Page 34 of Outside the Room (Isla Rivers #1)

He watched the port return to normal from his perch atop the western terminal gantry crane. The FBI vehicles had finally departed, taking with them their evidence markers, yellow tape, and probing questions. The administrative bustle had subsided, and the rhythms of shipping resumed.

Through his binoculars, he observed the workers below, tiny figures moving with purpose across the ice-slicked concrete. The wind bit at his exposed skin, but he barely noticed. Cold was simply part of life on Superior's shores—a constant companion he'd learned to embrace rather than fight.

The events of the past week had provided excellent cover. While the FBI fixated on bodies in containers and corrupt port directors, they'd missed the true predator moving among them. He smiled beneath his beard, the expression hidden from the world like so many of his secrets.

He tucked the binoculars into his work coat and began his descent, thick gloves gripping the icy metal ladder with practiced ease.

His shift would start in twenty minutes—another day of blending in, of being the reliable worker who'd been at the port for years.

Just enough seniority to move freely, not enough prominence to draw attention.

Near the bottom of the ladder, he paused to admire the lake stretching endlessly before him. Superior was beautiful in winter—a vast white plain meeting steel-gray sky at the horizon. Most feared its deadly cold, but he understood its hunger. The lake demanded sacrifices. He was merely its servant.

Sarah Sanchez had been unfortunate, stumbling across his private place near the abandoned loading dock.

He'd been preparing it for months—a sacred space where the lake's edge met human enterprise, where the barrier between worlds thinned.

Her training had made her dangerous, but surprise had been on his side.

The lake had accepted her eagerly, the hungry ice parting to receive his offering.

He felt no remorse. Superior had rewarded him, as always. The morning after Sanchez was floating on the surface, his traps had been full—the best catch of the season. The lake's appreciation was never subtle.

Reaching the ground, he stamped snow from his boots and joined the stream of workers heading toward the main terminal.

A few nodded in greeting, comfortable with his presence, never suspecting the darkness that lived behind his eyes.

He'd perfected invisibility, the art of being seen without being noticed.

His thoughts drifted to the new FBI agent—Isla Rivers.

She was different from the other law enforcement who'd cycled through the port over the years.

Her eyes missed nothing, cataloging details others overlooked.

Even bruised and bandaged after O'Connor's attack, she'd maintained that sharp awareness, that predatory focus.

Perhaps the lake would appreciate such a worthy offering. He'd wait, of course. Patience had always been his strength. Let the Nash investigation conclude, let the port's attention shift elsewhere. Superior had waited decades for his offerings; it could wait a few more months for this special one.

He clocked in, nodding to the security guard, who barely glanced up from his newspaper. He suppressed a smile as he headed toward his workstation.

Lake Superior stretched beyond the windows, ice gleaming under the winter sun. It looked peaceful to untrained eyes, but he knew better. Beneath that frozen surface, currents still moved, powerful and hungry. Like him.

For now, he would wait and watch. The port's secrets remained safe in his keeping, and the lake's hunger would soon need sating again. When the time came, he would be ready. After all, his work, like the endless winter of Duluth, was far from over.