“Shana!”

Tim’s voice was barely audible over the rumble of the river and torrential rain. He moved faster than he should have been able to on those irregular, rainwashed steps. How had he caught up with me so quickly? Tim didn’t have his jacket either. His wet shirt was molded to the contours of his chest.

When he reached me he planted his hands on his knees and took a series of long, wheezy breaths. “What the hell, Shana?” he gasped. “What the fuck?”

“You have to take me back to the mainland.” It didn’t seem like an unreasonable request. Whatever Tim’s association with the family, he should want me gone as much as the others. It was leave now or wait for backup to haul me away in cuffs. Tim would have to answer for his offenses—whatever arrangement he had with the family would come out in the end—but it was me who’d take the heat for this case going to shit. The Sinclairs would sue. No paid desk duty for me; I’d be charged with involuntary manslaughter. Would Carson wait for me while I was in prison? All he’d asked was that I leave police work behind so we could be a normal, happy couple like everyone else. Well, he didn’t have to worry about me working ever again, and I’d have plenty of free time to plan the wedding. The irony of the situation was almost enough to make me laugh.

“I’ll turn myself in when we get there. Just take me back.” My voice was steadier than I’d expected. I took some comfort in that.

“What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“I killed a witness. Was he your friend? Did I kill your friend, Tim?”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Tim looked down at my chest and saw the rain coursing over my near-naked breasts. His eyes got very round. “Where the hell is your shirt?”

“You were right. There isn’t a shred of proof out here that Jasper Sinclair was murdered. But you knew that from the start, didn’t you? I bet you know exactly where he is.”

Tim reached for my bare arm, but I yanked it away. “What’s wrong with you?” he said, voice rising. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help?”

“You can help by getting me out of here. Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “I finally get it.”

“No, you don’t. For starters, Flynn’s not dead.”

“What?”

“Lucky for you, your burn fucked up your aim.”

No. I’d seen the blood. The shot was true. “You’re lying.”

“You grazed his shoulder. He’ll be fine.” He paused and gave me a hard look. “It was self-defense.”

Flynn was angry and verbally abusive, but I didn’t remember him threatening me. I’d had no cause to draw my weapon, none at all. “But—”

“I’ll testify to that.”

Why would Tim defend me? It was a trap, it had to be. “Is this the part where you throw me in the river? How much are they paying you to cover up their crimes?”