Chapter 38
Thunderstruck
The resort’s security office smelled of bitter coffee, burned plastic, and something acrid and metallic that made Lena’s throat itch.
A wrongness hovered in the air, sharp and electric.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering intermittently, casting everything in that falsely bright light that somehow made the shadows darker.
Zach sat motionless at the security console, his arms crossed, his face unreadable.
But it was David who made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up—tension flowed off him in waves.
His jaw was locked, his hands clenched in fists behind his back like he was trying to force himself to be still.
When he spoke, his voice was careful. “Zach found something. You need to see it for yourself. Confirm our suspicions.”
Lena stopped in the doorway, her skin crawling, nerves flaring to life. The chilled air from the vents snaked across her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms. Her feet were rooted to the floor. “If it’s another system glitch…”
David turned to face her, hand outstretched. “It’s not.”
The way he looked at her, with genuine concern in his eyes, got her feet moving. She stepped forward and let her fingers slip into his, her grip tight. His hand was warm, grounding.
David tugged her in beside him, sliding an arm around her waist and holding her close. Holding her shaking body still, giving her the courage to nod to Zach. “Ready.”
Zach queued up the footage. “This was taken at 3:07 am”
Lena leaned in to see better. “Where?”
“On the back path near the staff village.”
The screen flared to life. The footage was washed in grayscale, edged with distortion—standard surveillance, grainy and cold. Difficult to see. Lena stepped closer, breath shallow. The path was moonlit, quiet, and then—
A person.
A man.
Chester Dinkley.
A rot she’d thought she’d carved out of her life.
Her breath snagged in her throat. Her fingernails dug into David’s arm.
He hadn’t changed. Why would he? It had only been a little over a month since she’d last seen him.
Same uptight posture, expensive loafers that didn’t touch dirt, a blazer too clean and too warm for a tropical evening.
And that smile: smug, calculated. The same one he wore when she was shoved into a squad car like yesterday’s trash, the same one that haunted her nightmares.
He looked straight into the camera. Smiled, like he knew she would be watching. Held something up. A seashell. White, ridged, broken at the edge.
He held it up like a trophy. No, a message. He pointed something at the camera before turning and walking off.
The moment froze and shattered around her. A sharp cry escaped her lips, barely recognizable as her own. Her knees gave out. David caught her before she hit the floor, his arms tightening around her as she folded in on herself.
“No,” she choked, her voice ragged, shaking. “No—he’s not supposed to be here. He can’t be here—he’s not allowed—”
Her brain scrambled, latching onto rules, distance, court orders, oceans—anything that made sense. But nothing grounded her. Nothing explained how the man who’d destroyed her life had found her again.
David pulled her into his arms and held her tight, his fingertips pressing into her spine like he could hold her splintering pieces together.
“So you confirm it’s Chester Dinkley.” Zach’s voice was low, comforting.
Lena nodded, cheek still snuggled against David’s heart. “Yes, that's him.”
“Then we’ve got a problem,” Zach said. “He’s not a guest, but he’s definitely on the island.”
“Will you be able to find him?” Her voice was small—scared—to her own ears.
“I already put a team on tracking him. They’re hunting down flights, rental cars, anything. Ghost is combing through his financials. If he showed up on his own dime, under his own name, he’ll have left a trail.”
David’s muscles shifted beneath her cheek, and she lifted her head to see him studying the video feed, still cycling on a loop. “He’s not sharp enough to move off-grid.”
Lena wanted to believe that. She really did. But Chester had always been smart enough to be dangerous.
She pulled away from David and stumbled out into the hallway. She needed air.
She slammed open the outer door and collapsed onto the bench outside, her bones having forgotten how to hold her.
She distantly registered the thick, humid air curling around her skin, clinging to her like sweat-laced silk.
The rustle of the ocean breeze through palm fronds whispered of mockery—nature going on as usual, oblivious to the storm now roaring in her bloodstream.
Her hands shook in her lap, fingers clawing reflexively into the fabric of her skirt. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. Her vision wavered around the edges, blurred with tears she refused to shed. Her breath came too fast, shallow and sharp, stirring panic that had nothing to do with the heat.
He’d found her. Despite the courts. Despite the ocean. Despite every mile put between them. She thought she’d escaped Chester Dinkley. But monsters don’t give up when they think you belong to them.
The air shifted, and she sensed David’s presence before she heard his approach—solid, grounded. Her body recognized him before her mind did, tension uncoiling a fraction.
“What do you need?” David asked, concern threaded through his voice.
“I thought I left this behind.” Her voice came out hoarse, scraped raw from inside her. “I thought—he ruined my life once. I can’t—” Her mouth trembled. “I can’t do it again.”
She clutched her elbows, curling in on herself, the sticky heat pressing against her skin. She rocked slowly, trying to keep herself in one piece. She swallowed the rising ache, the old one—shame, distrust, failure—back like it had never left.
David sank down beside her without a word, close enough to feel but not touching, like he sensed her skin was a live wire. “You don’t have to do it alone.” His voice enveloped her like worn leather—gentle, familiar. His shoulder pressed against hers, enough to say I’m here, I see you.
Lena closed her eyes, pressing her lips together to trap the sob before it escaped. She didn’t move away, didn’t breathe for a moment, just let herself absorb that brief anchor of contact.
But the thoughts twisted again, dark and smothering.
“He’s sick, David,” she murmured, eyes still closed. “He twists things. He makes you question yourself, your memory, your sanity. And if he’s here—” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “God, if he’s doing this for fun—what if it’s not just him this time?”
The words tumbled out, too hard. Paranoia or instinct—she couldn’t tell anymore.
“What do you mean, Lena?” David asked.
She raised her eyes to his, letting him see the fear crawling through her. “What if he’s part of the sabotage? What if this whole thing started because of me?” Her throat worked against her panic, bile burning on the back of her tongue. “What if I brought this here? To the resort. To Kate.”
Her heart slammed like a fist behind her ribs, brutal and unyielding. Tears trickled down her cheeks, hot trails she ignored. Her hands trembled harder now, legs bouncing under her like the ground would slip away if she stayed still.
David gripped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “No!”
Her eyes snapped to his, startled. The panic stuttered. She barely breathed, then nodded slowly, her fingers reaching up to close around his wrist.
“You listen to me, Spark.” David said, his voice sharp like a blade freshly honed. “First—no matter what he’s doing, no matter how twisted it gets—you are not to blame for this.”
“Aren’t I?”
“You didn’t ask to be followed. You didn’t invite that monster here. This happened to you, Lena. He is the threat. Not you.”
His thumbs rubbed slowly, grounding circles into her upper arms. “You are a survivor. And survivors aren’t liable for their stalkers’ obsession.”
He spoke softly, but the words unlocked something within her—like a cell door opening. And for the first time since the footage played, air moved into her lungs again.
David leaned back, watching her to make sure she was still with him. Then, quieter now but no less fierce: “And he made a mistake last night. A big one.”
Something flared in David’s eyes—something harder, more dangerous than she’d seen before. An edge of steel beneath his usual sarcasm. “You saw when he raised that little remote-looking thing at the camera?”
Lena gave a weak nod. “Yes, what was it?”
“A scrambling device. Wipes footage, scrambles memory banks. Usually works well. But I knew—hell, I suspected ages ago—that someone was using that type of tech. So I started insulating key cameras.”
Lena blinked, letting the information sink in. Hope stirred uneasily in her gut.
“That means—?”
“—we got him,” David said flatly. “On camera. In your part of the resort. Breaking his restraining order. Leaving physical evidence.”
“And if he’s not acting alone?” she asked.
“If someone is helping him?” he asked softly but with a dangerous intensity. “Hiding him?” His mouth curled into a grim smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then we figure out who.”
His voice dropped, a promise carved out of steel. “And we burn them all down, Lena.”
And for the first time in hours, maybe days, Lena believed it.