Shadow’s Force (Shadow Island Series: Book Four)

Shadow’s Watch (Shadow Island Series: Book Five)

Shadow’s Hostage (Shadow Island Series: Book Six)

Shadow’s Ritual (Shadow Island Series: Book Seven)

Shadow’s Conspiracy (Shadow Island Series: Book Eight)

Shadow’s Mystery (Shadow Island Series: Book Nine)

Shadow’s Darkness (Shadow Island Series: Book Ten)

Shadow’s Flame (Shadow Island Series: Book Eleven)

Shadow’s Hoax (Shadow Island Series: Book Twelve)

Shadow’s Escape (Shadow Island Series: Book Thirteen)

Shadow’s Loss (Shadow Island Series: Book Fourteen)

Shadow’s Siege (Shadow Island Series: Book Fifteen)

Shadow’s Fate (Shadow Island Series: Book Sixteen)

Shadow’s Doom (Shadow Island Series: Book Seventeen)

Shadow’s Sacrifice (Shadow Island Series: Book Eighteen)

Shadow’s Collision (Shadow Island Series: Book Nineteen)

Shadow’s Reckoning (Shadow Island Series: Book Twenty)

MORE BY THE AUTHOR

Crime Fiction

Journey Russo Series (Completed)

Ellie Kline Series (Completed)

Winter Black Series

Autumn Trent Series

Emma Last Series

Charli Cross Series (Completed)

Shadow Island Series (Completed)

Amelia Storm Series

Stella Knox Series

Sky Stryker Series

A Villain’s Story Series (Completed)

Kylie Hatfield Series (Completed)

Psychological Thrillers

Don’t Tell

Gone Viral

Her Perfect Lie

UPCOMING NEW SERIES

Genevieve Steel Series (pre-order now)

Get ready to meet Genevieve Steel, an FBI Special Agent with the BAU—and a past that refuses to stay buried. Genevieve is driven by a chilling truth: her father is a notorious serial killer. And the person who put him behind bars? Genevieve herself. Determined to stop predators like her father, she’s hiding a secret of her own, and must confront a terrifying question: Does darkness run in her blood?

Claire Legacy (coming in 2025)

Home for Special Agent Claire Legacy is New Orleans: a city of shadows and secrets—a place where history whispers from haunted mansions, danger lurks in the bayous, and Mardi Gras masks hide more than just faces. Tasked with solving brutal crimes that strike too close to home, Claire must confront not only ruthless villains but also the secrets that shattered her family. As the cases pull her deeper into New Orleans’ tangled web of corruption and betrayal, Claire discovers that some legacies aren’t worth preserving—they’re meant to be broken.

Ivy Chance (coming in 2025)

When Ivy moves to Key West for a fresh start with the FBI, she’s focused on building a new life for herself and her four-year-old daughter. But fate has other plans. A chance encounter with someone who looks exactly like her turns Ivy’s world upside down. What begins as a shocking meeting with a supposed doppelgänger reveals a deeper truth—they’re twins, torn apart by madness and lies at birth, brought together by fate. But the secrets that kept them apart for so long aren’t done yet. And some truths are more dangerous than the killers Ivy hunts.

Indie Reign (coming in 2025)

In Sherwood County, Detective Indira "Indie" Reign and her K-9 partner, Broc, are an unstoppable team—both a little rough around the edges, fiercely loyal, and brilliant at what they do. Broc isn’t just a partner; he’s family, and together, they tackle the town’s darkest secrets. But when the cases start hitting close to home, Indie realizes the biggest mystery may be her own past. As bodies turn up and the line between friend and foe blurs, Indie and Broc will have to outwit villains who prey on innocence—while Indie confronts the truth behind her family’s disappearance.

Olympia Smith (coming in 2025)

Journey to Hawaii with FBI agent Olympia Smith. She might look like the all-American girl next door, but beneath her easygoing vibe lies a mind obsessed with puzzles and patterns. Using her sharp investigative skills and expertise in mentalism to solve Hawaii’s most violent crimes, Olympia’s greatest mystery is her own past. Orphaned at three with no memory of her family, her search for the truth will lead her into a dangerous web of secret societies, international espionage, and a family legacy steeped in betrayal. As bodies drop and secrets rise from Hawaii’s shadowy underbelly, Olympia will discover that some puzzles were never meant to be solved.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

How does one adequately express gratitude to all those who have transformed a shared dream into a stunning reality? Let us attempt to do just that.

First and foremost, our families deserve our deepest thanks. Their unwavering support and encouragement have been our bedrock, allowing us the time and energy to translate our collective imagination into the words that fill these pages. Their belief in our vision has been a constant source of strength and inspiration.

As coauthors, our journey has been uniquely collaborative and rewarding. Now, with Mary also embracing the additional role of publisher, our adventure has taken on an exciting new dimension. This transition from solely writing to also publishing has been both a challenge and a joy, opening doors to share our work more directly with you, our readers.

We are immensely grateful to the entire team at Mary Stone Publishing — a group who believed in our potential from the very beginning. Their commitment extends beyond editing our words; it encompasses the tireless efforts of designers, marketers, and support staff, all dedicated to bringing our stories to life. Their expertise, creativity, and passion have been vital in capturing the essence of our tales and sharing them with the world.

However, our greatest appreciation is reserved for you, our beloved readers. You took a chance on our book, generously sharing your most precious asset—your time. It is our fervent hope that the pages of this book have rewarded that generosity, offering you a journey worth taking and memories that linger.

With all our love and heartfelt appreciation,

Mary & Lori

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nestled in the serene Blue Ridge Mountains of East Tennessee, Mary Stone crafts her stories surrounded by the natural beauty that inspires her. What was once a home filled with the lively energy of her sons has now become a peaceful writer's retreat, shared with cherished pets and the vivid characters of her imagination.

As her sons grew and welcomed wonderful daughters-in-law into the family, Mary's life entered a quieter phase, rich with opportunities for deep creative focus. In this tranquil environment, she weaves tales of courage, resilience, and intrigue, each story a testament to her evolving journey as a writer.

From childhood fears of shadowy figures under the bed to a profound understanding of humanity's real-life villains, Mary's style has been shaped by the realization that the most complex antagonists often hide in plain sight. Her writing is characterized by strong, multifaceted heroines who defy traditional roles, standing as equals among their peers in a world of suspense and danger.

Mary's career has blossomed from being a solitary author to establishing her own publishing house—a significant milestone that marks her growth in the literary world. This expansion is not just a personal achievement but a reflection of her commitment to bring thrilling and thought-provoking stories to a wider audience. As an author and publisher, Mary continues to challenge the conventions of the thriller genre, inviting readers into gripping tales filled with serial killers, astute FBI agents, and intrepid heroines who confront peril with unflinching bravery.

Each new story from Mary's pen—or her publishing house—is a pledge to captivate, thrill, and inspire, continuing the legacy of the imaginative little girl who once found wonder and mystery in the shadows.

Discover more about Mary Stone on her website.

www.authormarystone.com

Lori Rhodes

As a tiny girl, from the moment Lori Rhodes first dipped her toe into the surf on a barrier island of Virginia, she was in love. When she grew up and learned all the deep, dark secrets and horrible acts people could commit against each other, she couldn’t stop the stories from coming out of the other end of her pen. Somehow, her magical island and the darkness got mixed together and ended up in her first novel. Now, she spends her days making sure the guests at her beach rental cottages are happy, and her nights dreaming up the characters who love her island as much as she does.

Connect with Mary online