Page 30 of Against the Wind

“Looks like we’re not getting through there. Want to cut over to the sound side?”

Gabi nodded, already turning down the side street. Her sneakers crunched over scattered pine needles and chunks of bark. I matched her stride, keeping an eye on loose debris that could still come down. The wind had died, but damaged trees were unstable after storms.

The beach access path opened up ahead of us. Past the dunes, the sound churned gray-brown, still agitated from the storm. White-capped waves slapped against the shore—unusual for this typically calm side of the island.

We picked our way along the debris-strewn beach. Pieces of dock floated in the shallows. Torn fishing nets tangled with marsh grass. A plastic cooler lid stood partly embedded in the sand. Someone’s deck chair had been twisted into an almost unrecognizable knot.

I stopped short. “Hey. You see that?”

Half-buried in wet sand at the water’s edge lay the bow section of what looked like a small fishing boat, maybe twenty feet long. Even from here I could see splintered edges where it had broken apart.

“Think someone’s boat broke loose from its moorings during the storm?” Gabi asked.

“Maybe.”

Waves lapped at my boots as I circled around to the back of the wreck. The splintered edges of the bow showed fresh damage. This definitely hadn’t been sitting here long. Sand had already started filling the exposed cabin space, but I could make out built-in storage lockers and what remained of a small berth.

The break wasn’t clean. The back half had been torn away violently, probably by the force of the waves during the storm. No signs of blood or bodies, which was good. But something about this wreck nagged at me. The storage spaces looked custom-built in a way that wasn’t consistent with a craft of this age. Could be someone had been renovating. Or could be something else.

“Daniel!” Gabi’s voice carried over the sound of the waves. She stood about thirty yards down the beach, crouched near some debris tangled in marsh grass.

I picked my way across the wet sand to where she waited. As I got closer, I saw what had caught her attention—a rectangular white package wrapped in heavy clear plastic, maybe a foot long and four inches thick. The kind of professional-grade waterproof packaging used by drug runners.

My jaw tightened. Even partially buried in sand, there was no mistaking what it was. Pure, uncut cocaine. Worth tens of thousands on the street.

“Don’t touch it,” I said, though Gabi had already backed away.

I pulled my radio from my belt, keeping one eye on the package half-buried in the sand. “Echo Two-Seven, this is LaRue. Need immediate assistance about one click north of the marina on the sound side. Evidence recovery situation.”

“Copy that,” Vance’s voice crackled back. “En route. Five minutes.”

“Make it three.” I scanned the beach in both directions. No movement except waves and wind-blown debris. “We’ll need additional units to secure at least a quarter-mile perimeter.”

“Understood.”

I clicked off and turned to Gabi. “You should head back to the clinic.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m already here. I can help.”

“You’ve helped enough finding this. But now it’s an active crime scene.” I kept my voice gentle but firm. “And if whoever was running these drugs is still around, I don’t want them getting a look at you and thinking you can do anything to help recover their product.”

“Fine.” She backed further away from the package. “But come by the community center later to check in. Please.”

I could see her uncertainty. The assumption that my job was going to take over everything again. I’d just have to do everything possible to show she was a priority, no matter what happened with the investigation.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The sound of engines approached from the north end of the beach. Two ATVs appeared around the bend, Rawlings and Martinez at the controls. They killed the engines and dismounted, already pulling evidence collection gear from the cargo boxes.

Martinez surveyed the scene. “Found more than storm damage, huh?”

“Yeah. And there’s a wrecked boat about thirty yards that way that needs processing too.” I pointed south. “Looks custom-modified. Could be our transport.”

Vance nodded, already pulling on gloves. “Peterson is coordinating with local PD to get help securing the perimeter. Might take a bit. It’s not a big department.”

“Figured. What about Vance?”

“Helping clear the main road. He’ll be long shortly.”

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