Chapter 31
Eerie Calm
The island felt wrong.
It reminded him of forward operating bases right before contact. That eerie calm when everyone knew violence was coming but couldn’t predict when or how.
He’d barely slept. Three hours. Every time he’d closed his eyes, he’d seen Emma in the cave, looking at him like he wasn’t a weapon. Like he was a man.
Distraction.
He ran his usual route despite the circumstances—ten miles along the perimeter road, checking sight lines and access points.
The sky was lightening, but the air tasted different.
Heavy. Electrically charged. The storm was approaching, and according to the last update at 0500, it was heading straight for them.
By the time he circled back to the cottage, dawn was breaking, gray and oppressive. No sunrise. Only a gradual shift from black to slate.
Nick and David were in the kitchen.
“About time,” David said without looking up from his tablet. “Thought you drowned in the ocean.”
“Storm surge doesn’t hit for another twelve hours.” Zach moved to the coffeepot and poured black coffee into a ceramic mug, surrounded by the aroma of bacon and something sweet—David’s doing, no doubt. His youngest brother was a bacon addict.
Nick sat at the island counter, phone in one hand, laptop open in front of him. He’d clearly been up for a while—mug empty, multiple weather sites pulled up on his screen. His eyes flicked to Zach, assessing in his quiet way that always saw too much.
“Storm track shifted overnight,” David finally looked up. His hair was disheveled, glasses crooked. “Moved west. We’re in the center of the cone now.”
Zach set down his mug. “Yes. Saw that in the 0500 update. Direct hit?”
“Possible. The NHC has us at a twenty to forty percent chance of Category Four winds. Forty to sixty for Category Three.” David swiped his tablet, turning it so Zach could see the projected path.
The cone of uncertainty was wide, but Isla Nocturna sat in the middle.
“They’re calling for sustained winds of one-thirty to one-forty, gusts up to one-seventy.
Storm surge eight to twelve feet in the bays. ”
“Generators?”
“Tested and fueled. Backup systems are operational.” Nick’s voice was calm, methodical.
He’d always been strong in a crisis—focused without being rigid.
“I’ve got Clay checking the anchor points on the perimeter cameras.
The exposed units will go offline before wind speed hits fifty, but we should maintain coverage on the main buildings and core areas. ”
Zach nodded, running through mental checklists. “Interior spaces secured?”
“Everything mobile is either stored or tied down. Windows are shuttered. The dock equipment is secured.” David flipped to another screen. “I pulled the boats yesterday afternoon. They’re in the main facility.”
“Staff?”
“Skeleton crew. Eighteen people total, all essential—security, core maintenance, medical—” Nick met his eyes, “and Emma.”
Zach’s jaw tightened. “She’s staff.”
“HR doesn’t qualify as essential personnel during a hurricane.”
“She’s the HR director. She has authority over personnel decisions during evacuations.” The words came out harder than intended. “She insisted on staying until everyone was accounted for.”
David glanced between them, eyebrows rising, but said nothing. He turned back to his tablet, but Zach caught the small smile.
“Fine,” Nick said mildly. “Just clarifying.”
“Where is she?” He didn’t hear anything from the bedroom.
“She left for the office right before you got back. I sent the patrol guard with her.”
They ate in silence—bacon, eggs, and toast David made. Zach’s mind tracked multiple threads simultaneously: weather patterns, security vulnerabilities, backup protocols, evacuation routes if the storm exceeded projections.
And Emma. Always Emma now, a constant peripheral awareness he couldn’t shut down.
She’d be in her office now, reviewing final evacuation lists, accounting for every staff member. She’d have coffee (too much cream, not enough actual coffee) and she’d be checking off names with that focused concentration—
Stop.
“We got a hit on the camera review,” Nick said, breaking into his thoughts.
Zach’s attention snapped back. “The groundskeeper?”
“Yeah.” Nick pulled up an image on his laptop, rotated it toward Zach. “Southeast quadrant, near the service road. Yesterday at 1430 hours.”
The image was grainy, from one of the perimeter cameras. A man in a groundskeeper's uniform, hat tugged down, pushing a maintenance cart. Average height, average build. Nothing distinctive except—
“He’s not ours,” Zach said.
“No.” Nick zoomed in on the ID badge clipped to the man’s belt. Even pixelated, it was wrong—the color was off, and the photo was too dark. “I ran it against Emma’s personnel database. No match.”
“Someone created a fake badge.” Zach studied the image, cataloging the details. Posture, gait, the way he kept his head down. Trained. Careful. “Professional.”
“That would be my assessment,” Nick agreed.
David stilled, his usual humor absent. “So the assassin is still on the island.”
“Or someone working with him. This man isn’t limping.
” Zach’s mind was already running scenarios.
Limited staff, limited places to hide. But a hurricane provided perfect cover—chaos, reduced visibility, everyone focused on survival rather than security.
“We need to lock down movement. No one goes anywhere without security clearance and an escort.”
“Already implemented.” Nick closed the laptop. “I sent the protocol update an hour ago. Clay has teams doing sweeps of all non-essential buildings. If someone’s hiding, we’ll find them.”
Zach wanted to believe him, but he’d learned the hard way professionals weren’t found unless they chose to be.
“So, you told Emma.” Nick sipped his coffee, watching Zach over the rim. “About your abilities.”
Silence dropped over the kitchen like a physical weight.
“Oh, good. We’re going there,” David leaned back in his chair, studying Zach with something between surprise and approval. “I thought you’d take your secret to the grave.”
“No choice.” The words tasted like justification. “She saw me catch a crossbow bolt.”
“Right.” Nick’s smile was slight but sincere. “And the fact that you’re different around her—more present, more engaged?”
Zach’s hand tightened on his mug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Zach,” Nick’s voice gentled. Not mocking, not teasing. Genuine. “This is the first time you’ve trusted someone outside this family.”
The comment hit harder than it should have. Because it was true, and Zach couldn’t stand the vulnerability exposed.
“She’s smart,” he said carefully. “She processes information without hysteria. She asks intelligent questions. She—”
“She matters to you,” David finished.
Zach didn’t confirm or deny. He stared at his coffee, tracking the slight tremor in his hand only someone trained to detect micro-expressions would note.
Nick leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “This is good, you know. You’ve isolated yourself for years. Kept everyone at arm’s length except us. And even us, sometimes.”
“Isolation is tactical.” The answer came by rote, a truth he’d built his adult life around. “Emotional attachment creates vulnerability. Anyone close to me becomes a target.”
“Like Ace?” David’s voice was soft but direct.
Zach’s jaw locked. “Yes. Like Ace.”
“That wasn't your fault—”
“I know.” The words came out sharper than intended. Zach forced himself to breathe, to regulate. “I know I didn't kill him. But the people who did came because of me. Because of what I am. Because he was leverage.”
Nick was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of years of similar arguments. “And your solution is to make sure no one ever gets close enough to become leverage.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not living, Zach. That’s existing. You deserve more.”
The words landed in his chest with uncomfortable precision. Some small, stupid part of him—the part that almost kissed Emma in a cave, that told her his darkest secret, that felt something like peace in her presence—wanted to believe Nick was right.
Wanting didn’t change reality.
“My focus is split,” the admission cost him more than he had expected. “I’m watching her. Thinking about her. Worrying about her. That’s dangerous.”
“Why?” David challenged, “because you might care about someone?”
“Distraction gets people killed.” Zach’s voice went flat and emotionless.
Back to the tone he used in briefings, when personal feelings couldn’t be allowed to interfere with tactical assessment.
“If the assassin strikes and I’m focused on Emma instead of the threat, someone dies. Maybe one of you. Definitely her.”
“Or,” Nick countered, “you’re more effective because you have something to protect beyond abstract duty.”
Zach shook his head. “That’s not how it works.”
“Isn’t it?” Nick’s gaze was steady, unflinching. “You’ve been sharper these past few days. More engaged. You notice details faster than you would have six months ago because you’re not just going through tactical motions anymore. You’re present.”
“I’m distracted.”
“You’re alive.” Nick leaned back, voice going quieter. “For the first time since you left the Army, you’re alive. Yes, that’s scary. But isolation kills too, Zach. Maybe not physically, but in every other way that matters.”
Zach wanted to argue, to present the tactical realities, the threat assessments, the cold mathematics of vulnerability and exploitation.
None of it mattered. He’d made his decision when he woke at 0530, mind haunted with scenarios where Emma became collateral damage because he hesitated for half a second too long.
He stood, carrying his mug to the sink. “We have work to do. Storm prep, security lockdown, threat assessment of the unknown groundskeeper. That’s the priority.”
Nick studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Fine. David, I need you on generator monitoring. Zach, work with Clay on the perimeter sweeps. I’ll coordinate with Emma on personnel tracking.”
“I’ll handle Emma,” Zach said immediately. "She's still my responsibility to keep safe.”
Nick’s expression was unreadable. “All right. I’ll take Clay, you handle Emma.”
They moved through the rest of breakfast with focused efficiency, discussing backup plans and contingencies, reviewing weather updates that grew increasingly ominous. The storm would make landfall sometime late afternoon, and they needed to be locked down and secured hours prior.
But even as Zach tracked the tactical details, part of his mind was already seventeen steps ahead.
Emma would be hurt. She trusted him in a way that made his chest tight and uncomfortable. She’d looked at him in the cave like he was worth knowing, not something to be afraid of or use.
And he intended to destroy that. Deliberately. Methodically.
She'd pull back. Self-preservation would kick in. She was smart enough to recognize when someone wasn't worth the effort.
Better to end it now. Before she invested more. Before he wanted things he had no right to want.
Better she hate him than love him.
He'd find Emma. Make sure she understood the security lockdown. Keep it professional, cold, distant. Show her exactly what Nick said he'd been for years—isolated, emotionless, a weapon instead of a man.
If it hurt, that was the cost he had to pay.