Page 38 of Light of Day (Sea Smoke Island #1)

Her feet were cold and wet. So cold. Every part of her body felt slow and heavy and sluggish, even her eyelids. It took a force of will just to drag them open to a mere slit.

What she saw brought them open the rest of the way. Ocean water was sloshing over her feet in rippling waves. She yanked them back from the edge of the water, the heels of her boots dragging across rough sand, the kind composed of broken shells and pebbles.

Sand? Where was she?

Her mind was so foggy. Brain fog. She’d always been afraid of brain fog, afraid of losing her ability to think, to solve problems. That’s why I don’t drink, she thought. Then she said it aloud. “That’s why I don’t drink.”

Hearing her own voice grounded her. She was Heather Gretchen McPhee. Twenty-seven years old. Born and raised on Sea Smoke Island. “I’m Heather McPhee,” she said out loud, looking around. “Where the fuck am I?”

Was she still on Sea Smoke? She didn’t recognize her surroundings, possibly because she couldn’t see much.

It was dark in here, the only light coming from the same direction as the waves.

A cave? The only caves she knew about on Sea Smoke were on Lightkeeper Inn property, and strictly off limits.

They were considered a major safety hazard because at high tide they filled with water and it would be much too easy to drown there…

She scrambled to a kneeling position and felt above her head.

Rock arched overhead, slimy with algae or sea moss or who knew what.

She extended her arms to either side of her, feeling for where the walls might be.

On her left, she touched rock almost immediately.

To her right there was just air, which was a relief.

She didn’t need this situation to be any more claustrophobic than it already was.

Who had brought her here, and why? She didn’t remember anything after she’d tucked the flash drive?—

She unzipped her sodden right boot and reached inside her sock to make sure the flash drive was still there. Relief filled her when she felt the lump of plastic and metal. Her sock, protected by her boot, was damp, not wet, so hopefully the drive hadn’t been ruined.

Was the flash drive the reason someone had hit her from behind?

At the memory, pain throbbed at the back of her head.

A lump had formed back there, and she felt wetness—could be blood, could be residual wetness from being in the water.

But no, she realized a moment later. The rest of her hair wasn’t wet, and her clothes were damp, but not drenched.

Someone had brought her here in a boat. That meant they didn’t want her to die, because if they did, they could have just dumped her in the ocean like Denton.

That was good, right? Except…if this cave filled up with the tide, she might be trapped in here. Even if she could find a safe nook to keep her head above the water, if she didn’t get out of here, she’d die of exposure or hypothermia.

So many ways to die…

After tucking the flash drive into her bra, which was the driest spot she could think of, she shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms to get her blood moving. Propping herself on her elbows, she moved her legs in a bicycle motion that would hopefully do the same.

Who had bonked her on the head? Who had known she was in Room 232? Safiya? Of course not, that would make no sense. Why give her a flash drive, then knock her out and drag her to a cave?

Was it Judy Griffin? She wouldn’t put it past that intimidating dragon of a manager.

Maybe Heidi Ochoa had told someone where she was.

She racked her brain for everything she knew about these caves.

Only a few people had access to them, she was sure of that.

The Carmichael family, obviously, and their inner circle.

The guests probably didn’t even know about them.

The staff might. So she had to include them on the list. Islanders knew about them in a general way, but the Lightkeeper Inn was so strict in enforcing its boundaries that no one had actually seen them.

They were considered almost like folklore, similar to the pirate shipwreck.

Someone in the Carmichael inner circle must have brought her here.

She crawled to the edge of the water and felt the sand.

It was mostly dry above the lapping of the waves; that meant the tide was coming in.

How far would it come? Maybe this particular cave wouldn’t fill up.

She crouched down to peer out the opening, which was only about two feet high.

If someone had brought her here in a boat, the opening must have been bigger at that point.

So maybe it was close to high tide now. Would it be easier to swim out with an ebbing tide?

Her skin prickled at the very thought of getting into the water.

She hated ocean swimming, having never conquered that particular fear.

Besides, where would she swim to? She didn’t know the exact location of the caves.

They weren’t visible from the shoreline.

The only sure thing was that they were on the east side, on Lightkeeper property, and the currents could be hellaciously strong here.

She might get swept out to sea the moment she exited the cave. Would she be safer staying put?

She became aware of her feet getting colder.

Should she take her shoes and socks off and dry them out before anything else?

Also, she was thirsty. Unless there was a freshwater outlet somewhere in the cave, she could die of thirst while staring at the ocean.

She’d heard stories of sailors who went mad with thirst and drank the ocean water and perished.

So many ways to die.

Her busy mind, which had been occupied with calculating every angle to figure out what was going on, finally hit a wall.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked back and forth.

Would her mother know she was missing? It might take a couple days for her absence to sink in. Gabby didn’t have her phone. And Luke…

She’d blown off Luke. Why hadn’t she told him where she was going? Why had she automatically jumped to mistrust? He’d done nothing to deserve that.

Except be related to whoever had stuck her in this cave, most likely.

“Cunty Carmichaels,” she muttered out loud. “They think they can control everything. Like it’s their world and we’re just hanging around the edges begging for crumbs.”

Were they really so anxious about their reputation getting ruined that they were willing to commit murder and arson and now kidnapping?

It didn’t really make sense to her. It was all so long ago, after all.

The original John Carmichael and Hennessy McPhee were both long gone.

No one would blame the current generation of Carmichaels.

It would probably barely make a blip in the nonstop news cycles of this day and age.

So what if over a century ago a greedy man had done whatever he could to clear the way for his hotel?

The same kind of thing was probably happening on any given Tuesday around the world.

Why was someone directing so much energy toward squashing the truth?

Greed, sure. Always a good motive. That YouTuber, Tatum DeBatum, the one who wanted to buy the hotel.

Would he care about some ancient history?

Probably not, especially because his whole schtick was about debating hot topics. He would probably think it was cool.

A sound from outside the cave had her head jerking up. A liquid sound, like paddles dipping in and out of the water…a kayaker!

“Hey!” she yelled, scrambling to the edge of the water. “Can you hear me?” Her voice bounced off the walls of the cave and echoed back to her. Did any of the sound actually make it out of this nook in the rocks? She tried again. “Helllooo out there!”

The paddling sound stopped. “Hello?”

The voice was male, confused, and that fact filled her with relief. It wasn’t whoever had put her here. That person wouldn’t be confused; they would be expecting to find her here.

“I’m in here!” she yelled. “Can you help me?”

A shadow drifted across the mouth of the cave. The gap between the rock and the water’s surface was getting smaller; the tide was definitely still coming in.

A head appeared in that gap, someone leaning over the side of the kayak. She couldn’t make out the man’s features, as his head was silhouetted against the only source of light. “Who are you? Are you okay?”

“Not for long,” Heather said. “I need to get out of here. Do you have room in your kayak?”

“No, it’s a single-person kayak. I guess I could tow you, maybe.” He didn’t sound confident about that, and she didn’t like the idea much either, since it would involve getting in the water.

“Do you have your phone with you? Can you call 9-1-1? Wait no, call the constable. Luke Carmichael. Tell him Heather McPhee is trapped in a cave on the east side. He’ll come right away.”

“You’re a friend of Luke’s?”

Heather frowned, taken aback at the question. He sounded as if he knew Luke well. “I am. But he’s the constable so he’d have to rescue me anyway.”

“If you’re counting on Luke, you might be in trouble.”

A shiver shot down Heather’s spine. “What do you mean? Do you know Luke? Who are you?”

“Of course I know Luke.” The venom in that voice…wow.

“Who are you?” she repeated. Her whole body was shivering now, long shudders of fear and cold.

“I bet I know why you’re in here,” he said in a taunting way that didn’t help with her shivers at all.

“Please, tell me. I have no idea why I’m in here. I need to get out.”

“Good luck with that.” His laugh chilled her to the bone.

Then she heard something even more terrifying. The sound of the safety catch being clicked off a gun. The kayak glided closer. She shrank back against the side of the cave.

A low rumble interrupted the moment; the sound of a boat engine coming closer. Heather shouted, “Hey! In here!” just in case they could hear her from inside this cave.

But the noise just bounced around the rock walls. She heard the man chuckle, the safety click back on, then saw the shadow of the kayak glide away from the opening.

The cave brightened now that it was no longer blocking the entrance. The new inrush of light allowed her to see that if she climbed along the rocks to the very edge of the opening, she’d be able to see outside.

But she’d have to do it fast if she wanted a better look at the mystery man in the kayak.

She took off her boots and socks. Having grown up climbing on slippery rocks, she felt more comfortable barefoot.

Her toes had more flexibility than the sole of a shoe.

As long as there weren’t too many barnacles or colonies of mussels, she should be okay.

That long-ago skill came back to her right away. Just like riding a bike , she muttered as she climbed like a monkey over the rocks. Handhold, move, foothold, move. Go for the seaweed-covered valleys between rocks rather than the high points.

When she reached the edge, she wedged one hand into a crevice in the rock overhead and leveraged her body around the gray granite of the cave mouth, until she was basically hugging the rock.

The kayak was already at least a hundred yards away. All she could see was the man’s back and the dark knit beanie he was wearing. He was in excellent shape, judging by the speed of the kayak and his smooth strokes.

Something about him looked familiar, but without seeing his face, she couldn’t identify him. But one thing seemed clear. As long as that guy knew she was here, she wouldn’t be safe.

She had to get out of this cave.

Holding onto the rocks for dear life, she leaned out as far as she could to get an idea of where she was, exactly. Sheer cliffs to her right. The lighthouse barely visible from sea level like this. No other land mass in sight.

The hotel was probably almost directly above and behind her. If she yelled loudly enough, would someone hear her? Or would they think she was a seagull cawing in the wind? Could she swim anywhere from here? Did any of the lobstermen set their traps out here?

Her arms cramped and she swung herself back inside the cave.

But instead of feeling despair at still being trapped here, a sense of hope filled her. She knew where she was—just past the northernmost tip of the island. She pictured the map of the currents that Luke had shown her to pinpoint what had happened to Denton’s body.

Getting into the icy Maine water wasn’t something to do lightly.

But if she swam with the current and with the receding tide, she could probably make it to the North Point.

If she could grab onto the rocks there, she could climb up the same slope that Denton had tumbled down.

If she got lucky, a passing lobster boat would spot her before then, or maybe a sailboat.

Or possibly a much nicer kayaker, one who didn’t want to kill her.

Some factoid tugged at her memory then. The Carmichaels were all excellent kayakers. John Carmichael III had made sure of that. Some of them had competed internationally.

Had she just encountered Carson Carmichael, the “dick,” the one who despised Luke? That would explain why he looked vaguely familiar from the back.

Next question—if he hadn’t put her in that cave, who had?