her a stick to wave over the fire.
Lana hated to cut the visit short, but safety was her number one priority. She’d call Anderson Greene for an update. The sailing fanatic was obsessed with the weather.
“Hello,” he answered, a bit out of breath.
“Hey, Anderson, it’s Lana. You okay?”
“Yep, just harder to get around with the sciatica acting up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What can I do for you?”
“What’s the scoop on the weather tonight?”
“You’re not scheduling a trip to Salish, are you?”
“We’re already on island, why?”
“There’s a front coming in from the north. Last I heard…fifty-mile-an-hour—”
The line went dead.
“Anderson?”
Loss of communication, not a good sign. She decided to play it safe and head back. She’d give her customers coupons for her snack shop, Stone Soup, to make up for having to leave the island early.
Glancing across the group, she caught sight of her teenage helpers, Ashley and Sketch. They held hands as Sketch dangled a marshmallow over the flame.
Melancholy washed over Lana, but only for a second. She’d made herself a promise not to let the darkness consume her like it had years ago after Dad died.
Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile and wandered to the group of tourists.
“Hey, guys. This will have to be your last marshmallow. The weather’s a little quirky so we’re going to head back.”
A middle-aged couple stood, ready to go; a mom and dad with three kids encouraged them to finish their toasting; Ashley and Sketch shared a quick kiss and then started packing up supplies.
Lana did a quick head count. Odd. They were two short. She counted again. Sixteen, including herself. The boat’s capacity was seventeen plus Lana, which meant two people had wandered off. She checked her list of tourists on her smartphone. Yep, just as she thought: the teenage couple must have wandered off. Although she’d asked the guests to stay within sight of the campfire, she knew that some teens suffered from selective hearing.
She motioned to Sketch and Ashley. “We’re two short. Sketch, come with me.”
She grabbed a lantern and motioned him toward the trail leading to the north side of the island. Sketch glanced over his shoulder. The full moon illuminated the playful smile he shot back at Ashley.
“You guys are adorable,” Lana said. And truth be told, she was a bit envious.
She missed being in a relationship, having someone join her for a movie or hiking adventure in the nearby state park. Yet being in the wrong relationship was worse than being alone. She’d learned that the hard way during her eight months with Vincent.
“Why are we going this way?” Sketch asked.
“I’m guessing they went to Lover’s Point.”
“Why?”
“I was a teenager once.” A regretful smile played across her lips at the memory of young love. She often wished she hadn’t pushed Gregory away back in high school. But then, she’d fallen into a dark place after Dad had died and had pretty much pushed everyone away.
“If you and Ashley were out here alone, basking in the glow of a full moon, wouldn’t you head for the most romantic spot in the Pacific Northwest?” she teased.
A shrill scream cut through the air. Lana froze for a second. Did she really hear…?
A second scream echoed from the north end of the island. Lana and Sketch instinctively rushed toward the source of the sound. They zipped around Quinault Rock and spotted the two teenagers standing at the shoreline. The boy held his girlfriend in his arms, patting her back. Maybe they’d just had a fight?
“You guys okay?” Lana asked, out of breath.
Sketch poked Lana’s shoulder, then pointed at the water.
Lana glanced down…
Into the face of a bloated dead body.
* * *
What a fool. The man actually thought he could swim five miles back to Port Whisper from the island? In his shape?
It had been a mistake to hunt so close to home. I realize that now. But I couldn’t help myself. I saw how Rick Washburn bullied his female, how they fought, how he made her cry….
Adrenaline had surged through my body. It had been a month since I deleted Lars Gunderson. Too long. So I lured Ricky to the island for a private tour.
Unfortunately he didn’t enjoy my game of control and defeat.
He ran. Dove. Drowned.
And now the Feds will invade my charming little town.
A pleasant, boring town. Just the way I like it.
But not anymore, not with the FBI sniffing around, trying to find me.
I’ll have to take care of that; redirect their attention.
Not so close to home this time.
* * *
FBI agent Garrett Drake couldn’t believe his current case had led him back to Port Whisper where the memories still burned fresh in his mind, and even more painful in his chest.
He’d think God was playing a trick on him except he didn’t believe in God. Not after everything he’d seen. Not after everything he’d lost.
Shove it back, way back.
His escort, Scooner Locke, pulled the motorboat up to the dock, and a man tied them off. Garrett didn’t like involving civilians, but the chief and his staff were all at the scene. Garrett jumped out of the boat and started up the dock. If the body was really Rick Washburn’s…
It was a game changer.
The killer had altered his pattern, which meant either he’d made a mistake—which would put Garrett that much closer to nailing him—or the killer was escalating.
Which made him less predictable and twice as dangerous.
“Special Agent Drake?” A man approached him. “I’m Chief Morgan Wright.”
They shook hands. The chief, mid-thirties, wore black jeans, a denim jacket and a Mariners baseball cap. He was probably off duty when he got the call.
“It’s up that hill on the left.” The chief led him along a trail.
“Who found him?”
