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Back Point Last Seen
Chapters (86)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Booklist
  4. Dedication
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

What was that?

Something long and black rolled in on the swells. So not a fish or any other living thing. It was a long parcel of...plastic? It disappeared under the first line of breakers, then appeared again, battered by an insistent ocean. As the bundle moved, it undulated, probably a tangle of plastic ripped from the massive raft that polluted the Pacific.

He wavered, looked at the deadly plunge that enticed him, then back at the hateful toxic bomb.

Someone else would find it. Someone else would retrieve it. It was not his responsibility.

But in the meantime, a seabird would ingest it and die, a fish would nibble at it and turn into a stinking corpse on the beach, a curious child would find it and...

He shuddered. At one time, it had been his job to figure out every possible consequence for any given situation, and he knew only too well what could happen in this worst-case scenario.

The edge and the death it offered would be there tomorrow.

He made his way off the rocks, down to the sand.

The ocean rocked the black plastic, pulling the parcel back out into the deep, then shoving it farther onto shore to the spot where the foam gathered and the waves grew shallow. As he walked, a wave rolled the bundle lengthwise.

And a female arm flopped out.

5

SHIT!

Adam broke into a run. He splashed into the water, grabbed the arm—it was icy—and the plastic—it was a long rain poncho—and dragged the corpse all the way onto the beach. Because it had to be a corpse, didn’t it?

Yet in the quest for life, he flipped the body out of the poncho and onto her back.

Among other things—seaweed, driftwood, a severed crab claw—there was an orange-and-white life preserver tangled in the plastic.

With the sun on her cold, colorless face, his feeble, unrecognized hope faded and he knew the truth. She was dead.

He pressed his fingers to her throat, to her artery, to confirm her heart did not beat. Then he saw them: the marks of a man’s fingers ringing her neck.

She’d been dead before she went in the water. A young woman. A pretty woman. A violent crime... Adam kept his fingers over her artery, knowing he would feel nothing.

And he did not.

But he couldn’t leave her down here for the seabirds to feed on and the ocean to retrieve. He had to get the body up to the road, onto his ATV and up to the village. From there, he could call the authorities and—

He looked up the cliff toward the road. What a helluva climb. But he wasn’t a man to shirk his duty. Bending at the knees, he grasped the body around the waist, threw it over his shoulder and stood.