Page 47 of Moonlit Hideaway
“I… I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing. I didn’t think anyone would track me to the island.”
He pulled her closer, his strong arms reassuring her. “This isn’t your fault. We’re doing the right thing. Marco won’t stopuntil you’re back under his control. This is the only way to draw him out and end this.”
“I know, but ratting on him goes against everything I’ve been taught.” Sierra gritted her teeth and swallowed. “Everyone will hate me for going to the FBI.”
“They might, but it’s the right thing to do.” He pointed back at the lighthouse. Its pulsing beam seemed to say goodbye as the ferry left the island in its wake. “We’ll be back—sooner than you think.”
Sierra wished she could be so assured, but there were so many ways their plan could blow up.
“I just wish there was another way…”
“Hey, think of it this way.” He kissed the side of her head. “We’re on our honeyweek vacation.”
“Honeyweek?” She couldn’t help but laugh. “Did you just make it up?”
“I’ve known you for a little over a week, and you’re my honey, so yes, our honeyweek to New Jersey. Perfect.”
“Ten days, but honeyweek works.” She felt a smile tugging at her lips despite the heaviness in her heart. Giving him a playful nudge, she teased, “You have a knack for seeing the sunny side of things.”
“Hey, I’m a man of simple pleasures,” he retorted, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled. “Besides, it can’t be any worse than some of the places your concert tours took you, right?”
“Trust me,” she replied with a smirk. “You have no idea.”
Now that he’d lightened her spirits, she could enjoy the spectacular view of the sound at night, the lapping of the water against the ferry, and the bobbing lights on the buoys.
Once they were on the road again, Sierra marveled at how different it was having Hank with her. When she’d arrived, she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, but now, inthe dark of the night, she was amazed at how smoothly the road unspooled between the twin lines of sand.
“I’ve got to say, these roads are brand new. How do they keep it going so well with no cracks or potholes?”
“The road crews work hard to keep the sand from washing over,” Hank explained, his eyes never leaving the road ahead. “Storms are frequent here. Get a bad nor’easter, and the ocean reclaims what’s hers.”
“Must be quite a sight during a storm,” she mused, imagining the relentless power of nature.
“Oh yes, the sea comes sweeping from the Atlantic, over the road, and then out to the sound. But the bulldozers are ready. This road is our lifeline, and the road crews are the real heroes out here.”
As they continued along the highway, the ghostly outlines of roofless houses near Rodanthe loomed in the darkness.
“The sea gives, and the sea takes away,” she mused. “How do people stay here when life is so uncertain?”
“Where is it ever certain?” He grinned at her, but she could tell he was proud of his heritage. “Outer Bankers are a resilient bunch. We know how to weather any storm.”
“Speaking of storms,” Sierra said, suddenly shy, “what’s your secret for handling them? I mean, you’re not only running an inn but raising a daughter and dealing with… well, me.”
“No secret, really. You learn to adapt and roll with the punches. And remember that there’s always sunshine after the rain.”
Sierra mulled over his words, appreciating the wisdom behind them. She gazed out at the moonlit dunes flowing past her window. She imagined the relentless power of the sea, constantly reshaping this slender strip of land. It reminded her of the way her life had been tossed about these past few years, molded by forces beyond her control—her father’s iron grip, themachinations of her sisters and their husbands, not knowing who to trust, and Marco’s insidious shadow—always in the background but now—more threatening than ever.
“Do you want me to take a turn at driving?” she asked. “So you can get some sleep?”
They planned to drive through the night and meet the agents at eight in the morning.
“Once we get past Virginia.” His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. She could sense the pain and trauma in his tone, and she wondered if it had something to do with his wife’s death.
She reached over and touched his arm. “Why Virginia?”
“There’s a spot on the highway on the way to Virginia Beach…” his voice tremored.
She waited for him to continue. The memories were haunting him. Even though she didn’t want to pry, her heart ached for him, and she wanted to support him and be the woman he turned to.
