She hadn’t slept much lately, and neither had Burke, as best as she could tell, and she wondered how much longer they could go on like this, full out, before one of them fucked everything up.

Jess wondered if they’d already fucked up. And she wondered how much it would cost them.

She made it to Main Street and turned south up the hill toward the highway, climbed the hill and slowed at the top and turned into the lot out front of Hank Moss’s motel. She guided the Blazer in around the long, low building and parked in back, in front of Hank’s apartment back door, cut the lights, killed the engine, and stepped out onto damp gravel. There was smoke in the air, mixing with the salt air off the ocean and the smell of diesel off the highway. That smoke was from Shelby Walker’s place, Jess knew, and her own house too. It was a reminder that she’d already lost plenty.

Jess squared her shoulders and walked to Hank’s apartment and knocked on the door.

The motel owner swore she hadn’t woken him up, though he answered the door bleary eyed and in jockey shorts, his T-shirt inside out. Jess explained the situation, everything she could. Capped off with the shootout at Shelby Walker’s house, Lucy gone missing.

Hank’s reply was a long string of army-issue curse words. “What do you need?” he asked when he was done with the cursing.

“Firepower,” she told him. “And a chart and tide tables for Dixie.”

The guns were the easy part. Hank had a duffel bag full of a couple of pistols—SIG Sauer P320 and a Beretta M9, ammunition for both—and one long gun, a Colt semiautomatic that looked a lot like the M4 carbines that had saved Jess’s ass more than a couple of times in Afghanistan.

“All registered in my name,” Hank told her. “So don’t get caught holding, or it’s my ass too. I’ll give you to the day after tomorrow, and then I’m reporting everything stolen. Can Burke shoot?”

“Not yet. But he’ll learn.”

“Guess he’ll have a decent teacher.” Hank handed her a little pamphlet and a folded, well-worn marine chart. “That there is Dixie,” he told Jess. “I’ve only done the pass a couple of times, but I tried to mark it out how I remembered, best I could.”

Jess took the chart. “I appreciate it. Are those the tide tables?”

“They are indeed.” Hank made to hand them over, hesitated. “Listen, even Ty got nervous running that pass, Jess. There’s a lot of good sailors been wrecked at that entrance.”

“It’s the only good anchorage on that island, right?” she said. “Ty said the rest is all cliffs and exposed beach. We’ve got no other choice.”