Page 36 of Christmas Harbor Secrets
He rose, rolling his shoulders, stretching thestiffness from his neck. “Tide’s changing soon,” he murmured. “We should move while there’s cover. Less noise. Fewer eyes.”
Isobel nodded, grateful for something that wasn’t silence. “Move where?”
“Out past the bridge. I know a cove where we can hide in the cover of mangroves. That’ll keep us out of sight until I can figure out our next step.”
“And if they come back?”
His mouth tightened. “They won’t find us twice.”
Echo stirred at his feet, yawning. Rone crouched, scratching the dog’s chest. “Alright, big guy. Last chance before we shove off.”
Isobel smiled faintly. “Even heroes need bathroom breaks.”
Rone’s mouth twitched—the closest he came to smiling back. He reached for the latch at the back door, opening it enough for Echo to slip through. The night air rolled in, damp and cold with salt.
Echo trotted down the ramp, nails clicking on the wood before disappearing around the corner of the pilings.
Rone checked his watch, then the waterline. “Five minutes,” he said. “Tide’ll turn by then.”
Isobel leaned against the doorway, arms folded, eyes following the rippling reflections in the water. “Hard to believe all this could hide so much,” she whispered.
Rone didn’t answer. His gaze was on the horizon now, scanning the darkness as though it might reveal its secrets.
Minutes passed. The tide began to let go, allowing them to cruise out of the marina.
She turned back to him. “I’ll call Echo in.”
“Make it quick. I’ll fire up the engine.”
She nodded and stepped outside. The air bit cold against her skin, and the boards were slick beneath her bare feet. “Echo?” she called softly. The sound of her voice felt swallowed by the night.
Nothing answered.
She tried again, louder this time. “Echo. Come!”
Still nothing. Only the lap of the tide, the groan of a fender brushing the dock, the faint whistle of wind through rigging.
Her heart kicked. “Rone?” she called over her shoulder.
The quiet raised the fine hairs on her neck. Echo didn’t wander. Not without checking back. Not without that single soft bark that saidI’m fine, I’m here.
She took another step down the dock, the light from the trawler fading behind her. The shadows grew thicker, pressing close. “Echo, come on, boy,” she said again, voice tight with worry now.
And then she heard it.
A sound, low and steady beneath everything else. At first, she thought it was wind through the pilings. But it grew, deepened, rolled through the water like the growl of something vast waking beneath the surface.
A hum.
Not loud, like a small engine fading away.
A bark snapped from a distance. Her stomach dropped.
Something glinted at her feet.
Echo’s collar lay in the weak pool of light from the stern lamp—twisted, the clasp snapped.
Rone didn’t movefor a beat. Not when the collar gleamed up from the wet boards. Not when Isobel whispered Echo’s name like it was a prayer that had missed its mark.
