The Search

He couldn’t argue about the meatballs. As he ate, Simon realized the meal reminded him of one of his family’s dinners back home. A lot of noise, interruptions, that situational shorthand again and a stunning amount of food.

But then, he supposed families came in all shapes, sizes and dynamics.

He suspected his pecking order was “the boyfriend”—annoying but predictable—who was still being measured and weighed, but welcomed warmly enough.

He couldn’t argue about the charged, happy mood, not when it infected him, too. Watching Kevin hobble toward them after all those hours, all those miles, had struck hard and struck deep.

More than satisfaction, Simon decided, it had been like a revival, like a shot of a really good drug that settled into a sense of pride.

Both Mai and Fiona took notes, and there was talk of documentation, logs, mission reports.

He noticed, in the playback, Fiona deleted her panic attack.

“Anything you want to add, Simon?”

He glanced over at James. “I think Fiona covered it. I was just along for the ride.”

“Maybe, but you pulled your weight. He did okay, for a rookie,” Fiona added. “He’s got endurance, a good sense of direction. He can read a map and a compass, and has a good eye. Some training? He could be ready when Jaws is.”

“You’re in if you want a shot,” Chuck told him.

Simon stabbed a meatball. “Use the dog.”

“We’d bring you in at the top pay scale.”

Amused, Simon studied Meg as he wound pasta around his fork. “That’s goose egg, right?”

“Every time.”

“Tempting.”

“Think about it,” Mai suggested. “Maybe you could bring Jaws to one of our unit practices sometime. See how it goes.”

THE MOOD MELLOWED OUT on the trip back, with the dogs dozing in the boat. Lori and James did the same, their heads tipped together, while Mai and Tyson huddled in the stern, fingers linked.

They’d drifted from unit to couples, Simon thought, sending a sidelong glance at Fiona, who sat beside him, reading over her notes. And it looked like he was one of them.

Once they reached Orcas, there were more hugs. He’d never seen people so addicted to squeezing one another.

He took the wheel for the drive home.

“We got dinner out—sort of,” Fiona said. “I ate so much pasta I may not eat for days. Plus, as date nights go, it was unique.”

“You’re never boring, Fiona.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Too much going on, in your life, in your head, to be boring.”

She smiled, flipped open her phone when it signaled. “Fiona Bristow. Yeah, Tod. That’s good. I’m really glad to hear it. We all are. You don’t have to, we got ours when Kevin and Ella got home safe. Yes, absolutely. You take care.”

She closed the phone. “Five stitches and a knee brace for Ella. They hydrated both of them, treated the blisters, the scrapes. Short version, they’re both going to be fine, and shortly on their way back to the lodge. They wanted to thank you.”

“Me?”

“You were part of the team who found them. How does it feel?”

He said nothing for a moment. “Pretty damn good.”

“Yeah. It really does.”

“You have to buy all your own equipment. The radios, tents, blankets, first aid, the whole shot.” Not that he was thinking about joining up. “I saw you note down what we used. You have to replace it on your own nickel.”

“That’s part of it. The radio was a gift, and boy did we need it. The parents of a kid we found bought it for us. Some want to pay us, but that’s a dicey area. But if they want to pick up some blankets or supplies, we don’t say no.”

“Give me the list. I’ll replace the stuff. I was part of the team, wasn’t I?” he asked when she frowned at him.

“Yes, but you don’t have to feel obligated to—”

“I don’t volunteer to do things out of obligation.”

“That’s true. I’ll give you a list.”

They stopped off at Sylvia’s, loaded up the dogs, which took twice as long as it might have due to desperate joy. He had to admit he’d missed his own idiot dog, and it felt damn good to be driving home with Fiona beside him and the back full of happy dogs.

“You know what I want?” she asked him.

“What?”

“I want a long, tall glass of wine and a lazy hour in my custom-made porch rocker. Maybe you’d like to join me?”

“I just might.”

When she reached over for his hand, he linked it with hers.

“I feel good. Tired, happy and just good all over. How about you guys, huh?” She shifted to look back, rub faces and bodies. “We feel so good. You can play while Simon and I drink wine until the sun goes down. That’s what I think. We’ll all be tired and happy and just good all over until—”

“Fiona.”

“Hmm?” Distracted, she glanced over. The hard set of his face had that happy lift dropping into worry. “What? What is it?”

She swiveled back as he slowed at her drive.

The red scarf tied to the lifted flag on her mailbox fluttered in the fitful breeze.

Her mind emptied, and for a moment she was back in the tight, airless dark.

“Where’s your gun? Fiona!” He whipped her name out and slashed her back.

“In my pack.”

He reached in the back, shoved her pack into her lap. “Get it out, lock the doors. Stay in the car and call the cops.”

“No. What? Wait. Where are you going?”

“To check out the house. He’s not going to be there, but we don’t take chances.”

“And you just walk out there, unarmed, unprotected?” Like Greg, she thought. Just like Greg. “If you get out, I get out. Cops first. Please. I couldn’t take it a second time. I couldn’t.”

She pulled out her phone, hit speed dial for the sheriff’s office. “This is Fiona. Someone tied a red scarf to my mailbox. No, I’m with Simon, at the end of the drive. No. No. Yes, all right. Okay.”

She drew a breath. “They’re on their way. They want us to stay where we are. I know that’s not what you want to do. I know it goes against the grain, against your instincts.”

She unzipped her pack, took out her gun. With steady hands, she checked the load, the safety. “But if he is there, if he’s waiting, he’d know that, too. And maybe I’d be going to another funeral for a man I love. He’d have killed me too, Simon, because I can’t come back from that a second time.”

“You put it that way to close me in a box.”

“I put it that way because it’s God’s truth. I need you to stay with me. I’m asking you to stay with me. Please don’t leave me alone.”

Her need pushed against his. He thought he could have fought hers back if she’d used tears, but the flat, matter-of-fact tone did him in. “Give me your binoculars.”

She unzipped another section of her pack, handed them to him.

“I’m not going anywhere, but I’m going to look.”

“Okay.”

He stepped out of the car but stayed close. He could hear her calming the dogs as he scanned the drive, the trees. Spring had leafed out those trees, forcing him to try to angle through the green and search the shadows. While the pretty breeze fluttered, he took a few steps away to try for a better vantage point, and followed the curve of her drive.

Her pretty house stood quiet before the dark arches of the forest. Butterflies danced on the air above her garden, while in her field, grasses and buttercups barely stirred.

He walked back, opened his door. “Everything looks fine.”

“He read the article. He wants me scared.”

“No argument. Stupid to leave the marker if he’s still around.”

“Yes. I don’t think he is either. He accomplished what he wanted. I’m scared. The cops are coming. It’s all in my face again, and I’m thinking about him. We all are. I called Agent Tawney.”

“Good. Here come the cops.”

He closed the car door, watched the two cruisers approach. He heard her get out the other side, nearly snapped at her to get back in. She wouldn’t, he thought, and it was probably unnecessary.

He watched the sheriff get out of the first cruiser. He’d seen the man around the village a few times, but they’d never had a conversation—or a need for one. Patrick McMahon carried a hefty girth on a big frame. Simon imagined he’d played high school football—maybe a tackle—and likely continued with hard-fought Sunday games with friends.

Aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, but his wide face held grim lines, and his hand rested on the butt of his weapon as he walked.

“Fee. I’m gonna want you to stay in the car. Simon Doyle, right?” McMahon held out a hand. “I’m gonna want you to stay with Fee. Davey and I, we’ll go down, take a look at things. Matt’ll stay here. He’s gonna take some pictures and put that scarf in an evidence bag so we’ll have it secure. Did you lock the doors when you left?”

“Yes.”

“Windows?”

“I . . . Yes, I think so.”

“They’re locked,” Simon told him. “I checked them before we left.”

“Good enough. Fee, how about you give me the keys? Once we clear everything, we’ll call on down to Matt. How’s that?”

She came around as Simon took the keys out of the ignition, then she peeled off the link that held her house key. “Front and back door.”

“Good enough,” he said again. “Sit tight.”

McMahon got back in the cruiser, swung around Fiona’s car and started down the drive.

“Sorry about this, Fiona.” Matt, barely old enough to buy a legal beer, gave her arm a little pat. “You and Mr. Doyle get on back in the car now.” He glanced down at the gun she held down at her side. “And keep the safety on that.”

“He’s younger than I am. Matt,” Fiona said when she got back in the car. “Barely old enough to drink. I trained his parents’ Jack Russell. He’s not going to be there,” she murmured, running her fist up and down her chest. “Nothing’s going to happen to them.”

“Did you ask anybody to come by, check on the place while we were gone?”

“No. It was just overnight. If it had been longer, Syl would’ve come by to water the pots, pick up the mail. God, God, if it had been longer, and—”

“Didn’t happen.” Simon cut her off. “No point projecting it. Everyone on the island, or damn near, would’ve known you were on that search by this morning. It’s not enough time for him to have pulled this.”

Unless, Simon thought, he was already on the island.

“I think it comes from the article—the timing of it—the way he mailed me the scarf after the first one. I guess he wants me to know he can get closer. Did get closer.”

“It’s arrogant, and arrogance leads to screwups.”

“I hope you’re right.” She stared at the scarf, forced herself to think. Follow the trail, she ordered herself. “Did it rain here last night? Did that storm, or the edge of it, blow through here, too? It was supposed to. The scarf’s dry, or dry enough to wave in the breeze. But then, the sun’s warm and bright today. He’d want to do that at night, wouldn’t he? At night or early enough there wouldn’t be much chance of a car going by.”

“We’ve been sitting here twenty minutes and I haven’t seen a car go by.”

“True, but it’s a stupid risk. Not just arrogant, stupid. If he came here at night, he’d need somewhere to stay on the island, or have a boat of his own. But if he came by boat, he’d need a car to get out here.”

“One way or the other, he was here. The odds are someone saw him.”

A car approached now, slowed, crept by.

“Tourists,” Fiona said quietly. “The summer season’s already geared up. Coming and going by ferry’s the easiest way to disappear. But maybe he didn’t come and go in the same day. Maybe he booked a room or a campsite or—”

She jolted when Matt tapped on the window.

“Sorry,” he said when she lowered it. “Sheriff says it’s clear.”

“Thanks. Thanks, Matt.”

She studied everything as Simon drove, everything so familiar. Could he have walked here? she wondered. Would he have risked the dogs? Would the need have overridden sense and caution? He might’ve taken the chance, creeping down, wanting a better look at the house, maybe hoping to see her sitting on the porch or weeding the garden.

Ordinary things, everyday things people do.

Walking down to get the mail, she thought, running an errand, holding a class, playing with her dogs.

Routine.

The idea he might’ve come before, might’ve studied her, watched her, stalked her—just as Perry had done—filled her with a sick dread that tasted bitter in the back of her throat.

McMahon opened her door when Simon stopped. “No signs of break-in. I can’t see that anything inside’s been disturbed, but you can tell me if you see different. We took a walk around outside, and I’m going to have Davey and Matt take another look, go a little farther out while we talk inside. Okay?”

“Yeah. Sheriff, I called Agent Tawney. I felt I should. I don’t mean to step on your toes, but—”

“Fiona. How long have you known me?”

She let out a relieved breath at the easy tone. “Since I started coming out to see my dad in the summers.”

“Long enough for you to know I’m not worried about my toes. I want you to go in, take a good look around. If you see anything off, you tell me. Even if you just think maybe.”

The advantage of a small house, Fiona thought, was it didn’t take long to go through it, even when she took the time—obsessively, maybe—to open a few drawers.

“Everything’s the way we left it.”

“That’s good. Why don’t we have a seat and talk about this?”

“Do you want something to drink? I could—”

“I’m good. Don’t worry about that.” He took a seat, continued in the avuncular tone Simon realized was designed to calm nerves and tempers. “I’ve let Davey take point on this, not because I haven’t been involved, but because I figured you’d be most comfortable with him. I don’t want you to think I’ve been brushing this off.”

“How long have you known me?”

He smiled at her, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling deep. “There you go. What time did you leave yesterday?”

“I logged the call in at seven-fifteen. I didn’t note down the time when we left, but I’d say it was less than fifteen minutes. Just enough time to pass the call to Mai, check the packs, lock up and load up. We dropped the dogs, except for Bogart, off at Syl’s, headed over to Chuck’s. The full unit was on its way at seven fifty-five.”

“That’s good response time.”

“We work at it.”

“I know you do. I know you found those people. That’s good work. What time did you get back today?”

“We got back to Chuck’s about three-thirty and swung by to pick up the dogs. I called you right away, within a minute after we saw the scarf. Was it wet? Damp? I thought—”

“Are you trying to do my job?” He wagged a finger at her, kept the tone light. “It’s dry. We got rain last night. Didn’t get hammered as much as you, but it came down pretty hard. Could’ve dried out by this time, as we’ve had a nice sunny day. But it wasn’t there when Davey did a drive-by at nine this morning.”

“Oh.”

“You might not’ve been here, Fee, but we’re keeping our eye out. A lot of people get on and off the ferry on a nice day like this. If I had to guess, I’d say he came over today, maybe did some driving around. Sometime between nine this morning and four-fifteen this afternoon he tied that scarf out there. I say drive because you live a good piece out. I can’t see him walking out this far, or hitching.”

“No,” she murmured, “he needs a car.” A car with a trunk.

“I’ve got a couple people I can trust keeping an eye on the ferry, checking out the departures. If they see a man driving on by himself, they’re going to get the license plate. The other thing we’ll do is check with the hotels, the B-and-Bs, campgrounds, even the rental houses, but it’s going to take some time. We’ll check out any man traveling alone.”

“You’re making me feel better,” she murmured.

“That’s good. But I don’t want you to take chance one, Fiona. I’m not just saying this as the sheriff, but as a friend of your father’s, and Sylvia’s. I don’t want you here alone. If here’s where you want to be, somebody’s here with you. I want your doors locked—day and night,” he added, and the warning edge to his gaze told Simon her habit of open, unlocked doors was no secret.

“They will be. Word of honor.”

“Good enough. When you’re on the road, I want your car windows up and your doors locked. I want you to carry your phone, and I want the name of every new client you take on. Every one of them. If you get another call for a search, I want you to contact me or my office. I want to know where you’re going and how to verify it.”

“She won’t be staying here,” Simon told him. “She’s moving to my place. Today. She’ll pack up what she needs before you leave.”

“I can’t just—”

“That’s a good idea.” McMahon ignored Fiona, nodded at Simon. “It changes the pattern. I don’t want her there alone, either.”

“She won’t be.”

“Excuse me?” Fiona held up both hands. “I’m not going to be difficult, and I’m not arguing about the need for precautions, but I can’t just move out of my house, my place of business. I teach here, and—”

“We’ll work it out. Pack.”

“What about my—”

“Give us a minute, will you?” Simon asked McMahon.

“No problem.” He scraped back his chair. “I’ll be right outside.”

“Do you know how infuriating it is when you continually interrupt me?” Fiona demanded.

“Yeah, probably about the same level as when you continually argue with good sense.”

“I’m not doing that. But good sense has to coordinate with the practical side. I have three dogs. I have a business here. The equipment I need to run that business.”

Excuses, not reasons, he concluded. And he wasn’t taking any bullshit.

“You want practical? I’ll give you practical. I have a bigger house and more room for those dogs. You can’t be alone because I’m there. I work there. If he comes looking for you here, he won’t find you. If you need the damn equipment, we’ll move the damn equipment. Or I’ll build new equipment. Do you think I can’t build a f**king seesaw?”

“It’s not that. Or not just that.” She held her hands out, then rubbed them over her face. “You haven’t given me five seconds to think. You didn’t even bother to ask.”

“I’m not asking. I’m telling you to go pack what you need. Consider it a change of pack leadership.”

“That’s not amusing.”

“I’m not feeling funny. We’ll get whatever equipment, whatever supplies we can today. We’ll get the rest tomorrow. Goddamn it, Fiona, he was under a quarter mile from your house. You asked me to stay, to go against my instincts and what I wanted to do and stay with you back there. Now it’s your turn.”

“I’m taking that five seconds to think.” She spun away from him, fists jammed on her hips as she stalked to the window.

Her place—was that what was wrong with her? Her place here, the first solid building block of the new life she’d created. Now, instead of holding her ground, defending it, she’d be walking away.

Could she be that stubborn, that foolish?

“Time’s up.”

“Oh, be quiet,” she snapped at him. “I’m being driven out of my own home, so give me a damn minute to deal with it.”

“Fine. Take a minute, then get moving.”

She turned back. “You’re a little pissed that you have—or feel you have—to do this. It’s one thing for you to sleep here, another for me to essentially live in your home.”

“Okay. What’s your point?”

“No point, just an observation. I have to make some calls. I can’t just pack. I’ll need to contact my clients, at least the ones coming tomorrow, and let them know I’ve moved the school. Temporarily,” she added, as much for her benefit as his. “James’s number is four on my speed dial. If you call him, he’ll come and help us move the outside equipment.”

“Okay.”

“And I’ll need to have calls forwarded to your number—from my house phone. For clients, and in case we get a search call.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do,” she said, wearily now. “I appreciate what you’re doing, especially because you’re not altogether happy about doing it.”

“I’d rather feel a little hemmed in than have anything happen to you.”

She let out a half laugh. “You have no idea, you really don’t, how sweet that is. I’ll do my best not to hem you in too much. Go ahead and tell Sheriff McMahon you won. I’ll start putting things together.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d won as he’d now have four dogs and a woman under his feet, but he stepped outside. McMahon broke off a conversation with his deputies and crossed toward the porch as Simon walked down.

“She’s packing.”

“Good. We’ll still come by here a couple times a day, check things out. When she’s going back and forth to hold those classes of hers—”

“She won’t be. She’ll do it at my place. I’m calling James so he can help me break down and move all that.”

Eyebrows lifted, McMahon looked over at the equipment. “Better yet. Tell you what, Matt here’s about to go off duty. He’s young and got a strong back. He’ll give you a hand. Won’t take much time. Those are your chairs, right?”

“They’re hers now.”

“Uh-huh. What I’m wondering is if you do porch gliders. My wife and I got an anniversary coming up next month. I’ve got a little shop, do some Harry Homeowner stuff, a little this and that. Thought I might try my hand at a glider. I proposed to her on one. I found out pretty quick building one was above my pay grade.”

“I can do that.”

“Something with those nice wide arms would be good. And she’s partial to red.”

“Okay.”

“Good enough. We’ll talk about the details later. You go ahead, get the tools to break what needs to be broken down. I’ll get Matt started on what doesn’t.” He started back, stopped. “Are you really making a sink out of a stump?”

“Yes, I am.”

“That’s something I want to see. Matt! Haul some of this dog playground business into Simon’s truck.”

HE ENDED UP calling James anyway, for the third pair of hands and the second truck. And with James came Lori, and with James and Lori came Koby.

Simon’s initial annoyance with having so many people and animals swarming around gave way to the realization that sometimes people didn’t get in the way, but helped make a necessary and tedious job go smoother.

It wasn’t a matter of a couple of suitcases’ worth of clothes, not when it was Fiona. It was suitcases, dog beds, dog food, toys, leashes, meds, dishes, grooming equipment—and that didn’t begin to factor in platforms, the seesaw, the slide, the tunnel. Or her files—and Jesus the woman had files—her laptop, her packs, her maps, the perishables in her refrigerator.

“The flower beds and vegetable garden are on a soaker hose,” she said when he objected to hauling over her flowerpots, “so they’ll be fine. But these need regular watering. Besides, we’ll enjoy them. And besides besides, Simon, you asked for it.”

And that he couldn’t argue with.

“Fine, fine. Just . . . go start putting some of this crap away, will you?”

“Any preference to where?”

He stared at the last load and wondered how the hell she’d fit all of that into her Seven Dwarfs-sized house. How had it all tucked in so tidily—and that didn’t count what she’d left behind.

“Wherever, I guess. Dump the office stuff in one of the spare bedrooms, and don’t mess with my stuff more than you have to.”

He walked back to help James put the training equipment back together.

Beside Fiona, Lori rolled her eyes and grabbed a box of files. “Lead the way.”

“I’m not entirely sure of it, but I guess we’ll take this first load upstairs, find the best spot.”

As they started in, Lori glanced around. “Nice. Really nice—a lot of space and light and interesting furniture. What there is of it. Messy,” she added as she started up the steps, “but really nice.”

“Probably three or four times as much space as I have.” Fiona glanced inside a room, frowned at the weight machine, gym equipment, tangle of clothes, unpacked boxes.

She tried another. A stack of paint cans, some brushes, rollers, pans, tools, sawhorses. “Okay, I guess this’ll work. I’m going to need my desk and chair. I didn’t think of that.”

She winced a little at the dust on the floor, the film on the window. “It is messy,” she murmured, “and I know what you’re thinking. Messy makes me twitchy.”

She set down her box of office supplies, turned a circle. “I’ll live with it.”

And him, she thought. For now.