Page 49 of Grave Matter

“Fuck,” I swear. “Why the hell wasn’t that in your brochure highlighting the dangers? Warning: in addition to not having internet access, students might stumble into a bear, a rabid wolf, or become unsubscribed to life.”

“It’s not funny, Syd,” he says, his tone cold.

My eyes widen. “I don’t think it’s funny. I think it’s horrific. Don’t you have to disclose that or something? Shouldn’t this be in the news?”

“What happens here never makes the news unless Madrona approves it,” he says, a bitter tinge to his voice. “After the third death, we put fail-safes up.”

“Yourcounseling is a fail-safe?” I ask incredulously. “No offense.”

It could explain why he has to record everything. Maybe he goes back over the footage and looks for the signs.

I hope to hell he doesn’t find any in me.

“It has been.”

“But you just said after the third death, you started counseling. When did the fourth death happen?”

“It was the researcher, a couple of years ago,” he says quietly. “It was…unexpected.”

I shake my head. “Damn. So you were called here just to try to keep the students and researchers from dying? No pressure or anything.”

He chuckles, his grave expression loosening. “No, actually. I’m not here because I’m a psychologist. I’m here because I’m a neurosurgeon. They needed someone when they started doing clinical trials. Of course, I happen to have a license in psychology. The two go hand in hand.”

“You’re a neurosurgeon?” Somehow, he got even sexier.

“Yes, well, I’ve heard all the brain surgery jokes, believe me,” he says, smiling slightly as he starts walking again. “To be honest, I much prefer psychology. People fascinate me. The brain is interesting in of itself, but it’s the people who possess the brain that, well, to be sentimental, I guess they give me my purpose.”

I follow as he veers off down a narrow deer trail. “Where are we going?”

“Back to the lodge,” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder. “You have breakfast waiting.”

“Honestly, I’m not very hungry anymore,” I say. “I would rather talk to you.”

I want to know more about the suicides.

I want to know more about you.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Fallen branches snap under our feet as we walk, robins calling to each other from a nearby alder. “Very well,” he says. “We can talk on my boat. If you don’t mind, of course.”

Joy fizzes up inside me. He’s inviting me on his boat?

“I’d like that,” I say, feeling so terribly shy all of a sudden. I dab the handkerchief at my nose again, and luckily, the blood has stopped. “Gives me a chance to wash up before the students wonder what happened to my nose.”

“You must promise to eat something though,” he says. “I’ll whip you up some breakfast.”

“Oh, no, seriously, I don’t?—”

“It’s no bother, Syd. I like to cook. And you need to eat. It’s a requirement this morning.”

A few seconds pass before I dare to say, “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy?”

We step out onto the stone path leading to the docks, where I walk beside him.

“Some people like that I’m bossy,” he says with a smirk.

I bet.

I follow him down the ramp, the tide high so that it’s almost level, then to his boat.

---