Chapter Nine
EMERY
I SPEND THE next few days at the research center, reading over Dr. Young’s research.
Turns out, there were more notebooks than just the first one.
I also found a thumb drive containing photos of the turtles and their tags and several pages of a report she was working on.
Kayla takes me out in the research center skiff and shows me the eelgrass beds where she’s been tracking juvenile fish and invertebrate populations for her AP Marine Bio class.
It’s clean and careful data, and Kayla’s enthusiasm for her studies is infectious.
But when I tell her I want to pick up Dr. Young’s research, Kayla’s easy chatter falters.
“She stopped bringing the tags back here near the end,” she says, eyes fixed on the water. “Started logging everything somewhere else.”
I frown, chewing on my lower lip. “Did she say why?”
Kayla shakes her head too quickly. “She just said some of the numbers didn’t make sense. By the time she died, I didn’t know much about it at all anymore.”
The skiff drifts in silence.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice soft.
Kayla shrugs and turns her attention back to her own notes, effectively ending the conversation.
I can’t figure out why research on terrapins would make this sixteen-year-old so nervous—but it does.
I mostly avoid Reid. I see him each day, but I try to keep it to polite “hi and bye” conversation.
He makes me nervous in all his sexy marsh man glory, and getting close to him would be a bad idea.
But I keep things friendly, and each day that passes, I feel more of my stress melt away.
Just the very idea of not teaching summer classes makes me excited.
The next steps are right in front of me.
I just have to figure out what they are.
All in all, my time here so far has been slow and peaceful.
Lena wants to know everything about Tidehaven, and I have nothing to report, unfortunately. Tidehaven is peaceful and, dare I say, a bit boring?
Finally, after five days of working in the research center and learning the lay of the land, I feel confident enough to take the skiff out myself before dawn.
The mist is thick as soup but I want to set some floating traps so I can start tagging turtles and monitoring their nesting patterns.
I fill a travel mug with coffee and take it with me.
The mornings in the marsh are chillier than I expected.
I put on a windbreaker, waders, and a ball cap that I fix my headlamp to.
Then I march down my rickety dock and climb in, pulling on the choke and starting the engine.
It hums to life easily, but just before heading out, a nagging voice in my head gives me pause.
It’s Reid’s. Remembering what he said about getting stuck, I climb back out of the boat and grab the oars at the shoreline.
I can’t be too careful, especially in the dark.
I move through the marsh slowly, the only light from my headlamp.
I pass an old, abandoned dock that doesn’t appear to have a house attached to it.
I didn’t notice it the other day with Reid.
Probably because I was noticing him, broad shoulders tapering down to strong forearms, as he gripped the throttle and maneuvered the boat. Good to know it’s there though.
I steer around the bend, until I find the place where Reid showed me a nest and get to work setting some floating traps.
I stagger them and then take my night vision camera out of my bag.
I adjust the lens and snap a few photos of the traps, the nesting area, and my surroundings so I know to come back to the same place.
I’m about to head for home when a center console boat moves into my frame, the whir of its engine startling me.
It’s not even six a.m. It seems odd for anyone besides me to be out in these back bays before dawn.
Heat crawls up my neck, and I instinctively dim my light, ducking down.
I watch as two shadowy figures climb out of a boat larger than mine dragging someone to the dock I’ve just passed.
A third man stands on the edge of the boat and gives an order I can’t make out, but his voice is low and cold.
There’s some rustling, sounds of a struggle from the victim, muffled voices.
I shift my weight, scanning for a quick way out, my pulse hammering as I brace for what comes next.
Fear runs through me and with it a sharp wave of nausea.
I can’t see faces but from what I can tell, I’ve seen too much already.
A gunshot breaks the eerie silence, and a gasp escapes me.
My stomach turns so violently that I nearly choke on the bile rising in my throat, fighting the urge to vomit off the side of my skiff.
A rough, strangled grunt carries across the water as the figure crumples.
The men kick him once before he disappears beneath the surface, then turn back toward their boat.
I’m shaking so uncontrollably I can’t process what I’ve just seen.
A gunshot. A man collapsing. The sound of his body hitting the shallow water.
The metallic scent of blood heavy in the air.
And now the sickening sound of silence. My brain can’t file it under real, but my fight or flight knows I have to get out.
I stifle a gag, and the camera slips from my shaking hands, hitting the metal hull of my skiff.
The sound might as well be another gunshot. Fuck.
One of the figures spins back around. “Did you hear that?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I fumble with the backup oars, silently thanking Reid for the suggestion but it’s too late.
Their boat roars to life, and they’re coming for me.
My eyes burn, and I realize they’re filled with tears.
This is it. This is going to be the day my life ends.
I swallow the rising panic, determined not to let the fear paralyze me. I have to fight.
Then another loud crack from the opposite direction.
Muffled voices, sounds of the men cursing, trying to figure out the source of the noise.
A moment later, the engine whirs louder and they’re moving—but it sounds like it’s away from me.
I use it as my chance to get the fuck out.
I pull off to the closest clearing, collect my belongings as quickly as possible, and abandon my skiff.
The sound of my pounding heart is deafening as I race through the woods, trying not to drop everything.
Branches brush against my arms as I push against the underbrush, breath tearing out of my lungs.
My boots slip on damp leaves and catch on roots.
I stumble, but I don’t fall. My pulse is so loud, I’ve convinced myself footsteps are behind me, but I don’t dare look back.
I’m moving by instinct, guided by the first slivers of daylight and desperation.
My fingers are numb. My lungs burn. My legs threaten to buckle.
Just keep moving, I tell myself.
I have to put distance between myself and what I saw.
Between me and whoever that was. I push harder, tears blurring my vision.
My foot snags on a root and I hit the ground.
Hard. Pain shoots through my hip, but I scramble up again, clawing at vines and roots, willing myself to keep going.
And then I see it. Blackbird Cottage. Safety. I run faster than I ever have before.
Bursting through the door, I drop my things on the armchair and run for the bathroom, retching into my palm before I make it to the toilet. I vomit until I can’t anymore, and then I curl up on the tattered couch and give into the heaving sobs.
AS DAYLIGHT brEAKS, the low sound of a boat’s motor stirs me from the light sleep I managed to fall into.
I sit up, pressing my palms to my cheeks.
Maybe it was a terrible dream. I stand, moving to my kitchen window to see Reid tying up my abandoned skiff and then making his way to my door. I meet him there.
I swing open the door and there he is, looking as if he hasn’t slept at all, his shirt already damp from the humidity.
“You dropped this.” He holds out my camera bag.
His gaze fixes on me, waiting for me to make a move.
My eyes drop to the bag as I try to process what this means—why Reid has my camera bag.
I blink rapidly, and the truth comes into focus. It wasn’t a dream. And Reid was there. Was he one of the men? I take the bag, backing away slowly, fear clouding my judgment. My eyes fill with tears.
“Emery,” Reid rasps, stepping inside. He looks like he wants to reach for me, but he restrains himself.
“H-how?” I whisper.
Reid rakes a hand through his beard, stepping closer. He holds up his hands. “I’m not a stalker,” he starts.
I let out a low bitter laugh. “That’s a relief.”
“Look, I know what you saw. I was there too.” Reid steps closer, prompting me to back up again.
“Why? Why were you there?” My voice comes out brittle and strained.
Reid sighs and gestures to the wooden chair at the small dining table to his right. “May I sit?”
He doesn’t move without permission, instead fixing his eyes on mine. Finally, I nod slowly, cautiously, staying where I am. Something in my gut tells me this man isn’t dangerous.
He takes the chair furthest from me. “Our properties… They’re close,” he says quietly.
“Not many people know that. And when I can’t sleep—which is most nights—I walk the trails behind the marsh.
It’s always in the early mornings, before the sun comes up.
That’s the only time the world and my mind finally feel quiet. ”
My breath stutters. That might explain his uncanny appearance at my door.
“I always carry my weapon,” he continues. “Old habits die hard. Training like mine doesn’t just go away. Every sound registers.” His jaw tics. “So, when I first heard the commotion, I was down by the tide flats. I knew it wasn’t just the sounds of the marsh.”
“And you just…walked right into danger?” I whisper.
Reid nods, eyes softening. “I saw your skiff was gone and worried you might be out there. I know I told you not to go out in the marsh alone, but you don’t seem like the type to listen.” Reid’s lips twitch slightly.
Something in my chest shifts. He wasn’t following me. He was protecting me.
“I wouldn’t expect you to know this, but I wasn’t just in the Navy.
I was a SEAL,” he says, voice low. “I don’t sleep much, and I like my solitude.
But my awareness is always heightened. I’ve suspected things go on in this sleepy little fishing village for some time now.
Usually, I turn the other cheek because I came here to keep my head down. ”
“Okay…” I murmur, still processing.
“So, I was up because I’m always up at that hour.” Reid’s voice roughens. “I heard the gunshot and ran to investigate. And when I realized you might be out there…” He shakes his head once. “I wasn’t about to let anything happen to you.”
My pulse hammers. Reid was worried about me. Focus, Em.
I swallow hard. “I heard a bang… You threw something?”
Reid shakes his head. “No. I fired my gun into the air. I wanted to spook them…give you time to get away.”
I nod, moving to sit in the chair next to him. “W-who are they?”
Reid shifts uncomfortably. “I have my suspicions. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing will happen to them, but you shouldn’t be out there alone.”
At this, I bristle. “I’m fine. I have pepper spray.”
“Emery.” Reid looks at me very seriously. “Have you ever fired a gun?”
I recoil. “What? No.”
“I have a handgun you should take. If you’re going out there alone. I mean it. I can show you how to use it.”
Reid’s expression is so earnest, I almost agree, but then logic returns.
I rise and walk away from him, picking up my camera. I got a few photos before…my stomach churns and the sour heat creeps back up my throat. I shake my head. I can’t even look at them.
“Okay, Reid. I can’t.” I meet his gaze that’s burning straight into me. “I can’t do this. I’m not taking a gun with me to research turtles.”
“Enough with the fucking turtles.” Reid’s voice comes out sharp. “Leave the turtles alone. Stay out of the marsh. Find a new project.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “No.”
Reid stands, pacing, his breaths coming in angry and ragged. “Then I’m coming with you.”
“Fuck no you are not.” I cross my arms. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I am awake anyway, why not?” Reid argues. “Emery, it’s not as safe as you think out there.”
“I don’t even know you. How do I know it wasn’t you out there on that dock?” The question goes too far. I know it does, and I say it anyway. Who does this guy think he is coming here like this?
Reid flinches like I slapped him. “Excuse me?”
I drop my hands in defeat. “Fine. I’m sorry. But no. And shouldn’t we just call the police?”
Reid shakes his head firmly. “No. Absolutely not.”
“What?” I squeak. “Why wouldn’t we report what we saw?”
Reid moves his chair closer to me, his body invading my personal space.
He’s large and masculine—burly even. A far cry from Jason.
He smells like salt air and pine, and he’s looking at me like I’m something precious to protect.
“Listen to me, Emery. I will handle this. You do not say a fucking word.” His voice is low and firm, sending a heat running through me that I’m not sure is from fear alone.
“But—”
Reid rubs the back of his neck, his jaw ticking. “Emery, you did nothing wrong. But you want to stay under the radar. Don’t go poking around things you don’t know about. If you’re going to dig, you better know how to defend yourself when something bites back.”
I suck in a shaky breath. “So…we witnessed a murder, and I’m just supposed to forget it? Pretend I saw nothing?” My voice is high and trembling, trying to outrun my fear.
“Yes.” Reid’s the opposite. Stoic and secure. Protective. Numb. “Promise me you’ll keep quiet.”
My cheeks heat and tears brim my eyes. I put my hands to my face and meet his gaze.
“Promise me, Emery,” Reid repeats. “This isn’t a fucking game.”
“I—I promise.” I sniffle. I move to the couch and sit, pulling my knees up to my chest.
“Are you going to the research center today?” Reid asks, his tone softer.
I shake my head, giving in to the rush of tears.
Reid stands for a moment, uncomfortable, before finding a pen and paper on the end table. He scribbles on it and hands it to me. “This is my number. Call me later, please. Let me know how you are.”
I wipe my eyes and nod.
With one last long look, Reid turns and goes, locking the door behind him.