Page 37

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

A lyssa shivered in the cold wind. Why hadn’t she brought her jacket?

Ghazi and Benson had loaded her onto a speedboat. Another man was driving. All three of them wore thick, padded winter parkas. The driver had a hood pulled up over his head, so she’d barely gotten a look at his face.

Ghazi sat on one side of her, Benson the other. As if they feared Alyssa might jump into the freezing North Atlantic waters and try to swim for it.

Leaving Peri to her fate.

Poor Peri. She imagined the child, wearing her sweet little flowered dress, taking this same ride. She must’ve been so afraid.

Alyssa was an adult. She knew Callan, Dad, and Grant were following her progress. And even so, she was terrified.

She tried not to worry about the tracker.

It was working. Grant had confirmed that in his text as she’d driven away.

She’d sewn the tiny thing—no larger than her thumbnail—beneath the hooks in her bra. The fabric there was naturally stiff, and men didn’t know bras. Nobody would notice if it was a smidge stiffer in one spot than the rest.

It’d worked. Benson hadn’t found it.

Unlike the cheap tracker he had found, the one still with her was connected to a satellite. No need for Wi-Fi or phones. Even out here, bouncing across the rough water, it would work.

She watched the shoreline as the sun dipped behind the trees. The forest had always seemed a magical place to her, filled with treasures and mysteries.

Unlike the ocean—vast and cold and cruel.

The Portland Headlight rose in the distance, the white column gold in the setting sun.

She and Callan had been there, together, just a few hours before. Not for any romantic reasons, though she should’ve told him how she felt. Who cared if he rejected her—again? At least he’d know.

Alyssa had seen the old lighthouse a thousand times, but the familiarity didn’t take away from its beauty. Not just because of its old-school Maine charm but because of its purpose.

A beacon to usher sailors home. A sentinel to protect the innocent from the danger lurking beneath the dark waters.

The lighthouse was a protector. In that sense, Callan was the same. A protector.

But if the lighthouse failed, if a sailor went under and never came back up, the light kept on shining, doing its job. Undeterred. Unperturbed.

Unlike Callan, who would never be the same if Peri were lost. Or if Alyssa were. Even if he didn’t love her, he cared. He’d risked everything to protect her.

They reached an island within sight of the mainland and unloaded onto a dock. Even on the shore, the wind whipped off the frigid water, and she hugged herself, ignoring the looming presence of the blond-haired Benson, who stayed too close while the driver and Ghazi secured the boat.

Other boats bobbed in the marina, but most were covered with canvas or stored in a shed. There were no street lights, no building lights. No lights at all.

In the fading darkness, Alyssa saw low structures, side by side, lining the opposite edge of a narrow strip of sand.

Beach houses. Tourist rentals. If the sun were up, she might catch sight of a shack that offered lobster rolls in the summertime—hotdog buns slathered with mayo and filled with buttery white shellfish. They’d sell steamed clams, corn-on-the-cob, and cold beer.

But if those places existed, they were closed today. It was too early, too cold, too far from civilization.

The complete lack of lights told her nobody inhabited this island in the off-season.

Alyssa felt completely alone.

They trudged on the packed sand near the shore, then angled across the beach toward the houses. They all looked identical, nothing to distinguish one from another.

The sand squished beneath her sneakers. At least Ghazi had allowed her to put them back on after the tracker was found. She imagined she’d be hypothermic if he hadn’t.

They reached a dark bungalow, but now that she was close, she saw slivers of light peeking around the edges.

They climbed the porch steps. A dark number eleven was displayed on the white clapboard beside the black doorway.

Ahead of her, Ghazi pushed the door open, and light spilled out. “After you.”

She stepped into glorious warmth.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but this place looked exactly like a beach house should. Worn light-colored floors, whitewashed walls, kitschy blue and green knickknacks. A ceiling fan hung in the living room, a white shell dangling from the pull-cord. The kitchen was small but utilitarian. The backsplash was painted with fish, starfish, and seahorses in various shades of blue.

On the far wall, a sign made from old fence posts read Beach Rules: Relax, Unwind, Enjoy.

Plywood was nailed over the windows. A space heater pumped warm air into the small common area.

Two men had stood from the denim sectional as soon as Ghazi walked in. She guessed they’d been playing a video game—looked like some kind of flying simulator—on the TV.

Peri sat in the corner of the sofa, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Eyes wide, flicking from Alyssa to the men who’d accompanied her.

“Sweetheart.” Alyssa ignored the guards and rushed to the little girl.

One of the guards stepped out of the way, and Alyssa sat beside Peri, gathered her into her arms, and held her close.

Peri sobbed. Her little nose was cold, pressed against Alyssa’s collarbone. She trembled in her arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Your daddy sent me to be with you, to take care of you.” She glared at Ghazi. “You couldn’t spare a blanket?”

“My apologies.” He seemed not a bit concerned as he flicked a gaze to one of his men. “Take care of it.”

“She coulda asked,” the skinnier of the guards grumbled. He sat at the end of the sofa, his focus on the screen again.

The other man disappeared down a back hallway. He returned a moment later with a comforter he’d probably pulled off a bed. He draped it over them.

Alyssa hadn't hadn’t realized how cold she was until that moment. She snuggled Peri closer and ground out a “Thank you” to the guard. Her life was in these men’s hands now. She needed to be very careful.

She whispered, “Are you hurt?”

Peri didn’t speak, but she shook her head.

“Are you sure? You can tell me.”

The child looked up with wide eyes and shook her head again.

“Good. It’s going to be okay.” She rocked Callan’s daughter, holding her close, wanting to tell her that her daddy was on his way. That he’d rescue them.

But she couldn’t risk it.

Ghazi had chosen this island, this house—just one of many lining the shore—for a reason.

The driver of the boat hadn’t come inside with them. Yet his plan couldn’t have been to leave the island, considering he’d made the trek all the way to the beach house. Which meant he was elsewhere. With other men?

Probably.

But how many? And where were they?

Even though Callan had their location, there was no guarantee he’d be able to get to them.

Ghazi was a step ahead, as always.

Alyssa and Peri might be on their own.