“I’ll get them,” Paul offers. “I need to grab the boat keys anyway.” He turns for the house, kicking into an easy jog up the stairs.

“There has to be a better way,” I say to Micah.

Micah shoots me a sideways look. “If you think of one, I’m all ears.” He sighs, and his voice softens. “Look, Char, I appreciate your concern, but somebody out there is wondering where this woman is and why she hasn’t called home to check in. My goal is to get her back to them as quickly and honorably as possible, while also preserving whatever evidence she’s still carrying. Even if that means I have to freeze my balls off to do it.”

He’s right, of course. If that were Chet or Paul under that dock, I’d want someone to cradle his head and swim him to shore, too. And I’d want him to do it now.

“You’re a good man, Micah Hunt. Crazy, but good.” I step back and let him get to work.

7

The recruits make it down the hill first, arms heavy with equipment and supplies.

Chief Hunt is here, too, an older, paunchier, grumpier version of Micah pacing the shoreline, barking out orders at anybody who comes within hollering distance. The chief’s temper is well-known in these parts, a micromanaging control freak who terrorizes his staff with shouted commands and icy stares and doors slammed hard enough to fall off their hinges.

I’m sitting on a backyard step, watching the activity farther down the hill, when Paul sinks down next to me. A thick stack of towels is pressed to his chest. “Oh, good, you brought the big ones.”

The ones we use on the boat or take to the beach, the ones I can wind three full times around my torso. They’re like blankets, big enough for Micah’s bulk, and plenty warm, too.

Paul studies my face. The wind whips the bare branches on the trees above his head, making an awful clacking sound, like a wind chime made of bones. His gaze dips to my stomach, toasty under the goose down. “You okay? I’m worried about you.”

“Because of Sam?”

Paul tilts his head, solemn. “This isn’t your fight. It’s mine. You shouldn’t let him get to you.”

“I married you, which means it is my fight, and Sam’s always been a sore loser. He needs to let this grudge go, especially when he’s standing in your backyard.”

Paul reaches for my hand, warms it in both of his. “It’s yours, too, you know. The yard. The house. My heart. All of me belongs to you.”