Page 35 of Against the Wind

Carson scrubbed a hand over his face. “Like we needed more problems for this island. Did you get what you needed?”

“Got as much as I think we were gonna get out of him. Anything he said flag for you or connect to other criminal activity on the island?”

“No. Your task force has been in touch before asking about the same, but mostly things have been quiet here. There’s alwayssome drug stuff that comes up during tourist season, but mostly it seems to be coming from off-island. Marijuana. Some harder party shit. If Hatterwick is being used as a drop point for anything more serious, it’s the first I’m hearing of it. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one damned bit.”

Neither did I. But I was reasonably sure Hayes would consider this sufficiently credible intel to establish a presence on Hatterwick for further investigation. If I had my way, I’d be a part of it.

Carson and I stepped out of the interrogation room. I spotted Shelton in the bullpen.

“Chief, Teague radioed in. He confirmed that Willa Sutter did actually find human remains on her land.”

“Well, fuck,” Carson spat.

My focus sharpened. “Human remains? Where?” Was this the missing pilot of the boat that had washed up?

“North end of the island. Atlantic side. He said it looks like they’ve been there for a while. Skeletal. Probably got uncovered by the storm.”

Not the missing boat pilot, then.

Carson went still, his face losing a shade or two of color. “We need to get out there.”

Shelton’s own face was grave. “You think it could be?—”

“We don’t know. We do this by the fucking book in case it is.”

“Can I offer my assistance?”

Carson shook his head. “This is island business. You’ve done enough.”

It seemed I was dismissed. I recognized closing ranks when I saw it, and I had enough of my own shit to deal with. But as I made my way out of the station something about the encounter kept circling my brain. Something about the name of the woman reporting? Willa? Why was that familiar?

It wasn’t until I’d made it half a block down the street that I remembered. One of Gabi’s friends was named Willa. And it sounded like she’d stumbled upon a mess of trouble.

TWENTY-ONE

GABI

I rubbed my tired eyes, finally allowing myself to feel the bone-deep exhaustion from the past twenty-four hours. The stream of patients had slowed to a trickle as afternoon crept in. Most injuries had been minor—cuts, sprains, one broken arm from someone who’d slipped off a roof trying to determine how bad the damage was from a tree that had fallen on his house. He’d been lucky that was the only thing that had broken. We’d handled it all without a problem, and I was so beyond grateful for the nurses and EMTs, and for the retired GP on vacation who’d showed up to volunteer his services this morning.

Through the community center windows, I watched crews clearing fallen trees from the roads. The hum of chainsaws had become background noise. Word was that power would be restored to most of the island by nightfall, which was a minor miracle.

“Dr. Carrera, why don’t you take a break?” Betty Jo Freeman, one of our nurses, touched my arm. “We can handle things for a while.”

I nodded, realizing I hadn’t eaten since the protein bar I’d scarfed down at dawn. My legs felt wobbly as I stood, and that’s when I saw him. Daniel moved through the crowd with purpose,his Coast Guard uniform muddy and wrinkled. My heart did that familiar stutter of surprise and joy. I still wasn’t used to seeing him here on Hatterwick. I wasn’t used to seeing him anymore at all.

But something was off. His jaw was set, brows drawn together in that way that meant serious business. My stomach clenched. Had they found something in the wreckage of that boat? Was he being called away already? Damn it, I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him again. Not with everything still so unsettled between us.

He caught my eye across the room and picked up his pace. The determined expression on his face made my pulse race as he approached. Whatever news he carried, it was clear this wasn’t going to be a casual conversation.

“Hey.” His voice was low, urgent. “Can you get away for a bit?”

My stomach dropped. “Betty Jo, I’m taking fifteen.”

She waved me off without looking up from her charts.

Daniel led me down the hall to an empty classroom that had clearly been used for kids’ summer programming. The walls were covered in children’s artwork, bright crayon drawings a stark contrast to his grim expression.

“What’s going on?”

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