Includes Shift, Swipe, Shock, and Spike.
Virals
Seizure
Code
Exposure
Déjà Dead
Death du Jour
Deadly Décisions
Fatal Voyage
Grave Secrets
Bare Bones
Monday Mourning
Cross Bones
Break No Bones
Bones to Ashes
Devil Bones
206 Bones
Spider Bones (first published as Mortal Remains in UK)
Flash and Bones
Bones Are Forever
Bones of the Lost
Bones Never Lie
Speaking in Bones
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Epub ISBN: 9781473535282
Version 1.0
Published by Young Arrow 2016
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Trace Evidence copyright © Brennan NextGen, LLC. 2016
Shift copyright © Brennan NextGen, LLC. 2013
Swipe copyright © Brennan NextGen, LLC. 2013
Shock copyright © Brennan NextGen, LLC. 2015
Spike copyright © Brennan NextGen, LLC. 2016
Kathy Reichs has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Young Arrow
Young Arrow
The Random House Group Limited
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London, SW1V 2SA
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Young Arrow is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781784752392
CONTENTS
About the Book
About the Authors
Also by Kathy Reichs and Brendan Reichs
Title Page
Dedication
SHOCK
SHIFT
SWIPE
SPIKE
Copyright
I STOOD OUTSIDE on the curb, waiting.
Sweating, actually.
I’d worn a long-sleeved Red Sox hoodie and jeans, appropriate clothing for late fall in Massachusetts, but clearly too much for semitropical South Carolina. There’d been no time to change after stepping off the plane—unsure whether or not I was late, I’d hurried to baggage claim, dragged my two battered suitcases onto a cart, and then hustled out into the stupefying, unnatural mid-November heat.
And stood there.
Twenty minutes and counting.
Back home in Westborough, we’d be prepping the fireplace soon. Unpacking our winter hats and gloves. Not strolling around in shorts and T-shirts like these blond people surrounding me, radiant in their tanned, athletic perfection as they soaked in the morning sunshine.
Home.
The word seared my mind.
I had to stop thinking like that, since I didn’t have one anymore.
We.
I had to stop thinking that way, too.
Unbidden, tears gathered in my eyes. I pushed them back, angry. Determined not to let my emotions overcome me. Not again. Not today. At least not where anyone could see.
I have a first impression to make.
Wiping my eyes irritably, I glanced up at an iron clock bolted to the concrete pillar beside me, just above the taxi line sign. Twenty-five minutes.
Am I going to need a freaking cab?
I slipped out my iPhone, then cursed softly as I remembered it’d run out of juice on my two-hour flight here. Forgot to charge, then one episode of Scrubs too many.
Anxiety crept in. Slowly and stealthily, like a jungle cat.
Everything about this place felt foreign to me. It was more than just the temperature. Scanning the pickup area, I spotted palm trees swaying in the breeze. Heard a symphony of chirping crickets. Complete strangers nodded as they strolled past me, smiling, in no particular hurry. Some even said hello.
This was not how people acted in Boston, the only city I’d ever known. That stuff could get you punched in the face.
Carolina.
Even the name sounded exotic to me.
What did I know about the South? I could count the number of times I’d left the Bay State on one hand, with fingers to spare. Maine. Vermont. Rhode Island that one summer when I was twelve. Familiar, normal New England locales, not so different from my central Massachusetts home.
But this place? I felt like I needed a passport. Westborough seemed a million miles away.
Calm down. You can do this.
The silent pep talk did nothing to ease my nerves. I was about to meet my father for the first time, face-to-face. A person Mom never told me about—not even his name—in all the years we spent together. A man who’d played no role in my first thirteen years of life, right up to the day of my mother’s funeral, when distant relatives began whispering about what was to be done with me.
When everything I’d ever known was ripped from my fingers.
We had spoken over FaceTime, sure. Three times in the last two weeks, while the “arrangements” were being made. Christopher “Kit” Howard was to become my legal guardian. Honestly, he was the only realistic choice.
Other than my great-aunt Temperance Brennan.
How’s that for a shock? Turns out, I’m related to someone famous, and never knew. She’d even offered to take me in, though we both knew it wouldn’t work. The Fates had decreed that Kit Howard would parent me through my high school years.
So now I had a dad. I guess.
Whatever. Only four years until college.
That got me thinking about Mom again—the car accident, the doorbell, the sad-eyed police officer—but I shoved the raw memories away. After two weeks of mourning, I was desperate for a reprieve. My tears were spent.
Another gaggle of passengers exited the airport. They all seemed to have rides waiting.
Where was this new father of mine?
How can you be late to pick up your long-lost daughter?
As if in answer, a mud-streaked Mini Cooper raced around the corner. Tires screeched as the tiny car slowed, then lurched forward, cutting across two lanes to halt directly before me. A boyish-looking man with curly brown hair leaped from the driver’s seat. He wore a Pearl Jam tee, khakis, and the panicked expression of someone who has no idea what he’s doing, but is pretty sure he’s done it wrong.
“Victoria?” he called across the hood. “Er. I mean, Tory? Tory Brennan?”
He winced as if he’d just made a second strike. Which he kinda had.
“That’s me.” Voice flat, trying to keep my roiling emotions in check. “Hello.”
“Hi.” Then he stood there, staring dumbly, as if he didn’t know what to say next. Maybe he’d never gotten this far in his head.
I understood. There was no script for this scenario. No rulebook on how to greet a close family member you’ve never met before but intend to share a home with, effective immediately.
So we stared at each other. Behind him, a shuttle bus roared toward the exit.
“I’m Kit,” he blurted, breaking the awkward silence. “I mean, Christopher Howard. Your father,” he sputtered. Then Kit shook his head, as if certain he’d finally struck out. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person,” he finished lamely.
Spotting my bags, Kit shot forward. But he moved too fast, whacking his knee on the fender as he rounded the vehicle. Kit grabbed his leg, flushing beet red. A four-letter word curled his lips, but after glancing at me, he choked it back.
I suppressed a smile. This guy might be a total doofus, but he was clearly more nervous than I was. Which was oddly comforting.
“Sorry I’m late,” Kit managed finally, still grimacing as he rubbed his injured limb. “Flight status said you’d be delayed an hour, but then it changed suddenly and you were already on the ground.”
He dug out his phone and thrust its screen at my face, as if to prove his point. But the app was displaying the correct landing time, nearly a half hour ago.
“I mean, the stupid info changed. Without warning.” Kit glared at the device as if it had personally betrayed him, then shoved it back into his pocket. “I should’ve come early anyway.”
“It’s no big deal,” I said, trying to give him an out. “We probably made up time in the air. Airlines always get that stuff wrong.”
He nodded in thanks. “Your bags. I’ll get them.”
Before I could warn him, Kit grabbed both suitcases and tried to lift them at once. But he clearly underestimated their weight. The first one dropped like a stone, nearly smashing his foot, while the second bag toppled the cart before slamming into the side of his vehicle.
For a beat, Kit simply stared at the carnage.
“Maybe one at a time?” I suggested. “And maybe open the trunk first?” Internally, I was debating whether I wanted to get into the car with this man. Kit needed to calm down a lot before he could safely drive.
“Right.” Kit shook his head. “Trunk.” He reached for his keys, then realized they were still dangling from the ignition. An exasperated look crossed his face.
Kit closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Ran a hand over his face. Then his lids slid open and he gave me a wry smile. “I’m going to start this over,” he said, meeting my eye directly for the first time. “Hello, Tory Brennan. I’m Kit Howard. And I’m very sorry I’m late.”
He stuck out his hand. I shook.
There. Meeting my father, complete.
“I was very sorry to hear about Colleen,” he continued in a gentle voice. “Your mother and I hadn’t spoken in years, obviously, but I remember her well. She was a good soul. Kind. I’m heartbroken for you and her family. I know that doesn’t make things any better, but I want you to know anyway. I wish we’d learned of each other under better circumstances.”
His words surprised me. Unlike nearly everyone else, Kit hadn’t flinched from addressing my mother’s death directly. Nor had he tried to convince me that everything would magically be okay. I appreciated that. I couldn’t handle any more ridiculous conversations that danced around the reality that my mother was dead, she wasn’t coming back, and it was always, always going to hurt. My father, at least, seemed to understand.
Who was this man, who couldn’t make it on time to our first ever meeting but communicated with me better than people I’d known my whole life?
“And I’m sorry we’re strangers.” Kit leaned back against his car, a touch of heat entering his voice. “That decision wasn’t given to me, though I accept why Colleen chose the way she did. But I want you to know, it wouldn’t have been this way had I known.”
I nodded curtly. Looked away.
There was only so much honesty I could take right then.
“It’s fine,” I said in a level voice. “I don’t blame you.” Both mostly true.
Kit seemed about to say more, but must have thought better of it. Instead, he walked back around the car and popped the trunk. Only one of my suitcases would fit inside, much to his chagrin. After a bit of maneuvering, we were able to jam the second into the car’s narrow backseat, but only at the expense of my legroom.
“Sorry about this.” Kit was frowning at the clown car arrangement as he delivered his third apology of the morning. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll trade it in for something bigger.”
My hands flew up in protest. “Oh no! It’s fine. Please don’t give up your car for me.”
“No,” Kit said firmly, buckling his seat belt. “Should’ve done it yesterday. This thing doesn’t work well for me anymore, either. Not where I live. Where we live, I mean. I get stuck in the mud once a week.”
I almost didn’t want to ask. “The mud?”
Kit turned the key. We both cringed as the engine squealed.
“It’s already running,” he explained needlessly. “The car.”
“Yes.” Slight pause. “Do you need a minute? Before we go?”
To my surprise, he laughed out loud. “So I don’t drive straight into a bridge abutment?”
I snorted despite myself. “Something like that.”
Kit ran a hand through his mop of curly hair. He kept the car in park. “Perhaps you’ve noticed that I’m a little nervous.”
I grinned faintly. “A touch.”
He chuckled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. When he spoke again, it was as if we were peers. “Man, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never even had a dog, much less a teenage daughter.” His eyes were wide in disbelief. Then he started, realizing what he’d said. His head whipped toward me. “Not that I’m comparing you to a pet, of course!”
“No,” I said quickly, not offended in the slightest. “I know what you meant.”
He nodded in gratitude, but couldn’t seem to stop talking without a filter. “I mean, my God! I’m going to be your … your dad. This is so … nuts. I’m in no way prepared for this job.”
“Don’t worry,” I said in a soothing voice. Weirdly, I felt like the adult in the conversation. “It’s not like I’ve had a dad before. There’s no act to follow.”
He gazed at me intently. “Do you want to call me that? Dad? Is that what we do?”
I stiffened. “Let’s just stick with Kit for now. Okay?”
“Yes. Of course. Absolutely.” He seemed to realize how he’d been rambling. “Tory, you absolutely must know that I’m happy you’re coming to live with me. Thrilled. I refused to consider any other arrangement. I don’t want you to think—”
“Kit.”
“Yes.”
I smiled, but my tone was serious. “I know. I heard, and can already tell. Just keep being honest with me. I like that better than you pretending to be some sitcom father.”
He sighed with genuine relief. “That I can do. You’re a smart kid, Tory. I have no idea how to impersonate a dad anyway. Let’s do the thing where we just act like ourselves, and go from there.”
“I like this plan.” A pause. “What was that earlier about mud?”
Kit shifted into drive. “Yes. Well.”
He cast a furtive glance my way as we pulled away from the curb.
“How do you feel about island living?”
IT WAS AN uncomfortable ride.
Wedged into the passenger seat, I stared out the window with both knees pressed against my chest, lost in thought as we rolled through the unfamiliar terrain. The sun was a brilliant yellow orb hanging in a perfect Carolina-blue sky. As we crossed mile after mile of lush, grassy swampland—everything green and yellow and tan—I couldn’t shake the feeling that my old life was slowly fading away, never to return. The idea made me sad.
Kit called this area the Lowcountry, and he wasn’t lying. I didn’t see so much as a steep hill as we crossed a dozen waterways and several large islands, headed for God-knows-where.
Seagulls and cranes. Green, brackish water. Swaying reeds. Crisp salt air.
So much of it was foreign to me. What was this place?
“Morris Island is … special,” Kit explained as we crossed a low concrete bridge to a colorful seaside town named Folly Beach. The place had three stoplights, tops. As we cruised along the main drag, a limitless blue expanse appeared dead ahead.
We’d reached the Atlantic Ocean, but somehow weren’t there yet.
“I thought Charleston was, like—” I waved a hand aimlessly, struggling for the right words, “—a city. You know? With lots of people, and stuff.”
“Huh?” Kit shot me a confused look, then his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh! No. This isn’t Charleston out here.” He chuckled, turning left and heading north along the spine of a skinny barrier island. “I don’t live downtown. Far from it, actually.”
The ocean was to our right, mere yards away. I spotted open water on the left side of the road as well, beyond a triple row of vacation homes marching alongside the street. A mile farther up, the land thinned to a single line of houses. Then even those fell away.
“I live in a pretty unique place.” Kit pointed to a sign announcing the end of the public road, but didn’t stop, pulling through the final cul-de-sac, over its curb, and onto a shady strip of unmarked blacktop hidden from easy view. We crossed a bridge, then followed the pavement as it disappeared into heavy brush. “Welcome to Morris Island.”
I raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing here.”
“Not much, I admit.” He was watching me from the corner of his eye, gauging my reaction. Which only deepened my unease.
Nobody had mentioned that Kit lived off the grid, beyond the end of the road, like some kind of hermit, or maybe a psychopath. And he was clearly aware of that fact.
“It’s about where I work,” Kit began, navigating the Mini through a maze of scrub grass. “You remember me talking about that, right?”
“You’re a marine biologist. A professor.” I knew that much. Not that he apparently lived inside a remote sand cave, or in a tent on some deserted beach, but it was something.
“For LIRI,” he confirmed. “The Loggerhead Island Research Institute. I specialize in the sea turtles and dolphins that live and breed off the South Carolina coast. I study them. Treat them when they’re injured. Generally make a nuisance of myself.”
I nodded. Kit and I weren’t close enough yet for me to tell him how cool I thought that was—and how much I wanted to do something similar—but it was true. Kit discussing his work during our phone calls had been the first thing that warmed me to him. Had helped me begin to truly consider the idea of a South Carolina life for myself.
“So this is Loggerhead Island?” I asked, eyeing the surrounding wilderness.
“No,” Kit said quickly as we emerged from the high grasses into a field of low, scruffy sand dunes. “Loggerhead’s a thirty-minute boat trip from here.”
My shoulders slumped in dismay. “We need a boat to get home?”
“No, no!” Kit shook his head, rushing to explain. Then he pursed his lips. “Well, yes, actually. At times. But not the way you’re thinking.” He spun a finger in air. “This is Morris Island, where I live. I work at the institute, which is on Loggerhead Island, farther off the coast. My job is the whole reason I stay out here. It’s easier to get to the lab and back.”
I scanned the horizon anxiously. Hadn’t spotted a man-made structure since we’d crossed the bridge. Panic bubbled up inside me. I gave my father a sharp look. “You have a house, right, Kit? With walls? A roof? Running water? I don’t mind living in the sticks, but I’m not camping—”
He waved a hand to cut me off. “Yes, a house. And no, not alone. Look.”
He pointed ahead to where a lonely building poked from the dunes. For a hot second I thought it was some kind of mansion, standing there all by itself—at this point, nothing felt off the table—but as we drew near, I realized it was a tidy housing complex.
There was nothing else around it.
“That’s it?” Trying to keep my voice steady.
This is the dictionary definition of “the middle of nowhere.”
“Ten units,” Kit said cheerfully, pulling into a lot behind the building and pressing his garage door opener. The second door from the right began to rise. “Forty neighbors total. I’m Numero Dos. We are, I mean.”
“Is there …” I craned my neck left and right, searching for any other sign of civilization. “Is there anything else?”
“Not on Morris.” Kit maintained his peppy tone, but I could tell he was monitoring my reactions closely. “The rest of this island is protected as a nature preserve. No construction allowed. The state owns both Morris and Loggerhead, and built these townhouses for key staff working out at LIRI. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be anything here at all.”
“Nothing else.” My spirits sank into my shoes. “Just this.”
“And the best beach in Charleston,” Kit retorted, still forcing cheer into his voice. “Morris Island is absolutely gorgeous, Tory. It’d be a travesty to spoil it with tourists and condos. We have the nicest front yard in America, you’ll see.”
“Yeah. Sounds … great.”
Dear God, can I get out of this?
Kit sensed my obvious reluctance. “Hold on, I have an idea.” Instead of pulling into the garage, he spun the Mini around and parked behind the building. “Let’s take a look before we go inside, what do you say?”
I shrugged. “Look at what?”
“At why I choose to live here.” Kit opened his door and stepped outside. Without other options, I followed suit, trailing him reluctantly around the corner of the building.
Then my breath caught.
Wow.
Before me, a rectangle of vibrant green grass stretched to a short slope, which tumbled down to a gorgeous white-sand beach below. There, gentle waves lapped against the pilings of a sturdy wooden dock that marched out into the ocean. A handful of small boats were tied up along its length. Beyond the pier, blue-green water stretched as far as the eye could see, rivaled only by the towering majesty of the cloud-dotted sky.
It was … spectacular.
The sun reflected radiantly off the water. Slow, lazy breakers rolled in like an advancing army. Seabirds flew in long formations, cawing and swooping, coasting on thermals before dive-bombing the waves in search of their next meals.
I felt something blossom inside me. A seed of contentment, opening. Taking root.
This was a place I could love. Where I could live.
Kit was watching me take it all in. “Like I said, living on the boundary has its perks.”
I was about to agree when a door creaked open behind us. Then a buttery Southern voice practically squealed, “Is that her? Oh my goodness, let me see! Let me see!”
I spun to see an elegant blonde woman hurrying down the steps of Unit 2. She wore a snug yellow sundress and impractical heels. Blue eyes. Cherry-red lipstick. The woman was tall and thin, and undeniably beautiful. Yet I had a sudden impulse to turn and run.
Kit shot me a sheepish glance. “Okay, so I didn’t get to tell you about my girlfriend yet. Her name is Whitney, and she was determined—”
The woman stopped as if poleaxed, her face cratering into a comical pout. “You didn’t tell her about me?”
“There wasn’t a good opportunity,” Kit said, darting forward to snag her hand, trying to watch us both at once. “Tory’s flight was early—”
“On time,” I noted.
“—not late, as expected. So we got kinda rushed, and I didn’t—”
“Tell your daughter about the woman you love?” Whitney interrupted shrilly, eyes snapping shut as she placed a hand against her chest. With a start, I realized she was near tears.
Who is this drama queen?
Kit started to protest, but Whitney’s hand rose to cut him off as she gathered herself. Then, eyelids fluttering, she practically leaped forward, wrapping me in a bone-crushing hug. My eyes bugged as this complete stranger attempted to squeeze the life out of me.
“You poor, dear child!” Fingernails stroked the back of my head, and I couldn’t suppress a shiver. Whitney pulled her head back to regard me. “Are you cold, darling? Sick? Kit, bring this girl inside before she catches her death!”
It was at least seventy degrees outside.
“We were just—” Kit began, but Whitney was already shepherding me toward the entrance to the townhouse, leaving him to hurry after us.
We climbed six steps to the door, then three more inside, entering a narrow living room with a giant recessed window overlooking the ocean. In the other direction was a dining area, then a small kitchen and keeping room in the rear. A staircase to my left led up to a third floor. On the opposite side, another set of steps led down to the lowest level.
“The layout is kind of funky,” Kit explained from behind me. “Four floors, pretty much straight up. This whole block was built on the ruins of an old Civil War fort, so they had to follow the original foundation. But it’s pretty spacious for two people. And there’s a fabulous roof deck on the top level.”
My eyes darted to the makeup-drenched woman with an arm still draped around my shoulders. “You don’t live here?”
Her face flushed, then she tittered like a child. “Oh no, dear. Your father and I aren’t engaged or anything like that.” She released me, demurely hand-smoothing her sundress. “I live downtown, in the city proper.”
Phew.
I wasn’t sure about this goofy new dad of mine, but I’d made a snap decision about his ditzy girlfriend. That we weren’t going to be roomies was the best news of the day.
“Your bedroom is upstairs.” Kit nodded up the steps. “I’m giving you the one in front. It’s bigger, and overlooks the ocean. Plus it’s got the master bath.”
My mouth opened, but he spoke right over me. “I insist. Honestly, I couldn’t care less about bathroom size, and the closet in the second bedroom is really tight. You’re a teenage girl,” he explained to me needlessly. “You need way more space than me.”
“Kit, I can’t take your bedroom.”
“You can and will.” He made a chopping motion with one hand. “I’ve already moved my stuff anyway, and don’t want to have to do it again.”
I was touched. Kit Howard might be woefully unprepared to be a dad, but he seemed to have a good heart. It’s a start. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what we want,” Whitney chimed in, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. For some reason, I imagined smashing a pie into her face. She’d probably faint at the mess.
“Would you like a tour?” Whitney offered brightly. “Or something to eat? You must be famished, with nothing but airplane food to eat.”
The day had caught up to me. My head wasn’t quite spinning, but close. I needed a break. A quick time-out to get my bearings. “Maybe just a few minutes in my room. Alone,” I clarified, just in case she thought to join me.
“Of course!” Kit said quickly. “I’ll get your bags.”
“You poor dear,” Whitney repeated with a sigh. “Yes. Rest is just the ticket.”
“Thanks.” I was halfway up the stairs before I remembered I’d never set foot inside this house before. “Which room is mine?”
“One flight up, sweetheart.” Whitney wore an overly solicitous expression, as if I were an endangered species entrusted to her care. “End of the hall. Look for the bay window overlooking the sea.”
It suddenly occurred to me that by evicting Kit, I’d banished Whitney to the guest room as well. Some manners were in order, no matter how much she made my skin crawl. “Thank you, Whitney. You’ve made this all a lot easier.”
Her hands rose to cover her mouth as she nodded tightly. I feared I’d overdone it.
What a bizarre woman.
Taking the steps two at a time, I fled, in search of sanctuary.
THE BEDROOM WAS small but well-appointed.
Bed. Dresser. Desk. Twin bookcases, aligned side-by-side. Everything in dark mahogany, the pieces matching and clearly brand-new. Kit must’ve crushed a Pottery Barn catalog.
No complaints, though. It all looked nice. A boy’s effort at building a girl’s room, yes, but he got an A for effort. Then I spotted a lilac duvet and lacy tangerine throw pillows, and knew Whitney’s hand had been present as well.
I stuck my head into the closet. Not huge, but plenty big enough for the contents of my two suitcases. I wasn’t a clotheshorse or anything, plus Mom and I never had the funds to bloat our wardrobes.
The bathroom, however, was a pleasant surprise. Two sinks, a standalone shower, and, yes, a soaking tub. I debated jumping into it right then, but held off. I didn’t know what Kit and Whitney had planned, and the last thing this day needed was a bathroom-walk-in disaster.
There was a daybed beneath the bay window. I hopped onto it and gazed out at the smooth, glasslike ocean below. Kit had it right—the landscape was amazing. Soothing. I’d never had a view like that in Massachusetts. As I watched, a pod of dolphins breached the surface, firing seawater high into the air. I said a silent thank-you for Kit’s generosity.
Spotting an outlet, I plugged in my phone to charge. Then I leaned back against the wall, staring down at the deep blue sea.
So. Here I am.
The morning had been strange, no question. I thought about Kit and decided there was potential there. While essentially clueless, he didn’t seem overbearing, or thickheaded, or mean. In fact, he seemed relieved at the idea of treating each other as equals. I could work with that.
Whitney, though.
She was going to be a problem.
Unbidden, comparisons to my mother paraded through my head. Mom had always been able to read my moods instinctively. Defused tension with ease. She’d had a gift for dialing down my type-A personality and getting me to relax. Basically the exact opposite of the bombastic blonde bombshell lurking downstairs.
Even when Mom skipped me up a grade level—something I’d complained bitterly about upon reaching high school; who wants to be youngest by a full year?—she’d been able to calmly explain her reasoning in a way I’d accepted.
But Whitney? She’d gotten everything wrong within seconds. It was almost impressive.
How often was she going to be there? Did she run Kit as completely as it seemed?
I saw my face in the windowpane. The curdled twist to my lips.
“Blargh,” I whispered. My reflection nodded back grimly in response.
With a sigh, I rose and walked to the bathroom. Splashed cold water on my face. A glance at my iPhone told me it was only 10:15. Day One of my new life was dragging like a dredge.
What now? Do I hide up here? Take a nap?
Can it last four years?
I wished I had my suitcases. More specifically, the books crammed inside. I could read up here in safety, then maybe take a nap. But going down to ask for them might result in more unwanted bear hugs. Better not risk it.
My eyes drifted back to the window. The empty beach.
How far does it go?
A knock on the door made me jump.
“Tory?” Kit called, his voice slightly breathless.
“Yes?” Praying there wasn’t a painful getting-to-know-you activity in the offing.
“I have your things.” I heard him grunt, then the sound of shifting feet. “I don’t want to disturb you, but these bags are pretty heavy. Not sure what you packed …” There was a thump as one of my suitcases hit the floor. “I can leave them out here for now, but I don’t want you to have to lug them in there yourself.”
Decision made.
I opened the door wide. “No problem. Come in.”
Kit lurched forward and dropped both cases at the foot of the bed. Then he flexed his fingers, red-faced and sweaty. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Three flights of stairs. Should’ve made two trips.”
I stifled a laugh. He was trying so hard.
“It’s fine,” I assured him. “Thanks for bringing my stuff up. I was actually thinking about going for a run on the beach, if that’s okay?”
“What? Yes! Great!” Kit tripped over his own words in encouragement. “That’s a wonderful idea. Morris Island is about four miles all the way around. Stick to the beach until you hit Cummings Point to the north, cut straight across the sandhills to Schooner Creek, then work your way back. You’ll see Charleston Harbor, Fort Sumter, lots of stuff.”
Cummings Point. Schooner Creek. Fort Sumter. The names meant nothing to me, but I nodded politely. “Will I get lost?”
Kit chuckled. “Doubtful. There’s nothing else on the island. If you lose your bearings, just head south and look for the Morris Island Lighthouse. You can see our place from there.”
“Lighthouse. Got it.”
Kit smiled, lingering in the doorway, clearly pleased to have been useful.
“Thank you,” I said, waiting patiently.
“You’re very welcome.” Still not moving.
Finally, “Could I have a minute alone? To change clothes?”
Kit jumped as if slapped. “Yes! Of course! So sorry.” He banged into the doorframe in haste to escape, then growled curses while retreating down the hallway.
I closed the door behind him.
This time, I couldn’t help but bark a laugh.
Apparently my father was one of the Three Stooges.
I dug out my running gear and changed quickly. I’d always enjoyed the activity, though not usually in November. Never liked freezing my butt off.
Not here, though. Score one for the Lowcountry.
I pulled my long red hair into a ponytail. Checked myself in a mirror. I’m not vain, but I don’t like looking shabby, either. You never know who you might run into.
Green eyes stared back at me, unconsciously tallying my freckles with distaste. I was self-aware enough to know I wasn’t bad-looking, but we all have things we’d change. My spots were a longstanding pet peeve.
I look like Mom, though. I don’t want that to change.
Blindsided. Every time.
My lips trembled. I was racked by a sudden wave of sorrow. Angrily, I fought it back. Slammed a lid on the emotional cauldron still seething inside me, just below the surface.
Not. Today.
I stared at the floor until my breathing slowed and the pain retreated to its regular place in the corner of my mind. Finally, secure that my eyes were dry—and that my clothing covered all the necessary places—I nodded to my reflection like we were soldiers embarking on a dangerous mission. Which seemed about right.
Kit and Whitney were huddled in the living room, pretending to be doing other things. Both popped to their feet as I hit the bottom step.
“Have a good run,” Kit said cheerfully. “Nice day for it.”
“Are you sure you want to travel the island alone?” Whitney’s eyes were tight with worry. “I could go with you, though I don’t like to run. Or Kit could follow you on his bicycle.”
Both prospects horrified me.
“I’ll be okay.” As politely as possible. “I run all the time, don’t worry. And there’s no one else out here anyway, right?”
Whitney nodded, but her pinched expression didn’t change. “If you see a coyote, turn and run home as fast as you can. Yell out and we’ll come quickly.”
I nodded, though I was pretty sure she’d given me terrible wildlife advice. Then I slipped out the door and down the steps.
Outside, bracing salt air enveloped me like a glove. Sunlight bounced off the surface of the ocean, making my eyes water. Was it always so calm here? Up on the Cape, the sea tossed and turned like an insomniac, smashing anything within its grip. These placid waves made zero sense to me.
I was halfway across the lawn when the sprinklers activated, forcing me to scamper down to the beach below. Not the most dignified start to my run. But the idyllic setting soon wiped the irritation from my mind. Brushing fat drops from my sleeves, I did a slow 360, surveying the expanse of water, sand, and dunes surrounding me. The place really was beautiful. I could get used to all the fresh air. The acres of open space.
Wish I had a dog.
Nature’s symphony was playing all around me. Singing insects. Crying gulls. The steady sigh of waves tumbling to shore, then running over wet sand. Not a single man-made noise disturbed the peace, something I wasn’t used to.
Like a dream.
I headed north along the coast as Kit had suggested, falling into a comfortable rhythm. With my muscles working, my mind went pleasantly blank. A warm glow spread through me as I stuck close to the shoreline, jogging just above the high-water mark. The land rose and fell around me, often keeping the next stretch of beach out of sight. I was enjoying the surprise of not knowing what came next.
I could do this every day.
Then I heard voices. My spirits sank.
I thought no one was out here.
I slowed, then stopped, my view ahead blocked by a clump of jagged sand dunes. Though I couldn’t make out any words, I could tell an argument was taking place. Frowning, I gazed inland, searching for a way around. But here the dunes reared high overhead and were covered in tough, thorny vines.
That scrub grass is probably loaded with pricker balls. No thanks.
I wasn’t ready to turn back, but didn’t want to see anyone else, either. Conflicted, I elected to sneak forward and peer around the dune. What I saw shocked me.
Three boys were huddled beside a tide pool, arguing about something at their feet. The closest was heavyset, wearing a red-and-blue Hawaiian shirt and clashing orange board shorts. As I watched—okay, spied—he began pawing his wavy brown hair, speaking animatedly to the other two. “We have to do something! I’m not letting Donatello die on my watch. I’m no karma scientist, but I know that’d be bad!”
The boy next to him—a short, skinny black kid with thick glasses—shook his head vigorously. He wore a white polo and pleated navy shorts. “Don’t touch it!” he insisted, tugging an earlobe for some reason. “Those things might look cute, but they’ve got teeth.”
Across from them, a third boy was glowering at the sand. Bigger than his companions, with shoulder-length black hair and a deep, dark tan. He had jeans on despite the heat, but he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
Hey now.
I crept a few feet closer. They didn’t notice. Weren’t looking anywhere beyond the tide pool at their feet.
What’s going on?
“It might be too dry.” Long Hair frowned, tapping a fist against his chin. “Can they just lie in the open like this?”
“I have a bucket!” Hawaiian Shirt pointed to a trio of backpacks at the top of the beach. He took three running steps toward the pile. “We’ll douse it with seawater!”
“Wait!” Glasses’s hands flew up. “We don’t know if that’s a good idea. What if it can’t breathe?”
“It lives in the freaking ocean!” Hawaiian Shirt shot back. “How could seawater hurt it?” But he froze, unsure what to do.
“Forget the bucket.” Long Hair squatted beside something at the edge of the pool. “The tide’s coming in anyway. Just help me lift. We’ll push it back out to sea.”
With Hawaiian Shirt out of the way, I caught a glimpse of what they were discussing.
My heart leapt into my throat.
“STOP!” I shouted.
All three jumped at once, their heads whipping toward me in surprise.
Without a second thought, I catapulted forward.
“BACK AWAY FROM the turtle!” I yelled.
Hawaiian Shirt’s eyes widened as I charged across the beach. “Whoa. Girl.” His gaze darted to Glasses. “There’s a girl here.”
“I see that, Hiram.” Glasses was now tugging both ears. Maybe he had an infection?
Long Hair rose, hand-shielding his eyes as I splashed into the tide pool. He didn’t speak, but was tracking my movements closely. Then his face flushed scarlet. Spinning, he practically dove for a black T-shirt lying in the sand behind him.
Shy. Huh.
I noted these details, but my attention was focused on the animal in the tide pool.
“That’s a loggerhead sea turtle,” I said without preamble. “It’s a protected species.”
“We got that far,” Hawaiian Shirt said dryly.
Hiram. His friend called him Hiram.
“What I mean is, you’re not supposed to touch them.” I knelt beside the animal, careful not to move too suddenly. The turtle watched me with ancient eyes, its head slightly withdrawn. “Mature sea turtles don’t lounge on the beach unless there’s a problem.”
“So why not push it back out to sea?” Glasses said. “Isn’t that where it belongs?”
Long Hair nodded but said nothing.
I shook my head, examining the creature’s shell as I spoke. “If it’s beached itself, this poor guy might be too injured to swim, and even sea turtles have to breathe every now and again. Pushing it underwater could drown it.”
“Why’d it crawl up here?” the heavy one asked. “I’m Hi, by the way. That’s Shelton in the glasses. Our talkative friend is Ben.”
Long Hair nodded, fixing me with dark brown eyes.
A tingle ran my spine.
Focus.
“I don’t know what’s wrong.” The rising tide splashed around my ankles, but I ignored it, trying to recall everything I’d ever read about sea turtles. On a hunch I knelt in the swirling salt water, trying to see beneath the giant animal. “It doesn’t seem to be nesting.”
My head was level with the turtle’s. It shifted to regard me, but didn’t make a sound.
What’s wrong, big guy? Help me help you.
“You have a guess?” Hi said, genuine concern in his voice. “Is it sick or something?”
I sat back on my knees, brow furrowed. “In Massachusetts Bay, distressed sea turtles have usually been stunned by cold water. But I doubt that’s the problem this far south.”
I circled the animal and checked its opposite side. Nothing unusual jumped out at me.
Glancing up, I found the three boys watching me as much as the turtle. I wasn’t sure which they thought was the stranger creature.
I had a strong feeling of being … assessed. Not in a creepy way. Something deeper.
For some reason, I didn’t want to fail.
But you’re out of your depth. Do the right thing.
“We need to call a marine wildlife expert.” I stood, wiped wet, sandy hands on my running shorts. “Everything I’ve read says you’re not supposed to touch or move an injured sea turtle unless the tide is about to cover it. Even then, you only move it above the waterline.”
“Wait!” Hi pointed his index fingers at me, then fired them back toward the townhomes. “We know a turtle guy! A real one. He lives like a hundred yards away.”
“Dr. Howard!” Ben and Shelton said at the same time.
“Kit! Of course!” My hands dove into my pockets. “My father’s home right now!”