While Jenks cursed him in thinly veiled disgust, I slunk through the brush, starting a sweep to the left when I couldn’t hear Nick stumbling about anymore. Somewhere ahead of us was our scuba gear. Maybe we could hide out on Round Island. Unless by some miracle Marshal was still there. I prayed he wasn’t, not wanting to have to make that choice.

Jenks and Nick’s forward progress was maybe a third of mine, and it wasn’t long before I had made a complete circuit and found nothing. I started a back-and-forth pattern before them, one ear on their progress, one on the forest ahead. Sooner than expected the green light filtering through the leaves brightened and I heard the sound of what seemed surf. But my heart almost stopped. I realized that the hiss of what I had thought surf was radio static.

“Their radio silence is continued,” a voice said, and I froze, one paw lifted as I slowly crouched, all of my muscles protesting. In the background were sporadic thumps echoing against water. I was sure this was where we came in and not the marina. And Brett had said they hadn’t found our boat, which meant they hadn’t found the scuba gear either. It must be the six boats we had heard about. Great. Just great. Out of the frying pan and into government control.

“They haven’t regained him,” a higher, masculine voice said through a radio. “The third air tank and gear says she’s probably headed right for you. Move the boats behind the curve of the shore and keep watch. With any luck, they’ll walk right in on you. If you retrieve him, don’t wait. Move out and radio from the water.”

“Aye, sir,” the Were said, and the radio retreated to a hiss.

Damn it, I thought. They had seen the tanks from the water and landed right where we had to leave. They knew everything the island Weres did, having listened in to their efforts to regain us. Someone else wanted Nick too. Just what the devil was this thing?

I tried not to pant, my head weaving as I attempted to spot them. I caught a glimpse of a green outback hat and a clean-shaven face. The noise behind them became loud with decisions being made, and I got scared. Slowly I backed away, carefully putting my feet down until I couldn’t hear voices anymore. Turning tail, I made a beeline to Jenks.

I found them together, Jenks looking marginally more accommodating as he held Nick’s elbow and helped him over downed sticks. Nick moved like an eighty-year-old man, head down and struggling for balance. Jenks heard me and brought them to a stop. “Trouble?” he mouthed.

I nodded, and Nick groaned, looking desperate behind his beard.

“Shut up,” Jenks whispered, and I shifted my sore front paw nervously.

“Show me,” Jenks said, and leaving Nick to fend for himself, I led him to my spot. Jenks’s motions grew slower, almost seductive, as the brush grew thicker at the edge of the island, until he eased into a crouch beside a tree at the edge of the brush.