Chapter 2 #2
"So we've got maybe a day, possibly less, to catch them before Hannah shuts down all marine operations. Given how this particular operation has been developing, that timeline seems optimistic at best."
I nodded, but my mind was already racing south across sixty nautical miles of increasingly choppy water.
Under normal circumstances, that was nothing—an easy run in a fast boat.
But with a hurricane bearing down, those miles might as well have been six hundred.
I'd waited too long to make things right with Gabi, and now Mother Nature was about to decide for me.
Hayes pulled up the coastal emergency management map, marking mandatory evacuation zones in stark red overlays. "We'll need teams at key points along the coast to assist emergency services with evacuation coordination. LaRue, you're taking Echo team to Hatterwick Island."
My pulse quickened, adrenaline flooding my system, but I kept my expression carefully neutral. Professional. Just another assignment. "Copy that, sir. How much personnel are we talking?"
"Four-person team. Standard hurricane protocol—assist local authorities with evacuation coordination, help secure critical facilities, maintain emergency communications during and after the storm.
" He zoomed in on Hatterwick's outline, a narrow sliver of land that looked impossibly vulnerable against the vast ocean.
"You'll set up operations at the fire station.
They've got backup generators and the most structurally sound building on the island. "
I noted the location on my own tablet, just off the main road that wound through Sutter's Ferry. Three blocks from the island's medical clinic, according to the map. Not that I'd memorized the layout of Gabi's workplace or anything.
"What happens to our trafficking surveillance operation?" Lopez asked, still clutching her weather data like a lifeline.
"Mother Nature's got other plans for us." Hayes closed the map display with a gesture that felt final. "We'll resume once Hannah passes and we can assess the damage. For now, priority one is storm preparation and civilian safety. Everything else is secondary."
The meeting wrapped with the usual flurry of logistical details—equipment load-outs, communication channels, transport schedules, fuel requirements.
My team would deploy first thing in the morning.
Just twelve hours until I'd be headed directly into Gabi's world, whether she wanted me there or not.
I itched to leave sooner, both to check on her safety and because I suspected the compressed timeline might cause some of the drug runners to make mistakes in their rush to move product.
But orders were orders, and preparation was everything in an operation like this.
Back at my desk in the bullpen, I pulled up Hatterwick Island's emergency response plan, a surprisingly comprehensive document for such a small community.
One main road that circled the island's perimeter like a necklace.
Two thousand year-round residents, though that number swelled to nearly ten thousand during peak summer months.
Primary evacuation point is at the ferry terminal on the western shore.
Medical services are coordinated through Island Medical Clinic, Dr. Paul Sibley, Chief Medical Officer.
I paused at that entry, wondering if that was Gabi's boss.
"Ready for some island time, boss?" Petty Officer Peterson, my second-in-command, dropped a stack of weather reports on my desk with a thud that scattered my thoughts.
He was grinning with the kind of enthusiasm that only came from someone who'd never ridden out a major hurricane on a barrier island.
"Just another deployment, Peterson." I closed the emergency response file and reached for the weather data. "Nothing we haven't handled before."
"You worked hurricane response in the Gulf, right? Should be similar setup?"
"This is smaller scale, which can be both good and bad.
" I stood up, stretching muscles cramped from too many hours in that miserable conference room chair.
"Barrier islands can be tricky during major storms. Storm surge, flooding, limited access once the weather turns.
We'll need to be completely self-sufficient. "
"How long do you think we'll be stuck there?"
"Depends on the storm track and how much damage she does. " I pulled up the satellite view of Hatterwick again. "There's no bridge to the mainland, so they're more cut off than a lot of the Outer Banks if shit goes sideways."
A couple thousand people scattered across twenty-nine square miles of sand and marsh grass.
One medical clinic where Gabi spent her days treating everything from fishing accidents to heart attacks.
Finding her wouldn't be the challenge—hell, on an island that small, I'd probably run into her at the grocery store.
No, the real challenge would be figuring out what to say when I did.
How do you apologize for three months of silence?
How do you explain that you finally understood what you'd thrown away?
I guess I had about twelve hours to figure that out.