Page 92 of All Along The Watchtower

But we all knew that if that’s what it was, the entire island wouldn’t be out searching. The gathering darkness and growing crowd of volunteers told a different story. One that tasted of old fears and fresh panic.

Thunder cracked overhead, making us all jump. The first heavy drops of rain splattered against the pavement, dark spots blooming on the concrete like bruises spreading across skin.

“We need to find them before this storm really hits,” Sawyer said. “Exposure will up the risk of hypothermia.”

Ford turned toward the nearest search quadrant, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle ticking. Sawyer grabbed his shoulder, anchoring him in place. “I’ve got extra rain gear in my truck.”

I followed Ford and Sawyer to his truck, parked at the edge of the lot. The wind whipped harder, pelting us with stinging drops of rain that felt more like ice than water. Sawyer yanked open the crew cab door and pulled out a pile of bright yellow slickers and rubber boots, the kind fishermen wore when the weather turned mean.

Ford’s hands shook as he tried to pull on the rain gear, fumbling with the snaps like a man who’d forgotten how his own fingers worked. The tremors spread up his arms until his whole body vibrated with barely contained panic.

I caught his wrists, stilling his fumbling fingers. “Let me help.” My own heart was racing, but I forced myself to stay calm, to be the steady one for once.

His eyes met mine, wild with fear, the usually vibrant green now dark with desperation. “I can’t lose her, Bree. I just found her.” His voice cracked on the last word.

“We won’t lose her.” I helped him into the slicker, zipping it up with steady hands. “The whole island is looking. We’ll find her.”

“What if?—”

“No.” I gripped his face between my palms, forcing him to focus on me. His skin was cold from the rain, but I could feel the tension thrumming through him. After all the times he’d been my rock, it was time for me to return the favor. “No what-ifs. We need you present and thinking clearly. Peyton needs you thinking clearly.”

He drew in a ragged breath, then another. Some of the panic faded from his eyes, replaced by determination. He covered my hands with his, pressing his forehead to mine. “Thank you.”

“Always.” The word slipped out before I could stop it, heavy with meaning neither of us could afford to examine right now.

Sawyer cleared his throat and held out flashlights, tactfully ignoring our moment. “Sun’s gonna set soon. We’ll need these.” The beam of his own light cut through the growing darkness.

I released Ford to take one, checking the batteries. Thunder boomed closer now, and the rain fell harder, drumming against my slicker. We needed to move fast before the storm got worse and any traces of Peyton’s path disappeared completely.

Ford squared his shoulders, jaw set in that stubborn way I remembered so well. “Where do we start?”

CHAPTER 42

FORD

We caught a break when the police received a tip from a tourist who’d been taking a selfie video from the parking lot of the park that led into the maritime forest at the center of the island. On reviewing the footage prior to posting, she spotted the girls ducking into the woods, seemingly alone. Having seen the news of the girls’ disappearance, she’d brought the footage to Carson. The video had been taken around two o’clock, and was the latest confirmed sighting. So the search had been moved to the park.

Carson was now certain that the girls were simply playing hooky and that we’d find them in the woods, maybe with a sprained ankle or broken bone that was preventing them from making it out on their own. I’d never hoped so much for normal teenage delinquent behavior in my life, but my gut said this was nothing so simple. I didn’t know if that was based on anything real or if it was because the parking lot was right near Osprey Beach, where Gwen Busby had disappeared. My brain bombarded me with memories of that other search all those years ago. Never mind that the lowering dark and the frigid rain were nothing like the bright, sticky heat of that early summer day.

I remembered Miles Busby’s panic as we’d searched and searched for his sister. The same panic bubbled beneath my skin. A desperate determination to burn the world to save my child. Had Miles been making fevered deals with whatever deity might be listening? Or had he been thinking about the looks on his parents’ faces if they failed to find her? Anticipating the blame that they’d heap on his head for failing to protect his sister? The blame he’d no doubt lived with for thirteen years.

The beam of my flashlight cut through sheets of rain, searching for any sign of my daughter. Every shadow looked like a body. Every rustle of leaves in the wind sounded like a cry for help. My heart hammered against my ribs, threatening to burst.

“Ford.” Bree’s voice anchored me, her hand squeezing my arm. “We’re going to find her.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. She’d insisted on staying with me when the search parties split up, probably sensing I was close to losing it completely. The steady pressure of her touch kept me focused, kept me moving forward instead of spiraling into panic.

Somewhere in these woods was my little girl. My daughter, who I’d only just found. Who I was only beginning to know. Who trusted me to keep her safe. And I’d failed her.

“Left,” Sawyer called softly, redirecting our line to maintain the search grid.

I adjusted course, scanning the ground for any trace. A footprint, a scrap of clothing, anything that might tell us which way they went. But the rain had turned the forest floor into soup, obscuring any tracks that might have been there.

Frustrated, I lifted the beam, panning it ahead to check my course. And I saw something. A quick glint where no glint should be. I swept the light back, trying to find it again.

There. A hint of reflection from a dark knot in an old oak tree.

“Hold up.” I approached the tree, heart in my throat. Nothing natural would catch light that way.

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