Page 40 of Christmas Harbor Secrets
Rone disconnected the radio. Isobel’s hand found his sleeve, trembling. “Rone… what if it’s true?”
He stared at the radio.
“If it is, then we’re already too late. They know we have the drive.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The cursor blinkedagainst the dark screen like a pulse. Isobel stared at it until the glow blurred and the lines of text doubled. Her eyes burned from days of scrolling through files she barely understood—ledgers, coded messages, photos of docks and faces and signatures that made her skin crawl.
Somewhere between the first and the thousandth file, she’d forgotten what she was searching for. Maybe it wasn’t an answer anymore, just a piece of something solid she could believe about her father.
Rone sat across from her, silent but close. The lamp he’d rigged with a red bulb washed the cabin in muted light, soft enough not to bleed through the blinds. The laptop’s whirring fan filled the space between them. Outside, night had surrendered to the thin gray of dawn that painted the cove in fog.
To their relief, a cold front came through, chilling the air, providing relief since they couldn’t chance running the generator. Christmas music danced on the wind from far off, reminding her of the season.
Her hand trembled when she clicked another folder—Legal_State_Evidence_2007.Rone leaned forward, elbowsbraced on his knees. His body still radiated alertness even after no sleep. “Careful,” he murmured. “Some of these are duplicates of federal archives. Could be bait.”
She nodded, though her pulse was a drumline against her ribs. “Then let’s find what it’s baiting.”
Inside the folder was a series of numbered case files—each marked with dates and strings of initials. She scrolled past pages of transcripts until one caught her eye:
STATE OF FLORIDA VS. L. DE SANTIS (WITNESS: SHANE DANIELS)
Her mouth went dry. “Rone…”
He was already moving closer, his shadow falling across the screen. “Shane Daniels. Shade.”
Isobel opened the file.
At first, it was just legal jargon—charges, witness statements, procedural notations. But then…
Witness granted conditional immunity in exchange for full testimony against the organization known as the Laurel Tide Group.Protective custody to follow sentencing. Official record to state subject deceased in custody transfer, per federal directive.
She blinked at the words, her heart clawing upward into her throat. Air hollowed from her lungs. “They faked his death.”
Rone exhaled hard through his nose, his hand braced against the table. “They made it look like he was killed in prison. Standard deep cover misdirection. But this—” he tapped the screen “—this means the feds helped him disappear.”
Her thoughts stumbled over themselves. “He wasn’t killed… he was hiding. His name had been Shane. My father, Mel Lane. That wasn’t his real name; that’s why I could never find a trace of him anywhere. That’s why my mother would never tell me the truth about why he’d left us.”
Rone’s gaze softened. “Hiding from them. From Laurel Tide.”
She scrolled down, her pulse pounding in her ears. The next document was a memo—fragmented, blurred at the edges like it had been scanned too many times.
Subject: Relocation Assignment Pending. Recommend full identity wipe. Subject requests non-contact clause with remaining family due to risk level.
Isobel’s breath caught. “Non-contact clause…”
Rone looked at her, but she couldn’t stop reading.
Subject cites personal relationship with civilian (redacted). Request rejected for another relocation of subject and civilian. Civilian aware of subject’s full background.
Further down.
Subject agrees to reintegrate into former life; in exchange, all information of previous testimony and relationship with civilian wiped from the record. All WITSEC records destroyed and relationship with civilian redacted.
Her throat burned. “The civilian has to be my mother.”
Rone didn’t speak. His silence was the kind that meant he already knew.
