One option at the moment was to simply keep quiet and allow things to run their course. Elaine and her gang and perhaps the FBI would continue doing whatever they had to do. Mercer could go through the motions, feigning frustration at not being able to accomplish more. She’d made it down to the basement vault and delivered plenty of evidence. Hell, she’d even slept with the guy and might again. She had done her best so far and would continue to play along. Maybe Bruce would unload Tycoon just as he said, without a trace, into the murky vastness of the black market, and his vault would be clean when the Feds rolled in. Before long, her six months would be over and she would leave the island, and do so with fond memories. She might even return, for summer vacations at her cottage, or, better yet, on a book tour one day with a fine new novel. And then another.

Her agreement was not contingent on a successful operation. She was to be paid regardless. Her student loans were already history. Half the fee was in the bank. She felt certain the other half would arrive as promised.

For a long time that night she convinced herself to stay quiet, let the lazy summer days pass, don’t rock the boat. Fall would be there soon enough and she would be somewhere else.

Was there a moral right and wrong? She had agreed to take part in a plan with the ultimate goal of piercing Cable’s world and finding the manuscripts. This, she had finally done, though only because of an unbelievable blunder on his part. The operation, with Mercer in the center, had just succeeded. What right did she have to now question the legitimacy of the plan? Bruce had deliberately entered the conspiracy to get rid of the manuscripts, to sell them for profit and keep them away from their rightful owner. With Bruce Cable, there was no moral high ground. He had a reputation for dealing in stolen books and had admitted as much to her. He knew the risks and seemed to eagerly accept them. Sooner or later he would get caught, either for this crime or for a later one.

She began walking at the edge of the water, the tranquil waves pushing the sea foam quietly onto the sand. There were no clouds and the white sand could be seen for miles. On the horizon, the lights of a dozen shrimp boats glimmered on the flat sea. Before she realized it, she was at the North Pier, a long wooden walkway that jutted far into the water. Since her return to the island she had avoided the area because it was where Tessa had washed ashore. Why was her granddaughter there now?

She climbed the steps and followed the pier to its end, where she leaned on a railing and gazed at the horizon. What would Tessa do? Well, to begin with, Tessa would never find herself in such a predicament. She would never allow herself to be compromised. She would never be seduced by the money. With Tessa, right was right and wrong was wrong and there were no gray areas. Lying was a sin; your word was your word; a deal was a deal, regardless of the inconvenience.