Chapters (78)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Acknowledgments
- Discover More
- About the Author
- Also by Owen Laukkanen
The sound of an engine, a low, rumbling throb. At first Mason thought it was a boat, thought Harwood and his boys had somehow followed them up the pass. But it wasn’t the lazy chug-chug-chug of a diesel or the lawn mower whine of an outboard motor. This was something else, something more advanced, something ominous and deadly.
This, Mason realized, was a helicopter coming near them, and he knew right away it was coming to the island. And at the same time, he knew those three bodies he’d been thinking about weren’t the only folks who were going to have to die for this shipment of heroin.
* * *
The helicopter came in low over the water toward Dixie Island, and Kirby Harwood looked out through the front windows and shook his head.
“No way,” he told Joy over the sound of the rotors. “There’s no anchorage there but up inside the lagoon, and there aren’t but three or four men in Deception Cove who could get a troller up there.”
Joy met his stare with eyes as black as polished stones. “Was Ty Winslow one of those men?”
Harwood frowned. “Well, sure,” he said. “But his wife isn’t.”
It was good enough for Joy. He tapped the pilot on the shoulder, gestured straight ahead. “We’ll survey the island.”
“You’re wasting your time,” Harwood said, but the conversation was over. He sat back and stared out the window toward the mainland, wishing he were anywhere but here.
They’d cruised up the coast from Deception Cove, taking it slow, checking every cove and inlet all the way to Neah Bay, searching for any sign of Ty Winslow’s old boat. But it didn’t make sense for Jess to keep the boat so close; the state highway to Neah Bay ran right alongside the beach. She’d have been better served driving if she were staying close to shore.
From Harwood’s perspective, there were two places the widow could have run to. First was Canada, just across the strait, where on the southwestern coast of Vancouver Island there were no roads and practically no people. If Ty hadn’t gone to Canada, Harwood expected he would have rounded Cape Flattery and gone down the west side of the peninsula, the open-ocean side, about thirty miles of wilderness and wildlife preserve, until you hit La Push and the Quillayute River. There were places to hide along that stretch of coast, Flattery Rocks and the islands around Point of Arches, and if Ty Winslow had been smart, that’s where he’d have gone.