10. Daniel
TEN
DANIEL
I hefted another box of emergency supplies onto the stack, my shoulders protesting the movement. The ibuprofen I’d taken at dawn hadn’t touched the deep ache from hours of holding binoculars steady in the pre-dawn darkness.
“These the last of them?” Martinez passed me another box from the truck.
“Two more.” I blinked hard against the grit in my eyes. The coffee maker in the fire station’s kitchen had been working overtime since 5am, but caffeine could only do so much.
My night watching Miller’s wreck had been a complete bust. No boats, no lights, no suspicious activity—just choppy water and increasing wind. The storm’s outer bands were already hitting the coast, creating white-capped waves that had made it impossible to spot anything smaller than a cruise ship without proper equipment. Either there’d been nothing, or we’d already missed our window.
“You look like hammered shit.” Tank dropped a case of water bottles at my feet. “Thought you turned in early last night.”
I grunted, not bothering with an answer. The less said about my unauthorized surveillance operation, the better. Commander Hayes would have my ass if he knew I’d gone out alone without backup or proper gear. But something about those fishermen’s story had nagged at me, demanded investigation.
“Last one.” Martinez handed over the last box. “Better get this stuff distributed before the wind picks up more. Chief Thompson wants everything battened down by noon.”
The mid-morning radio briefing had put the hurricane just nine hours out. Already the sky had taken on that strange, greenish cast that preceded major storms. The air felt heavy, electric. My joints ached with the pressure change—or maybe that was just from spending four hours crouched behind a jetty with nothing to show for it but a crick in my neck.
The wind gusted, rattling the fire station’s storm shutters. I’d wasted precious hours chasing shadows while the storm bore down on us. Now I had to focus on what I was actually here for—helping Hatterwick weather whatever was coming.
I paused in the doorway of the station’s office, catching fragments of conversation between Chief Thompson and Captain McNamara.
“... need the community center prepped by fourteen hundred hours.” Chief Thompson’s voice carried down the hall. “Got word from the clinic about setting up triage?—”
“Already on it.” McNamara’s response was clipped, focused. “But we’re short on manpower. Half the crew’s out securing the marina.”
I shifted my weight, joints protesting after hours of hauling supplies. The mention of the clinic caught my attention—Gabi had talked about emergency protocols yesterday while we’d been finishing up with the windows.
“What’s the timeline looking like?” Chief Thompson asked.
“Three, maybe four hours tops before conditions start to deteriorate. Need to get those beds set up, oxygen tanks secured. Gabi’s got a whole checklist?—“
I stepped into the office, clearing my throat. “Need an extra set of hands?”
Both men turned. McNamara’s expression remained neutral, but something flickered in his eyes—recognition, maybe. Or suspicion. Hard to tell.
Had Tank said something about my prior involvement with Gabi? I hadn’t given him much in the way of details, but I’d said enough to potentially put her brother-in-law on the defense.
After a beat, he acknowledged, “Could use the help.”
“Happy to pitch in wherever needed.”
The fire chief nodded. “Appreciate the assist. Hoyt, get him up to speed on the layout.”
I followed McNamara into the hall, ignoring the voice in my head pointing out that this was a thin excuse to put myself in Gabi’s path again. The community center needed the help—that was reason enough.
It took less than a quarter hour to mobilize a group to help.
The community center’s double doors banged against the wall as Tank shouldered them open, arms full of medical supplies. I followed with my own load, the smell of disinfectant already heavy in the air.
Inside, the basketball court had transformed into a makeshift hospital ward. Blue tarps covered the polished wooden floor, and rows of metal cots lined the walls. A group of volunteers wheeled in IV poles while others assembled privacy screens.
“Over here.” McNamara directed us toward a staging area where other firefighters sorted supplies into clearly labeled zones—trauma, respiratory, cardiac. The organization impressed me—whoever had planned this knew their stuff.
“Those go in bay three.” A nurse I recognized from yesterday pointed to our boxes. Her scrubs were already damp with sweat as she juggled clipboards and directed traffic. “And we need more hands setting up the isolation area in the back.”
I stacked the supplies where indicated, then joined Tank in wrestling cots into position. The work was methodical, but I kept scanning the room, searching for Gabi. Surely she was here somewhere to oversee all this?
“You expecting someone?” Tank grunted as we locked the cot’s legs in place.
“Just trying to get a head count.” The lie came easy. Too easy.
The side eye Tank shot me said he wasn’t buying what I was selling.
The clinic office manager—Nina, I remembered—directed us to move supplies from the staging area to the med station. As we worked, I caught fragments of conversation—supply counts, staff assignments, patient estimates.
“Where’s Dr. Carrera?” Another nurse called across the room. “These protocols need sign-off.”
Nina checked something else off a list. “Still at the clinic. She’s still seeing patients on an emergency basis, down to the last minute.”
My hands tightened on the box I was carrying. The timeline in my head shifted—three hours had seemed like plenty when we started. Now the darkening sky and strengthening winds told a different story.
I should stay here. The community center needed every available hand, and I had my orders. But my mind kept circling back to our last conversation, Gabi’s face when I’d told her why I was really here. The way she’d disappeared into her work without another word.
“LaRue!” McNamara’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Need those supplies over here.”
I forced myself to focus on the task at hand, even as part of my brain calculated how long it would take to reach the clinic. How much time we had before the roads became impassable. Whether I had any right to go after her at all.
The wind howled against the building’s metal roof, and the emergency lights flickered once, twice. A warning of things to come.
The radio at my hip crackled. “LaRue, come in.”
“Go ahead.” I pressed the talk button, shifting another box of supplies onto the counter.
“It’s Rawlings. Need you at the marina ASAP. Got multiple vessels breaking loose from their moorings.”
Damn it. I glanced at the community center’s entrance, still hoping Gabi might appear. The past hour had crawled by with no sign of her.
“Copy that. On my way.”
Tank clapped me on the shoulder. “I got this covered. Go.”
I jogged through the strengthening wind toward the loaner truck from the fire department. The sky had turned an ugly shade of green-black, and the air felt thick enough to chew. My hands clenched the steering wheel as I navigated the nearly empty streets.
The clinic’s lights glowed in the growing darkness as I passed. A few cars still sat in the parking lot, but I couldn’t see past the foliage to the employee lot at the back to check for Gabi’s. I fought the urge to pull over, just to make sure she was there. People’s lives and livelihoods were at stake at the marina. I couldn’t justify a detour for personal reasons. Besides, where else would she be? She’d said yesterday she intended to ride out the storm at the clinic.
The radio squawked again. “LaRue, what’s your ETA?”
“Two minutes out.” I pressed the accelerator, leaving the clinic behind. The wind buffeted my truck, and debris skittered across the road. Palm fronds whipped through the air like missiles.
I had to trust she knew what she was doing. That she had an evacuation plan if everything went south. That someone else was looking out for her.
But as I turned toward the marina, all I could think about was how I’d failed to look out for her before. How I’d let my career pull me away without even discussing it with her. And now here I was again, driving in the opposite direction, when every instinct screamed at me to turn around.