Page 46 of Island Homecoming

Question two: how would she react?

The rest of the questions didn’t matter nearly as much.

His boots crunched on the oyster shell path as he made his way to the back door. The lights popped on, as programmed, when the sensors picked up his movement. A detail he no longer took for granted.

He had the door halfway open when a gunshot shattered the peaceful morning. His first reaction was denial—trying to justify that sound with a more benign explanation. But that wasn’t the crack of a tree limb, or a car backfiring. It was a gun.

The second gunshot yanked his sleep-deprived brain right up to speed. Gunfire wasn’t the norm. Gunfire meant trouble. Shouts came from the direction of the warehouse. Nash had to assume that whatever the police had been waiting for was going down.

He pulled the door closed and locked it once more, his mind consumed with Jess. Where was she? His stomach knotted with worry, cold and tight. Had she been forced to use her weapon to protect herself or others?

She would always do the right thing for others. She needed someone to do the right thing for her. He could be that man.

He started toward the road, to offer some kind of support, but a sharp whistle caught his attention. Had to be a signal. Someone was in the trees, coming from the coast. An excellent route if they planned to ambush the team at the warehouse. Not good.

Caldwell and his people knew what they were doing, but Nash’s instincts lit up like a beacon. He inched along the fence, using the tall shrubs as cover. This was all wrong. Someone from the protection team should be watching, guarding this access.

Another whistle, sharp and short. And this time, Nash saw the flare of a flashlight. On and off again in quick succession, from exactly where someone on the perimeter team should be stationed. Jess had been assigned to that spot before.

Crap.

He crouched low and pulled out his phone to send a text message to Frasier. As a long-running lawn care client, Nash had his personal number. While he waited for a reply, he messaged Jess too, but neither of them responded.

The logical move was to stay out of it. He was a civilian. But he just couldn’t sit here and wait it out. Jess was out there, and clearly someone on her team was working against whatever plan they’d made.

He scrambled around the side of the building and ran down the street, toward the warehouse and the increasing noise. If anyone was watching, maybe they’d mistake him for a jogger. The flashing lights of state patrol cars weren’t much comfort when Nash took in the whole scene. Officers had used their cars to block the street, but they were crouching behind open car doors, with guns trained on the warehouse. The shouting seemed to be inside and, thankfully, without the accompaniment of more gunfire.

Nash realized that the increased number of guards were creating a perimeter to keep this incident from spilling over the rest of the island. He also noticed that Jess wasn’t in that line. Nash glanced toward the boat, thinking about her first night on duty. No one had noticed him, so he cut back from the street to get a closer look at the dock.

Suddenly the boat lurched, slamming into the dock as another spate of gunfire erupted. Everyone seemed to move at once as the dock drew more attention.

Jess was in the boat, he knew it in his gut even before she appeared right behind a man dressed in black and searching for an escape. Her gun was drawn and Nash was sure she was shouting orders for him to stop. He couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his pulse in his ears and the sawing of his ragged breath.

Sgt. Burrell and an officer Nash didn’t recognize ran over, blocking access to the shore. It was surrender or escape into the water. The man slid to a stop, his head going back and forth as he debated his options. As he twisted, early light bounced off the knife in his hand.

To Nash’s horror, the man turned and lunged for Jess.

She didn’t pull the trigger. The officers were too close. Instead, she slammed her gun into her holster and ducked low, rushing toward the smuggler. She caught him at the knees and the move tipped him into the water before he could hurt her.

Relief surged through Nash and he gulped in deep breaths. She was fine. Safe. He might not like how her profession put her in harm’s way, but he sure as hell respected that she was well trained and capable. Able to handle herself.

He heard voices over a radio and a boat motor kicked into action. To his surprise, Coast Guard personnel chased after the man attempting to swim away.

Nash braced against the trunk of a palmetto tree as he gathered himself. It had to be over.

Had to be.

Jess, Burrell, and the other man walked up the dock toward the warehouse, just in time to watch Caldwell march out two other people, also dressed in dark clothing, toward the waiting state patrol cars.

Nash started to head back to the nursery, telling himself Jess would bring him all the details later, when he remembered that signal. Who had been behind that beam of light, inviting the smugglers to the warehouse? And why signal at all when the odds of success were so low?

He cut through the trees, to the place where he’d seen that signal exchange.

A few yards ahead, a burly man in dark green camouflage burst up out of the scrub and ran.

Nash hollered at him to stop, chasing him at an angle that would push him toward the warehouse crawling with law enforcement. “Give it up man! You’re the last man standing.”

The guy hesitated at the edge of the trees, then turned and fired his gun. Three quick blasts that chewed up the bark on the trees closest to Nash. “Get the hell outta here!”

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