Page 34 of Fire Island (Fire Island #2)

Thirty-Two

CALLUM

T he officer at the Bay Shore station stares at me like I have five heads.

“What do you mean, the case is closed?” I snap.

“No further evidence was brought forward, so the case was closed out.”

“You mean, you let them get off without bothering to chase it up. Find the assholes who did this to her.”

“Sir, we have limited resources and too many cases of women being assaulted ...” He sighs, like I’m the waste of time. “If anything substantial arises, report it to the officer on duty.”

“I’m giving you this.” I hand him the note that was left on Firefly’s console. “This is further evidence.”

“It’s a note. Not exactly hard evidence of a serious crime.”

The officer bites into his sandwich, which is obviously more important than the life of the woman I love. “I want to talk to your supervisor. Now.”

“He’s away for a training for the rest of the week.”

“Maybe you should have gone with.” I snatch up the letter and stalk from the police station. Useless motherfuckers.

I’ll handle this bullshit myself.

If these clowns think they are getting anywhere near Evie, they’re fucking delusional. And their lifespan just got a hell of a lot shorter.

I march my way back to the docks to find Em and Evie by Firefly. Em’s in uniform, arms crossed, chatting away about god knows what. He’s done a great job of occupying her while I paid the police a visit, as much of a waste of time as it was.

“Errands all done?” she asks with the sweetest smile.

“Yep, all done. Shouldn’t you be working, bud?” I say to Em.

He rolls his eyes at me and slaps me on the shoulder as he starts to head back to the watchhouse. “See you later, Miss Evie.” He waves at her.

“Bye, Em.” She returns the wave, and we board Firefly. The sooner we make it home, the better.

“Can I drive?” Evie says.

I’m taken by surprise. She’s never asked to captain the boat before. But she should learn and get her license if she’s going to be staying. The last thing I want is for her to feel trapped or dependent.

“If you want.” I haul in the mooring lines and head for the cabin.

“So, ropes off. Then engine check?”

“Lines, but you got it.”

She looks damn excited.

Who would have figured . . .

“Throttle down and guide her in by the jetty. I’ll dump the fenders.

” I leave the cabin, tossing the long, soft tubes over the side to keep Firefly from crashing into the rickety old structure.

The engine dies down to a low idle as we come in close to the jetty.

Back in the cabin, Evie checks the dials of the console like we spoke about on the way home before killing the engine.

She’s a natural.

“Pretty good for a first-timer,” I say.

She grins at me, and I sweep her up in my arms, depositing her on my waist.

“Can I drive next time?”

“Absolutely, baby girl.”

“Good.”

“Wonder what we’ll find in the house?” I grumble as she studies my face that’s not holding the excitement hers is.

She drops to her feet. “I’m sure everything is fine.”

Only one way to find out, I guess. We head up the jetty, and I shoulder the overnight bag. Everything is quiet and just the way we left it from the outside.

Evie goes first, and I brace for a mess.

She pushes the door open, and her face falls.

Our house is trashed.

Furniture tossed, books scattered. The sofa’s been sliced up, its shredded fabric moving in the breeze.

“No,” she utters, stepping over the threshold. “Oh no.”

“Reese!” I stalk through the rubble, half expecting him to wander over from the shack, or down from upstairs. “Reese, where the hell are you?”

“Cal...” Evie’s voice is too quiet. I turn back. She’s standing by the refrigerator, her back to me. She raises her hand to touch something sticking out of the fridge.

A knife.

A knife is stabbed into the appliance. Something flaps in the breeze against its piercing hold.

Evie rips the paper from the blade and reads it. “Oh god.” Her hand slides over her mouth.

I round the counter and take the note from her hands.

“For fuck’s sake, don’t these low-life pieces of shit ever give up.” I crumple the note in my fist, stalking through the living room, kicking debris from my path.

Evie’s staring at the floor, her face distraught. “Time’s almost up.”

“What?” I halt my pacing.

“Time. It’s almost up. I can be there in under an hour.”

I fly back to where she stands, grabbing her face. “No, you’re not going anywhere near them.”

Fire lances through my chest, flooding my veins as anger commandeers my senses.

“You can’t lose him, Cal. You just found him.”

“I just found you, too!”

I can’t help the volume of my voice. I can’t help the sick feeling in my gut that comes with having to fucking choose.

“Fuck!” I slam a fist into the stupid refrigerator like it’s responsible for this clusterfuck.

Evie stands a little taller, setting her shoulders back. “I’ll go, make sure they release Reese, and Em can pick me up like last time.”

I’m shaking my head so hard my vision blurs. “That is not happening. Em and I will go down there and bring him back.”

“You don’t have that kind of time. We’ve been gone for a day and a night already. That’s already twenty-four hours. We?—”

“We have till tonight, sunset at the latest.” I slump against the counter and shove my head in my hands.

“What are you talking about?”

I pull the note from my back pocket and pass it to her.

She stares at it for too long before sliding it from my fingers. Opening it, she tilts her head, her jaw clenching. She knows exactly what the note is before she reads a word.

Her breaths shorten as her eyes track across the page and back again. With every line, her face tightens further.

“Where did you find this?” she finally says, setting the paper on the counter like it could explode and take us both out at any second.

“On the console of Firefly last night, when I went to grab the overnight bag.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then? We could have come home.” Her inhale is staccato. Her hands wring around themselves. “We would have had better options. And Ree?—”

I take her arms in my hands. “We couldn’t have known. I didn’t know they would take him. I thought they were in Bay Shore.”

She shrugs my hold off and paces around the living room. Her hand flies up to her mouth but a scream rips past her trembling fingers. Padding to the sofa, she grips it with white knuckles.

“I’m so sick of this! The torment. The manipulation... I’m done. I’m. Done.”

She stalks to the fridge and tugs the knife from the door. “I’m done being a side character in my own story.”

“Evie, no .”

“Stay here, Cal. I won’t risk you again. Never again. I’ll bring him back, I promise.”

I fly at her. “No fucking way. You go, I go.”

“ You find Emmett,” she says. Now her voice is too calm. “Meet me at the southern tip in an hour and a half.”

“Evie, please , don’t do this.”

She slides the knife into her back pocket before cupping my face. Her wobbly smile breaks as she searches my expression. “You changed my life, Callum McCreary.”

Tears swell in those brown eyes.

“Please stop,” I rasp, sobs spiraling up my throat. I can’t let her go by herself.

I won’t.

But I can’t fight this battle for her, or she’ll always be looking over her shoulder.

Fucking Christ.

I stand frozen to the spot, torn in utter fucking half.

We have no time to wait for the police. Hell, getting Em here in time will be a stretch.

Lips crashing to mine, she kisses me like I’m her last meal. Her hands slip from my face as she whispers, “Tha gaol agam ort.”

I slam my jaw shut, molars aching with the grinding I need to do to keep my damn mouth shut. To let her fight her own battle. To leave.

Opening the door, she hesitates, looking back, and I fall back against the counter. The sweetest smile blooms over her face. A moment later, the door closes, and she’s gone.

I shove my hands through my hair, loosing a roar that would see the dead wake and see them roll over in their goddamn graves.

Feeling as helpless as a man can get, I stumble to the radio.

“Fi—Fire Island to watchhouse.”

Come on, Em.

Static mocks me with its siren squeal.

“Fire Island to watchhouse. Respond!”

The radio whines as it crackles. “Watchhouse to Fire Island. Calm your farm, McCreary.”

Errol.

For fuck’s sake.

I slide my forearm over my forehead and hang my head. Slamming a fist into the old desk, I curse him and his entire bloodline before responding, “Errol, I need Emmett. Over here. NOW.”

“Well, you don’t make the orders, command does. Unless there’s an emerg?—”

The radio squeals and goes dead.