DANGEROUS WATERS

Undercover as a coast guard captain, navy SEAL Dillon Randall is determined to capture the leaders of a human trafficking ring off the California coast. When a woman living in a remote lighthouse unwittingly becomes a target of the traffickers, Dillon’s mission suddenly includes protecting Beth Forrester. Yet he can’t let himself get too close to the reclusive beauty. The last time he lost focus on a mission, people died. He won’t make that mistake again. Dillon must win Beth’s trust—while keeping his identity as a SEAL a secret. However he’s finding it harder to maintain his cover around the woman working her way into his heart. Can he save Beth’s life without breaking her already wounded heart?

Navy SEAL Defenders: Bound by honor and dedicated to protection.

“I’m the target, aren’t I?” Beth asked.

Her voice shook as she continued, “The cartel wants to eliminate me. They want me dead, right?”

Dillon said nothing at first, his silence answer enough. “I’ll need to assign you protection. This is too serious to ignore.”

Beth thought of her tranquil, little cottage by the lighthouse, cramped with people allotted to look after her. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Who would be staying with me?”

“A surveillance expert and I will create a lookout post in your lighthouse tower and set up home there for the mission until the cartel members are in custody and no longer a threat to you.”

“Mission?” she questioned. “You make it sound like a military operation.”

“The coast guard is a branch of the US Armed Forces,” he replied. “Ensuring your safety is as important as any task I need to accomplish in my day job, but I can’t take personal responsibility for protecting you.” He sighed. “It’s complicated.”

She looked him full in the face. “One thing I’ve learned over the years is that things are always complicated.”

“I will make absolutely sure that nothing bad happens to you.” He laid a hand over hers. “You deserve all the resources we have, and you’re worth the effort. You should know that.”

His words almost took her breath away.

ELISABETH REES was raised in the Welsh town of Hay-on-Wye, where her father was the parish vicar. She attended Cardiff University and gained a degree in politics. After meeting her husband, they moved to the wild, rolling hills of Carmarthenshire, and Elisabeth took up writing. She is now a full-time wife, mother and author. Find out more about Elisabeth at elisabethrees.com.

Covert Cargo

Elisabeth Rees

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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I will say to the Lord, My refuge and my fortress,

My God, in whom I trust.

—Psalms 91:2

“A good teacher is like a candle—it consumes itself to light the way for others.”

—Mustafa Kemal Atatürk

For Elin Watkins, a head teacher who has guided countless children to realize their potential and then encouraged them to surpass it, with love and thanks from the pupils, staff and governors at Llansadwrn School.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

The Return to Grace Lighthouse was under familiar attack. A wailing wind whipped around the tower and rattled the windows of the cozy keeper’s cottage. Beth Forrester put another log on the fire of her unique home and pulled her dog, Ted, away from the front door, where he whined and scratched, seemingly eager to go out into the wild, dark night.

Ted reluctantly walked toward the hearth, stopping to sniff the cracked remains of an old rowboat that were drying next to the warmth of the flames. The wreck had washed up on the beach a couple of weeks back, broken into two pieces but with the hull intact. After establishing that no one had claimed it, Beth had asked a local fisherman to help her bring the bulky hull inside, where it now lay, ridding itself of the salt water that had seeped into its wooden bones. Beth was in the process of turning the wreck into a bed frame—sanding it down, repairing it, lovingly turning the broken wood into something new and beautiful. Then it would be sold for enough money to keep her going for another couple of months. The pieces of driftwood that washed up on the shore were treasures to her, and she turned them into cabinets, tables, chairs, beds and works of art. Her profession suited her reclusive lifestyle perfectly. This remote lighthouse, standing at the edge of the town of Bracelet Bay in Northern California, had become her sanctuary, her hideaway from the world. She needed nobody and nobody needed her.

A noise outside caught her attention—a high-pitched wailing sound being carried in waves on the wind. Her dog instantly ran back to the door to resume scraping the wood with his paws. The wailing on the other side of the door grew louder.

Beth shook her head, almost disbelieving what she was hearing. “No,” she said to herself. “Can that really be what I think it is?” She looked at Ted. “Is there a child out there?”

Almost as if he understood her question, Ted barked and ran in circles, clearly agitated. Beth rushed to the closet and pulled on her raincoat, tucking her long brown hair into the hood and drawing it tight around her face. Then she took a flashlight from the shelf and sank her feet into the rain boots she always kept on the mat.

The wind snatched the breath right from Beth’s mouth when she opened the front door, and she shone the flashlight into a sheet of rain hammering onto the long stretch of grass that grew on the cliff overlooking the bay. The beam of light picked out a tiny figure emerging from the gloom, arms flailing, bare-skinned and soaking wet. It was a child of probably no more than seven or eight, wearing just shorts and a T-shirt, running barefoot. And there was a look of absolute terror on his face.

Ted raced past Beth’s legs, almost knocking her off balance, and she steadied herself on the frame of the door. Then she took off running, following Ted’s white paws streaking across the grass. Her dog reached the child in just a few seconds and the boy fell on his behind, obviously startled by the appearance of a big, shaggy dog looming out of the dark night. When Beth caught up with him, she put the flashlight on the ground and reached out to pick up the child, but he scrambled away, crying out in a language that she didn’t understand.

“It’s okay,” she said, taking hold of Ted’s collar to keep him back. “We won’t hurt you.” She looked at the boy’s strange appearance, dressed for a summer’s day rather than a stormy November night. Squatting to the wet grass and holding a hand out to him, she said, “Where did you come from, sweetheart?”

Another voice floated through the rain-soaked air. This one was deeper, older and louder, belonging to a man shouting words in a foreign language. He sounded angry. When the child heard the voice, he leaped to his feet and took her hand, suddenly eager to go with her.

“Vamos,” he said, pointing to her lighthouse. “Faro.” She recognized the words as Spanish.

When Beth hesitated, the child let go of her hand to start running to her lighthouse, his bare feet splashing on the sodden grass. The older man then appeared from the darkness, dressed in black, agitated and aggressive, waving a knife through the air.

“Leave the boy alone,” he shouted in heavily accented English. “He is mine.”

The boy called out as he ran, “El es un hombre malo,” and Beth delved into the recesses of her mind to dig up her high school Spanish. She realized with horror the translation of these words: he is a bad man. The child was warning her.

She turned on her heel and started running, calling for Ted to follow. She concentrated on heading for the light shining from the window of her cottage. “Please, Lord,” she prayed out loud. “Help us.”

The boy reached her front door and pushed it open, going inside with Ted. He left the door open behind him, and a shaft of light flowed out onto the grass, giving her a path to follow.

She picked up her pace and threw herself into her home, trying to slam the door shut behind her, but she was too late. The man’s fingers curled around the door frame and gripped tight. Beth pushed with all her strength, as the child stood shivering on her Oriental rug, droplets of rain falling from his black hair. Beth was tall and strong, but she sensed that her power would not be enough to hold back the danger.

“Give me the child,” the man yelled.

Then the door was shoved with such force that Beth was knocked clean off her feet and sent crashing to the floor. The door burst wide-open, and the man stood over her, breathing hard, his big hulking frame dripping wet. The boy screamed and ran to the edge of the living room, shouting in Spanish. Beth jumped to her feet and raced to the child while Ted began growling, standing between her and the danger. The man swiped his blade at Ted, but her dog dodged out of the way.

Then the attacker suddenly stopped and turned his head to the old rowboat drying next to the fire. “Where did you get this?” he shouted. “This boat is not yours.”

He walked to the broken vessel and jabbed the blade of his knife into the wood of the hull and twisted. The wood seemed to almost squeal, and splinters flew into the air.

The child clung to the hem of Beth’s raincoat, cowering behind her. The door leading into the lighthouse tower was just to her right. The tower had been decommissioned many years ago, and she rarely went inside, but she knew that the lantern room had heavy-duty bolts to secure the door from the inside. They would be safe there. With one hand, she made a grab for the child’s fingers, and with the other, she snatched her cell from the table. Then she darted to the door, flung it open and plunged into the cool darkness of the tower’s circular base. She heard Ted snapping and growling in the cottage, preventing the man from following, but she knew it would be temporary. Ted was a giant schnauzer, large and imposing, but he was old and his teeth were worn. She hated leaving her dog to fend for himself, but the child had to come first.

Beth looked up at the winding, spiral staircase, gripped the boy’s hand in her own and began climbing for her life.

* * *

Dillon Randall scanned the sea from the Bracelet Bay Coast Guard Station with binoculars, trying to seek out any vessels that might be in need of assistance. The storm had not been forecast, so any boats caught in the swell would be in serious trouble.

As a Navy SEAL, Dillon had welcomed the opportunity to serve a mission for the US Department of Homeland Security, and he had been placed in Bracelet Bay’s small coast guard station as the new captain. Nobody in the base had any reason to suspect he was working undercover, trying to crack the largest people-trafficking cartel that the state had ever known. Somewhere along this beautiful stretch of Californian coastline, hundreds of people from South America were continually being crammed into small boats and illegally smuggled into the US. And they had the coast guard chasing their tails trying to capture them.

A young seaman by the name of Carl Holden entered the room, carrying a notepad. “Sir,” he said with a note of urgency in his voice. “The police have asked us to respond to a 9-1-1 call they just received from Beth Forrester, who lives at the old Return to Grace Lighthouse. She says she found a child wandering by her home and is now protecting him from a man who’s threatening them. The child only speaks Spanish, so I’m thinking he could be one of the trafficked migrants. The police station is more than twenty minutes away, but we can be there in five.”

Dillon put down his binoculars. He picked up the keys for the coast guard truck and tossed them to Carl. “Let’s go. You drive.”

In no time, the men were racing toward the lighthouse, siren blaring. They splashed through the streets, lined with touristy, trinket shops. The summer trade in Bracelet Bay had died away and the town was shutting up for winter. Only the restaurants remained open, bright and inviting on this wild night.

“You really should check out the Salty Dog,” Carl said as they passed a large wooden building, painted bright red. The sign hanging above the door swung on its hinges, showing a fisherman casting a line from a boat. Carl flashed a smile. “They got the best seafood in town.”

Dillon nodded in response. He didn’t much feel like talking. He wanted to reach the lighthouse quickly and assess the situation. Could this child be one of the many people who were being trafficked along the Californian coastline from South America? People who were sold a dream of a better life only to find themselves working illegally for a pittance, kept hidden under the radar, denied access to education or health care services. The smuggling cartel always seemed to be one step ahead of the coast guard, almost as if they had insider knowledge. When it became apparent that somebody at the station might be providing the traffickers with safe passage, Dillon was drafted in to take charge of the operation. With a staff of just ten, he couldn’t afford to trust anybody, not even Carl.

“You don’t say much, do you, Captain?” Carl said, leaving the lights of the town behind them and heading along the curved coastal road, which came to a dead end at the lighthouse.

The tower was now clearly visible, perched atop a cliff that hung over the bay—a cliff that looked to have been gradually eroded away by the relentless crashing waves.

“I don’t need to say much,” Dillon replied, glancing in Carl’s direction, “when you’re here to do all the talking.”

Carl laughed. “I’ve been told I talk a lot,” he said. “But I’m trying to rein it in.”

Dillon focused on watching the lighthouse. Its distinctive red and white stripes had the appearance of a candy cane, while the stone cottage was pure white. It had stood overlooking the town for well over a hundred years and would probably stand for another hundred more. But it was a remote and unforgiving place to live, and Dillon began to wonder about the woman who inhabited the old place. What would cause someone to embrace such a solitary life?

Carl seemed to read his mind. “Miss Forrester is a reclusive lady,” he said, pulling into a graveled lot next to the cottage where a small Volkswagen was parked. “She got jilted at the altar a few years back. She never got over it.”

Dillon pulled out his gun. “As long as she and the child are safe, that’s all that matters.”

The red and blue flashes from the roof of the truck bounced all the way up the tower and reflected off the Fresnel lenses in the lantern room. Dillon exited the truck and looked up at the tower. The wind immediately yanked down the hood on his waterproof coat, and the rain soaked into his thick, curly hair, snaking down his scalp and into his collar.

“There’s a woman in the lantern room,” he said to Carl, seeing the silhouette of a female highlighted against the dark sky. “Stay behind me and keep close.”

Carl took out his gun and together they approached the front door of the keeper’s cottage. There was a driftwood sign above the door with Return to Grace carved upon it, smooth and weather-worn from years of exposure to the elements. As Dillon turned the handle, he felt a shiver of trepidation. It had been many years since he was on an active mission, and the last assignment he had accomplished left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. Along with his SEAL comrades, Dillon had successfully eliminated a terrorist group in Afghanistan four years previously, but he had failed to protect a group of teachers desperately seeking a way of escape from their besieged town.

Local insurgents had been targeting schools that dared to provide an education to young girls, and the SEALs had come across a building that had been destroyed by militants. Those teachers who survived the attack were living on borrowed time, having heard that more militants from the feared group were preparing to come back and finish the job. Dillon had promised to return and help them escape to Pakistan as soon as the SEAL mission was complete. But that was before he met Aziza.

On his return journey to the town, he met a young woman who was fleeing a death sentence handed down by a sharia court. Finding Aziza wandering on a desert plain forced him to make a choice—protect her or protect the teachers. He made the only choice he could. It took him three days to deliver Aziza to a women’s refuge in Kabul, and by the time he made it back to the town, the teachers had vanished. He never knew what happened to them. That one distraction had probably cost them their lives. While he saved Aziza’s life, he sacrificed theirs. This mission was his chance to make amends. This time, he could save everyone.

The door of the cottage opened straight into the living room, and a large black dog stood in front of them barking furiously. Dillon was unfazed. He held one hand down to the dog’s nose and let him sniff, talking softly all the while. The animal responded well, licking Dillon’s hand and calming down quickly.

Dillon and Carl entered the cottage back to back, turning in circles to scan the room. There was a good fire blazing in the hearth, casting a glow around the sparsely furnished area. The chairs, cabinets and table all looked to be handmade, crafted from different pieces of wood. A large Oriental rug lay over the stone tile floor. The rustic effect was simple and homey. Next to the fire, an old rowboat lay in two broken sections, taking up a large part of the room with its size.

“Let’s get up to the tower,” Dillon said. “Keep alert.”

The spiral stairs to the tower were dark, and Dillon could hear the crashing waves outside. The dog followed them, keeping close to heel, giving Dillon reassurance that the animal would alert them if the reported intruder was still inside. The small windows let in a little moonlight but not enough for good visibility, so Dillon activated his flashlight and shone it all around, looking for the man. The stairwell was empty, and when they reached the top, he rapped on the door and called out.

“Ma’am, this is Dillon Randall from the coast guard.”

He heard the bolts slowly slide across, and the heavy door opened with an enormous creak to reveal two faces staring at him. One face belonged to a small boy, barefoot, wearing shorts and a T-shirt. The other belonged to a young woman, in a large yellow raincoat. Her brown hair was wet and shone like silk under his flashlight. He lowered the beam of light and studied the pair. The boy clung to the woman, and she squatted down to speak gently to him while her large black dog rubbed himself against her.

“It’s okay,” she whispered into the child’s ear. “These are the good guys.” When the boy looked at her in confusion, she spoke in faltering Spanish: “Hombres buenos.”

Dillon watched the way she softly smoothed the youngster’s hair and patted his shoulder before looking up at him and Carl with wide eyes. Even in the darkness, he could see her high cheekbones and clear, scrubbed skin. He had not been expecting her to be breathtaking in her beauty and he was momentarily silenced.

“There was a man here,” she said, standing up. “But I guess he ran when he saw the lights on your truck.”

“Are you and the child all right, ma’am?” Dillon asked.

She smiled. “We are now.”

Dillon reached for the child’s hand to give him reassurance. If this boy had been trafficked along the Californian coast, it was Dillon’s responsibility to find and free the many others who had not managed to escape.

“Let’s go make sense of what just happened,” he said. “There’s a lot of work to do.”

* * *

Beth stood on the shoreline and inhaled deeply. She loved the smell of the morning air after a storm, new and clean, leaving a sublime taste of fresh oysters in her mouth. The storm had washed up all kinds of jetsam along the beach, mixed with the foam that came in with the tide. The foam caught on the wind and small patches of it swirled in the air, sending Ted into playful mode. He jumped up to snatch at it with his teeth, before bounding off with his favorite playmate, a Jack Russell terrier by the name of Tootsie.

Beth’s friend Helen Smith walked on the beach alongside her, keeping to the hard sand where Helen could use her walking cane with one hand and lean on Beth with the other. With her eighty-five years of age, Helen’s mobility was failing and she didn’t have the stamina that she used to. Beth called at Helen’s beachside house at 10:00 a.m. each day, which was just a short walk from her lighthouse on the coastal road. Then they would exercise their dogs on the beach and enjoy the fresh air. Helen was Beth’s closest and only friend. Beth knew it must look odd to the townsfolk that she, at the age of thirty-one, was best friends with a lady almost three times her age, but it didn’t matter to her. Helen was more than her friend—she was a counselor, spiritual adviser, prayer buddy, confidante and many more things besides. Beth was blessed to have her.

“You’re quiet today, Beth,” Helen said. “Are you still worried about the child you found last night?”

Beth stooped to pick up a stick to throw for the two dogs, and they raced along the sand. They were a comical sight, one huge and the other tiny, but they were inseparable.

“Yes,” Beth admitted. “I know he’s being looked after by Child Protective Services, but I wonder how many more children there are like him out at sea.” She looked out over the blue water. There was a Jet Ski circling the bay. “I guessed he was being smuggled across the border, but the new coast guard captain was really cagey about it. I think he was hiding something.”

“You’re always suspicious,” Helen replied with a good-natured smile. “Let Captain Randall do his job. I’ve heard good things about him, and he’s made quite an impression on the town already.” Her expression turned playful. “I understand that he’s also setting a few pulses racing among the single ladies in the town.”

Beth let out a spontaneous laugh. “You’re not supposed to notice these things.”

“Why on earth not?” Helen said with an indignant look on her face. “I may be old, but I’m not dead yet.”

Beth’s laughter faded away. “I have to admit that he is a very handsome man, but there’s something distant about him.”

“How so?” Helen asked.

Beth sighed, not sure she could put it into words. “Even when he was in the room with me last night, it felt like his mind was someplace else.” She stopped. The Jet Ski in the bay had cut its motor and the lone man occupying it was staring in her direction. It made her feel uneasy and she turned her head away. “Dillon’s a complicated man,” she said. “I can tell.”

Helen raised her eyebrows. Beth understood exactly what the gesture was saying. “Okay, yeah,” she said. “I’m probably just as complicated as he is, but at least I’m honest.”

“You don’t think he’s honest?” Helen asked, clearly surprised. “He’s started going to the Bracelet Bay Church, so I sure hope he’s an honest and godly man.”

Beth waved her hand in the air, worried that she had cast doubt on the character of the new coast guard captain. “I’m sure he’s perfectly nice and honorable,” she said. “But I’d like to keep my distance from him all the same.”

“Oh, Beth,” Helen said with a chuckle. “You keep your distance from everybody. Why should Dillon Randall be any different?”

Beth smiled. She couldn’t argue with Helen’s words. “Did you say he started going to church?” she asked.

“Yes. He fit right in immediately.”

“That’s nice,” Beth said with a pang of sorrow. She had loved being part of the Bracelet Bay congregation. But that was in the past now. She hadn’t attended church in five years. Helen stopped walking. “Let me just catch my breath for a moment.” She clasped Beth’s hand in hers. “You know, there’s no reason why you can’t start going back to church again. The pastor gives me a lift every week to the Sunday service and he always asks after you. I told him that you and I have our own church of two, taking daily worship together, and he told me to tell you that he keeps you in his prayers.” Helen looked hesitant for a moment. “The whole town keeps you in their prayers. You should know that. Five years is a long time to shut yourself away from those who love you.”

Beth squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Helen was often trying to persuade her to embrace life again, to return to church, return to her old friends, but she simply didn’t have the desire.

“I know you mean well, Helen, but I’m doing fine as I am,” Beth said. “I have everything I need right here.” She extended her arm out over the ocean, catching sight of the Jet Ski still bobbing up and down on the gentle waves. “What more could I possibly want?”

Helen didn’t respond, but Beth knew exactly what answer came to mind: a husband, a family, a future without loneliness.

“I often wish I had put more effort into finding someone to share my life with instead of being alone all these years,” Helen said. “Don’t make the same mistake as me. Nobody judges you for what happened on your wedding day, and nobody is laughing at you. I know you find that hard to believe.”

Beth felt the serenity of the ocean breeze ebbing away. “I had to go to the drugstore in town a couple of weeks ago to get some painkillers,” she said. “I don’t normally use the stores in Bracelet Bay, but I had a big migraine brewing.” She looked down at her feet. “I could see everybody whispering and pointing when I got out of the car—look, there goes the crazy lady whose fiancé dumped her at the altar.” She felt her cheeks grow hot with shame. “I left without even buying the painkillers.”

“Have you ever considered that people might be surprised to see you?” Helen asked. “They might be staring because they’re happy, or because you look pretty.” She smiled. “Or because you don’t realize you’ve spilled spaghetti sauce all over your shirt.”

Beth laughed. Helen always had the perfect way of uplifting her spirit.

“Come on,” Beth said, steering Helen around and changing the conversation. “It’s almost time for our daily devotional.”

Helen checked her watch. “Oh, so it is.” She called for Tootsie to come to heel. The dog stubbornly ran in the opposite direction. “That dog is so disobedient,” she said, with a shake of her head. “He’s got a rebellious streak.”

“Just like me,” Beth said. “But you love us anyway.”

“I sure do,” Helen said, beginning the walk along the sand to her bungalow. “And so do a lot of other people.”

Beth nodded, not in agreement but to appease her friend because, in her own mind, she was a laughingstock and always would be.

Before she left, she turned and made one last check on the Jet Ski sitting in the bay. It was still there, and the man was staring intensely at her, wearing a hood pulled up over his head despite it being a bright and clear day. His presence felt sinister in the calm, sunny morning, and she drew her eyes away. She wanted to leave.

“Ted,” she called. “Let’s go.”

Her dog dutifully complied and bounded to her feet, carrying a pebble in his mouth.

“Drop it, boy,” she said. “You know those stones wear down your teeth.”

Ted released the pebble onto the sand, and Beth gasped in shock at the image with which she was faced. Helen reached for her hand, and they both stared down at the unusual stone, appearing totally out of place among the dull gray shingle and golden sand.

“Ted must have picked it up when he was digging in the dunes,” Helen said. “But what on earth is it?”

“I don’t know,” Beth replied, bending to pick the stone up and turn it over in her hands.

It was a normal pebble, the gray kind found on any seashore, but this one had been intricately painted with an array of bright colors, illustrating a picture of a female skeletal figure, shrouded in a long golden robe. In one hand, she carried a vivid blue planet: the earth in all its glory. In the other hand, she held a scythe with a menacing, curved blade. Beth gazed at the skull protruding from the hooded cloak, the eye sockets painted so well that the stone truly seemed to have been drilled away to reveal deep, dark shafts. The image was both beautiful and terrifying all at the same time.

“Maybe somebody dropped it,” Beth said, putting the stone inside her pocket. “Or it got washed up from a boat.”

Helen raised her eyebrows. “It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. And a little scary to be honest.”

“It doesn’t scare me,” Beth said, the lie sticking in her throat. “It’s just a rock.” She attached Ted’s leash to his collar. “I’ll take Ted home while you wait at the bottom of the steps. He looks exhausted from all this foraging for stones.” She tried to sound lighthearted, but inwardly the fear wouldn’t budge.

Arm in arm, the women resumed their return walk along the sand. Beth’s stomach was swirling with anxiety. She wondered if her discovery of the child and the stone were somehow connected. Had she stumbled into something more sinister than she realized? And was the man on the Jet Ski part of it?

She thought of Dillon Randall, and his assurance that she could call him at any time if she felt troubled. Beth normally shunned the outside world at all costs, but she might have no other choice than to reach out for help.

* * *

Dillon spread a large map over his desk, studying the suspected trafficking routes that were marked upon it. The smugglers’ boats had been heading up the western coast from Mexico, laden with adults and children from all over South and Central America—people who believed that decent jobs and homes awaited them in the US, but in reality they were destined to be domestic servants, rarely paid or rewarded for their hard work and left with no money to return home. The traffickers seemed to be using flotillas of small motorboats and rowboats for their journeys—vessels that were too small and dangerous for the purpose. One of these vessels had capsized four weeks previously, leading to the deaths of most of its occupants. That was when Dillon was covertly recruited into the coast guard from his SEAL base in Virginia.

There was a knock on the door. “Enter,” he called.

Carl came into the room, closely followed by the station’s chief warrant officer, Larry Chapman. Larry was five years older than Dillon, and Dillon had felt a considerable resentment from his subordinate officer on their first meeting. He sensed that Larry felt cheated out of the top job at the station—a job that the chief warrant officer felt was rightfully his.

“How are you getting used to being back on the front line?” Larry asked. “It must be difficult to adjust to active duty after spending so many years sitting behind a desk, huh?”

Dillon slowly rolled the maps up on his desk. His cover story involved placing him in the Office of Strategic Analysis in Washington, DC, thereby hiding his true past as a SEAL with almost twenty years’ combat experience.

“I’m doing just fine, thanks, Larry,” he replied, sliding the maps back into their protective tube. Larry never missed an opportunity to remind Dillon that he didn’t believe desk work to be real experience. Little did Larry know that Dillon had racked up fifteen active missions, rarely ever seeing the inside of an office.

“Is there anything to report on the traffickers?” Carl asked. “Did the child say something that might help us?”

“The kid’s not saying much at all,” Dillon replied. “The authorities think he’s from El Salvador and they’re trying to locate his family.”

“And I’m guessing there was no sign of the smugglers when you dispatched the search-and-rescue boat,” Carl said.

Dillon shook his head. “No, no sign at all.”

Carl let out a long breath. “How do they keep doing that? It’s like they know we’re coming.”

“They’ll slip up eventually,” Dillon said. “They always do.” He turned to Larry. “I’d like you to analyze the data I put on your desk. Your specialist skills in identifying the type of boats being used could be crucial.”

“Yes, Captain,” Larry said. “I’m on it.”

Both men headed out the door just as the phone rang on Dillon’s desk. He answered with his usual greeting: “Captain Randall.”

The voice on the other end was panicked. “Dillon. Is that you?”

He knew who it was instantly. “Beth? Are you okay?”

Her voice was thick with emotion, and she snatched at her words through sobs. “It’s Ted,” she cried. “Somebody hurt Ted.”

“Ted,” he repeated. “Who’s Ted?”

“My dog. Somebody tried to get into the cottage while I was out, and Ted must have stood guard.” She broke off to catch her breath. “He’s bleeding badly.”

Dillon checked his watch. “I can be there in ten minutes. Stay exactly where you are, and wait for me, okay?”

“Okay.”

He hung up the phone and raced out into the hall, grabbing the truck keys from the hook in the corridor. Once he was in the vehicle, he activated the sirens to reach the lighthouse in extra-quick time, and he found Beth kneeling on the grass outside her home, cradling her limp dog in her arms. The animal was breathing but bleeding from a wound to its rib cage. He looked to have been stabbed, and his shaggy fur glistened with a dark, sticky patch.

Dillon didn’t say a word of greeting. He simply bent down, lifted Ted from Beth’s lap and carried him to the truck. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll get him to the vet in no time.”

He saw Beth rise and follow, rubbing her bloodstained hands on her light blue jeans. “There was a man watching me from a Jet Ski in the bay earlier,” she said, her voice noticeably shaking. “I think he tried to get in while I was at my friend’s house. There are pieces of a torn shirt on the floor in my living room, so Ted might have injured the guy before being hurt himself.”

“How did the attacker get in?”

“I never lock up when Ted’s at home,” she replied. “It’s usually so safe.”

“Go lock up now,” Dillon said. “Let’s not take any more chances.”

He laid Ted across the backseat of the truck and stroked the dog’s small pointed ears. “Good dog,” he whispered.

He watched Beth turn the key in her front door with shaking hands before she ran to the passenger side and slid into the seat. Her skin was deathly pale and her full lips had been drained of their deep pink color.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for calling, but I panicked and you were the only person I could think of.” She looked into the backseat where the dog lay. “Ted means so much to me.”

He shut the passenger door and went around to the driver’s seat. “Don’t ever apologize for calling me,” he said. “The most important thing is that you’re safe.”

He switched on the siren and raced back along the coastal road, heading for the veterinarian’s office in the town. The fact that Beth’s house had been broken into so soon after she saved the young boy was no coincidence. He suspected that the cartel was responsible, and he needed to find out why this woman was of interest to them. Had she been targeted for elimination because she had seen the face of one of their men the previous evening?

He glanced over at her. She had turned her body to the left, to reach an arm around and stroke the dog’s head. A tear slipped down her cheek. This young woman was in danger. He didn’t know how or why, but he knew it wasn’t good to be on the radar of a Mexican cartel. She would need protecting.

This situation just got a whole lot more complicated than he would have liked.

TWO

Beth felt helpless. She had been sitting in the waiting room of the vet’s office for two hours. She looked around the room, with its bright strip light shining on the metal chairs and coffee table, piled high with various pet animal magazines. Before buying the lighthouse and changing professions, she had been a real estate agent and had shown the young vet, a red-haired man named Henry Stanton, around the building several years ago. He had purchased the property, set up his practice and the rest was history. And now that same man was trying to save the life of her beloved dog.

Dillon sat opposite, flicking through a back issue of Dog News. He had insisted on staying with her, despite her protests. She was grateful for his help, but she didn’t want to spend time alone with him. She felt awkward in a man’s company. She’d gotten too used to her solitary lifestyle. Dillon seemed to read her mood perfectly, and he stayed quiet, occasionally taking a whispered phone call in the corner. She knew he wanted to quiz her about the man she had seen on the Jet Ski in the bay, but for now he kept his questions to himself. Various customers from the town had come and gone, bringing a range of animals, but now the waiting room was empty and the receptionist on a break. The silence lay heavily in the air, loaded with anxiety and unanswered questions. All the while, Beth was conscious of the bulk of the stone in her jacket, weighing down her pocket and her mind in equal measure.

The vet entered the waiting room and sat down on a chair. He had a smile on his face, and Beth’s heart lifted with relief. Henry wouldn’t be smiling if the news were bad.

“Ted is fine,” Henry said. “But he’ll need to stay in for observation, probably no more than a day or two. He suffered a wound to his liver and I want to make sure he doesn’t have an infection.” He looked between her and Dillon. “Is this okay with you both?”

Beth suddenly realized that Henry thought she and Dillon were romantically involved. She considered explaining the situation but decided against it. It was too complicated.

“Can I see him?” she asked.

“Ted is highly sedated at the moment,” Henry replied. “If he sees you, he may get overexcited and try to stand. It’s best that you leave a visit until tomorrow.”

Beth felt her shoulders sagging. The thought of returning to the lighthouse without Ted was horrible, but it was made worse by the fact that she couldn’t even see him.

Dillon noticed her sadness and stepped into the conversation. “Thank you for all your help, Dr. Stanton,” he said, rising. “We’ll come back tomorrow and see how Ted’s doing.”

The vet stood also, and the two men shook hands. “Please call me Henry,” he said. Then he looked at Beth. “And can I say how pleased I am to see you, Beth? It’s been too long.”

She forced a smile. She was too ashamed to admit that she normally used the veterinarian who lived in the next town, but she guessed that Henry already knew. Nobody could keep any secrets in a town like Bracelet Bay. She stood, pulling her long sweater down to cover the bloodstains on her jeans. She thanked Henry and headed for the door.

A light rain was falling outside and the temperature of the earlier sunny day had dropped away. Beth pulled up the hood on her raincoat and felt the painted stone hanging in the pocket. Dillon stayed by her side, his face a picture of tension. The air seemed to feel different, as though particles of fear itself were being swept on the wind over the water. Ted’s stabbing had struck deep into her psyche. She was too numb to even cry.

“This incident changes everything,” Dillon said, standing so close that she could see his curly hair collecting tiny droplets of water, as delicate as a spider’s web. “You can’t be alone at your lighthouse anymore.”

Beth took a deep, steadying breath. “There’s something else you need to know,” she said, curling her fingers around the stone hidden beneath her coat. “Ted found something on the beach this morning.”

His eyes widened and he steered her toward the truck, checking their surroundings before bringing his attention back on her. “What?”

Beth slowly pulled the smooth stone from her pocket and held it in a flat palm. The skeletal figure seemed to have become even more sinister, even more ominous since she had last looked.

Dillon took the pebble and studied it hard, his eyebrows crinkling in concentration. “This is Santa Muerte,” he said finally. The way he said the words struck dread into Beth’s heart. His tone was grave.

“Who is Santa Muerte?” she asked. “And what does this mean?”

Dillon seemed reluctant to answer, and Beth’s heart began to hammer. “Ted found it on the dunes right by my house,” she said. “I think it may have been left there by the man on the Jet Ski in the bay.” She looked up into his face. “If you know what it is, please tell me.”

He swallowed hard. “Santa Muerte is a saint worshipped in some parts of Mexico, where she is also known as Our Lady of the Holy Death.”

Beth clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. The mention of death was chilling. The significance of this find was worse than she’d thought.

Dillon opened the truck door and gently guided Beth onto the passenger seat, but he remained standing in the lot, his outstretched arm resting on the open door as though he were holding a shield. “Santa Muerte is particularly revered among Mexican drug cartels, who pray to her for protection, for guidance and to grant them a painless death. People also sometimes ask her to grant them success in eliminating targets.” He looked down at the stone. “They often perform a ritual to Santa Muerte when a target has been identified.”

“Is this a ritual?” Beth asked, unable to keep her eyes off the bony image staring up at her from Dillon’s hand. “I’m the target, aren’t I? That’s why the stone was placed by my home. They want to eliminate me.” She realized that her voice was becoming quick and breathless, so she tried to steady it. “The cartel wants me dead, right?”

Dillon said nothing, but his silence was answer enough.

“Why me?” she asked, rubbing her moist palms on her jeans. “What did I do?”

Dillon shook his head. “I don’t know. Not yet anyway. But I’ll need to assign you protection.” He held up the bright stone. “This is too serious to ignore.”

Beth thought of her tranquil little cottage, cramped with people allotted to look after her. She and Ted had gotten used to a quiet life. Could she handle the intrusion of others sharing her space? But she knew that Dillon was right. This ritual to Santa Muerte was far too serious to ignore. She turned her head to look over the ocean.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Who would be staying with me?”

“I have a friend—Tyler Beck—and I’ve already put in a request to transfer him into the Bracelet Bay Station to assist us with some duties. He’s a surveillance expert working for the Department of Homeland Security on the East Coast. If you’ll allow us to create a lookout post in your lighthouse tower, Tyler and I will set up home there until the cartel members are in custody and no longer a threat to you.”

“You do realize how small the lighthouse tower is, right?” Beth asked. She imagined two big men bedding down for the night in the tightly curved space, dominated by the huge lenses of the disused beacon. “It’ll be a really tight squeeze.”

Dillon smiled. “Tyler and I have worked plenty of missions in the past where space was limited. We’ll manage just fine.”

“Missions?” she questioned. “You make it sound like a military operation.”

“The coast guard is a branch of the US armed forces,” he replied. “Not many people realize that we are part of the military. The coast guard is trained in reconnaissance, search and rescue, maritime law enforcement and many more things besides. And these are all very good reasons why you should place your trust in us to keep you safe.”

Beth rubbed her hands together, creating friction to keep them warm in her lap. Dillon’s words and tone sounded formal, and they made her feel even more ill at ease. Her safety seemed like a military mission to be accomplished, and the severity of her situation had hit home.

“So you and Tyler would be with me twenty-four hours a day?” she asked.

“I’ll be continuing to work at the station during the day while staying at the lighthouse during the night,” he answered. “Tyler will take the lead in providing protection for you.” He must have noticed a look of disappointment sweep over her face. “Tyler is a highly trained individual. You can rely on him.”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s just that I kind of figured you would take charge of things.” She felt awkward and uncomfortable asking him to take the lead, but if she must accept somebody being responsible for her safety, she would at least prefer it was someone she was already on a first-name basis with. And although she didn’t want to admit it, he radiated a strength that reassured her. She felt secure with him.

Dillon kept his fingers gripped firmly around the painted pebble as he spoke. His face had lost the previous expression of concern and was replaced by one of detachment. “I’m afraid it’s not possible for me to take my focus away from my job and put it onto you. I’ll do whatever I can to assist Tyler, but I need to keep my sights elsewhere.” He cast his gaze out over the ocean as if to emphasize his point. “I can’t afford to let myself be sidetracked.”

Beth watched Dillon’s eyes scan the ocean, darting back and forth across the waves. He always seemed to be searching the sea, permanently on the lookout. His awareness was constantly heightened, and she wondered whether his single-minded focus was the reason he’d been given the top job at the coast guard station. He had an important smuggling assignment to oversee, and her situation must be like a thorn in his side. She suddenly saw herself as he did: as a nuisance and a distraction. It made her defensive streak rush to the surface and prickle her skin.

“I’ve been managing by myself for five years,” she said, crossing her arms. “Once Ted has recovered from his surgery, I’m sure we’ll be able to cope alone. I really don’t want to divert resources from your day job.”

He clearly guessed he had hit a nerve. He took his eyes away from the ocean and settled them on her. “Ensuring your safety is as important as any task I need to accomplish in my day job, but I can’t take personal responsibility for protecting you.” He sighed. “It’s complicated.”

She looked him full in the face. She figured he was casting her off with excuses, trying to make her feel better about being such a drain on his brand-new job as station chief. She also knew that all her insecurities about being a burden shouldn’t be laid at his feet. They had been stored up nice and tight for a long time.

“One thing I’ve learned over the years,” she said, “is that things are always complicated.”

He leaned in close to her on the passenger seat. “I know that you’re an independent woman who’s going to struggle to adapt to a couple of big men lumbering around your little lighthouse like giants.” She smiled in spite of her swirling emotions. “And I also know that you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself under normal circumstances,” he continued. He uncurled his fingers from the stone and held it in his palm. “But these are not normal circumstances. Although I won’t be the person taking overall responsibility for your security, I will make absolutely sure that nothing bad happens to you.” He laid a hand over hers. “You deserve all the resources we have, and you’re worth the effort. You should know that.”

His words almost took her breath away. Had he been able to guess that she saw herself as worthless? That she felt of little value to anyone? Had he seen through the air of confidence she had created to hide the pain of being publicly rejected?

She finally found her voice after being stunned into temporary silence. “When would you want to move into the tower?”

“Tyler should be here tomorrow evening, so for tonight it’ll be just me staying with you.” He checked his watch. “Let’s get back to the lighthouse so I can measure the tower room for equipment. I’ll have Carl deliver it later on.”

“How long do you think this will take?” Beth desperately wanted to know when the acid taste of fear would leave her mouth and when she could return to her normal life again. “How close are you to catching these cartel guys?”

Dillon pressed his palms together and brought them to his face with a sigh. Before he could give an answer, a crashing sound cut through the air, carried from the open kitchen door of the Salty Dog, which could easily be seen from the high vantage point of the vet’s parking lot. The noise was quickly followed by angry, raised voices and the banging thuds of a brawl. Dillon took Beth’s hand.

“I should go check that out,” he said, pulling her from the seat, close to his side. “But don’t leave my sight, whatever you do.”

Beth glanced over to the Salty Dog, the last place on earth she wanted to go. But she steeled herself, took a deep breath and allowed Dillon to lead the way.

* * *

The restaurant was busy, yet nobody was prepared to step in and separate the two fiercely fighting men, seemingly fused together in a ball of flailing arms and legs. One of the men was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. And the other guy was taller, leaner and fitter, wearing navy blue clothes exactly like Dillon’s.

“It’s Larry!” Dillon exclaimed, guiding Beth to stand by the wall out of range of the ruckus.

“The other guy is Kevin,” Beth said, wide-eyed. “He owns the place. He and Larry are brothers.”

Dillon pressed her against the wall. “They sure don’t seem to be feeling any brotherly love right now. Stay here while I pull them apart.”

He approached the men with a barking order. “Break it up, guys. That’s enough.”

Neither man made any attempt to stop brawling, so Dillon was forced to grab Larry by the collar and yank him away sharply. Larry continued to throw wild punches and kick the air, forcing Dillon to place him in an armlock. Larry cried out but immediately stilled under the firm grip of his superior. Dillon pushed the subdued man to an empty chair and made him sit while his brother hauled himself to his feet with a groan.

Dillon quickly checked that Beth was still standing against the wall. She had wrapped her arms around her waist and bowed her head as if trying to hide away. But nobody’s attention was on her anyway—it was on the two breathless men glowering at each other with wild, dark eyes. The explosion of violence was jarring against the family-oriented restaurant, busy with people enjoying a quiet lunch. This was definitely not the kind of place where brawling was commonplace.

“Okay, everyone,” Dillon called out to the crowd of onlookers while righting some upended chairs. “Show’s over, folks. You can all get back to your meals and eat in peace.”

Amid murmurings and mutterings, the diners gradually pulled their gazes away and resumed their lunches, while Larry and Kevin regained their composure and breath.

“Now,” Dillon said, looking between the pair. “I understand that you two are brothers. So what on earth has turned you into enemies?”

Neither man spoke. A tall, dark-haired woman stepped out from behind the serving counter. “Larry came bursting in here about five minutes ago,” she said, “and he was mad as a hornet at Kevin. I’ve never seen them fight like that before.”

“And who might you be, ma’am?” Dillon asked.

“I’m Mia,” the woman replied. “Mia Wride-Ford. I’m a waitress here.” She looked around the restaurant, and Dillon noticed her do a double take on seeing Beth standing just a few feet away. She turned and smiled at Beth, giving her a small wave. Beth raised a weak smile in response, obviously embarrassed to be in public view.

“And what was the argument about?” Dillon addressed the question to nobody in particular, hoping that someone would give a straight answer.

“You know Larry,” Kevin replied, straightening out his rumpled clothes. “He’s always got a beef about something. He’s a loose cannon.”

“I’m a loose cannon?” Larry said, widening his eyes and letting out a snort. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Kevin narrowed his eyes at his brother. “You had no right coming in here, shooting your mouth like that. If we weren’t family, I’d call the police and have you arrested for assault.”

Larry rose to his feet and, in a theatrical gesture, pointed to a pay phone attached to a wall. “Go right ahead, Kevin, call the police and file a report.” He crossed his arms. “I won’t stand in your way.”

Kevin stood for a few seconds, hands on hips, looking between Larry and the pay phone.

“Would you like to report this matter to the local sheriff?” Dillon asked. “If Larry attacked you without provocation, you have a roomful of witnesses to back up your story.”

Kevin bent over and rested his hands on his knees like a deflating balloon. “No. There’s no need to involve the police. We’re family. We’ll deal with it our own way.”

Larry began to walk to the door. “If it’s all right with you, Captain, I’ll get back to the station.”

“Sit down, Larry,” Dillon ordered. “I want some answers from you before you go anywhere.”

Larry stopped and cast a sly eye over to Beth, who had partially hidden herself behind the large wooden menu that stood by the front door. Dillon guessed that the next words out of Larry’s mouth would be mean. He was right.

“Well, I figured that you’d want to get back to your date,” Larry said with a curled lip. Then, under his breath, he muttered, “Looks like somebody managed to thaw the ice queen.”

Dillon rested his hands on the waistband of his pants. “What did you just say?”

Larry shrugged. “Nothing, sir.”

Dillon walked to within a couple of inches of Larry and pulled himself up to full height. “You’re sailing very close to the wind, Chief Petty Officer Chapman,” he said in a low voice. “I expect a better standard of behavior from an officer of the coast guard. Get yourself back to the station and I’ll deal with you later.”

Larry saluted, spun on his heel and strode from the restaurant.

The door leading to the kitchen then swung open and a petite blonde woman came out. “Has Larry left?” she asked, darting her eyes around.

Kevin put his arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, he’s gone and good riddance to him.” He turned to Dillon and held out his hand. “I’m Kevin Chapman, owner of the Salty Dog, and this is my wife, Paula. I’m guessing you’re Dillon Randall, the new coast guard captain.”

Dillon shook Kevin’s hand and smiled warmly at Paula. “That’s right. I’m pleased to meet you both. I only wish it was under better circumstances.”

“I’m so sorry for the trouble, Captain Randall,” Paula said. “It’s normally really quiet and peaceful in here.”

Dillon looked around the restaurant. The nautical theme was a little overwhelming. There were fishing nets, helms and plastic crabs attached to the wooden walls and overhead beams. Even the tablecloths had anchors on them, and the salt and pepper shakers were tiny fisherman.

“Yeah,” he said. “This isn’t the kind of place I’d normally expect to break up a fight.” He turned his attention from Paula to Kevin. “Are you ready to explain to me what that was all about?”

Kevin rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Larry’s a hothead. It was nothing. Just a stupid argument about nothing.” He pointed to the kitchen. “I’ve got to get back to my stove.” He gave himself one final brush down, as if dusting off his brother’s fingerprints, and walked through the swinging door, sending the aroma of garlic and herbs blowing into Dillon’s face.

Paula smiled nervously. “Thanks for dealing with those two, Captain Randall. Would you like some lunch on the house? It’s the least we can do.”

“Thanks for the offer, Mrs. Chapman,” he replied. “But I’ve got some business to attend to. I’ll come back another time.”

“Please do,” she said. “We don’t want to leave you with a bad impression of the town.” As she walked back into the kitchen, she turned her head and said, “Welcome to Bracelet Bay, by the way. Mia would be happy to give you a coffee to take out if you don’t have time to stay.”

The waitress smiled and picked up a paper cup from the counter. “Decaf or regular?”

“Regular please,” he said. “But you’d better make it two.”

“Is the other one for Beth?” she asked. “It’s so good to see her in town again.” Her mouth turned down at the corners. “It’s been years since I last talked to her.” She looked behind Dillon’s shoulder to the front door where Dillon assumed Beth was still waiting for him. “I wish she’d stuck around to say hello.”

Dillon spun around. Beth was gone!

He swiveled back to face the waitress. “Where did she go?”

Mia pointed to the door. “She left right before Larry. She looked a little hurt by what he said.”

Suddenly a flashback struck Dillon. He remembered Aziza wandering alone in the desert, at the mercy of those who wanted to harm her.

“I gotta go,” he said, racing for the door, hearing Mia calling after him, “You forgot your coffee!”

He burst out onto the street. He saw Larry ambling back to the station, but no sign of Beth. How could she have been so stupid to have left without him? He had expressly warned her to stay close. The stone in his pocket jumped around with his movement, reminding him of the level of danger she was facing.

He ran to his truck in the vet’s parking lot and his heart leaped with relief on seeing her standing by the passenger door. He found it difficult to contain his frustration when he reached her side.

“You shouldn’t have run out on me. You can’t go taking risks like that.” He heard the harshness in his voice and tried to soften it. “Anybody could be lying in wait for you.” He quickly checked their vicinity as if his words might be proven correct.

Then he unlocked the truck and opened the passenger door for her. “I’d feel a lot safer if you weren’t out in the open. Get in and I’ll take you home.”

Once they were both settled in their seats, Dillon started up the engine and pulled out onto the quiet street that ran through the town. Bracelet Bay’s location, a couple of miles from Highway One, put it off the beaten track, and it retained a quaintness that had surprised him. He loved the way the narrow, winding streets of the town’s center suddenly opened up onto a wide road that ran alongside a vast and crystal-clear ocean. The sandblasted, weathered houses in varying pastel shades reminded him of picture postcards, and the seven hundred or so residents were fortunate to live in such idyllic surroundings. Yet he guessed that, at this moment in time, Beth felt anything but fortunate to be among the Bracelet Bay inhabitants. She was silent, staring into the distance through the windshield, lost in her thoughts.

“I apologize if I was a little hard on you back there,” he said, glancing over at her. “But I wanted you to understand how serious it is for you to put yourself at risk.”

Her voice was small. “I heard Larry call me the ice queen, and I just had to get away. I’m sorry.”

Dillon clenched his jaw. “I’ll be speaking to Larry about that. I won’t stand for bullying on my watch.”

“I don’t expect you to step in and defend me,” she said. “You don’t want to make yourself unpopular when you’ve only just arrived in town.”

“I don’t much care for popularity contests,” he said. “I prefer to do what’s right instead.”

Beth twisted in her seat to look at the town that was now stretching into the distance as they made their way to the lighthouse. “It was hard being back in the Salty Dog,” she said. “I guessed I might get a nasty reaction like that from somebody.”

“Don’t let Larry’s childish comment get to you.” Dillon remembered the waitress and her kindness. “There was a young woman in there named Mia who was pretty happy to see you. Is she an old friend of yours?”

Beth nodded. “She was my bridesmaid.” She tried to laugh, but the sound seemed to get stuck in her throat. “Or she was supposed to be my bridesmaid anyway. It turned out that she wasn’t really needed.” Her voice became high and strained. “Actually it turned out that I wasn’t really needed either.”

Dillon wasn’t sure what to say. “I know about your wedding,” he said gently. “Carl mentioned it.”

Beth let her head fall back onto the headrest with a long exhalation. “I’m sure he did.”

“From what I’ve seen and heard in the town, everybody wishes you well,” Dillon said, switching on the wipers as the light drizzle became heavier. A dense and moist fog often rolled into the town, and the damp air clung to everything it came into contact with. The air in this town seemed to brush gently against the skin like a caress, and he liked it. He reckoned that Bracelet Bay was a place that worked its way into your heart and took up residence pretty quickly.

“Mia was sorry that she didn’t get to talk to you today,” he continued. “Once this situation is behind you, maybe you should think about contacting her.” He smiled, unsure if he was overstepping. “She clearly misses you.”

Beth looked out the window. “I miss her too sometimes, but my life is different now. I’m happier this way.”

“As a recluse?”

She didn’t answer.

“No man is an island, Beth.”

She turned her head from the window to face him. “What does that mean?”

“It’s an old poem from England,” he said, quoting the lines, “‘No man is an island entire of itself. Every man is a piece of the continent.’”

“I never knew you were so cultured,” she said in a teasing tone. “But I still don’t know what it means.”

The truck hugged the shoulder of the road as they neared the lighthouse, shrouded in swirling fog. “It means that we all need connections to others to make us strong and healthy. God made us as individuals, but that doesn’t mean He intended us to be alone.”

The teasing tone disappeared from her voice. “I don’t know what God intends for me, but right now I’m happy alone.”

He knew this wasn’t true. He knew it was an act, perfected in order to push people away and bolster her lack of confidence. But if that was her choice, he wouldn’t push the matter.

“If you’re happy to put your faith in God’s path,” he said, “then you can’t go wrong.”

She smiled, and the way she tilted her head to brush hair from her neck reminded him of Aziza. It was just a flash of something, a split second of familiarity that transported him back four years to a hot and arid plain in Afghanistan. At that time, he was driving along a dusty road to Kabul with a young woman escaping certain death. And now he was back in the same situation, forced to choose which innocent lives to save. As soon as Tyler arrived, he would relinquish Beth’s safety to his good friend and fellow SEAL. Then he could get back to work.

As the truck neared Beth’s home, Dillon saw that the fog surrounding it appeared thicker than before, curling around the tower like smoke. When an acrid smell began filling his nostrils, he realized that it was smoke.

“I think we may have a problem,” he said, hitting the gas pedal hard to pick up speed.

Beth placed her hands on the dash, leaning forward and letting her mouth drop open in confusion and disbelief.

“My cottage,” she exclaimed. “It’s on fire!”

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