Mac’s expression was complicated as she drew near it, a potent mix of bewilderment and fear. She pinched a fold of the gray fabric. There was an odd smell in the room now, a scent I knew was called Summer Meadow. Doing my laundry at Mac’s house, I’d come to love it. In the lodge now, it made me gag.

My police academy T-shirt was one of my favorites. The last time I saw it, it was in my suitcase in the corner of Mac’s living room. Now, it was here. When Mac pulled the fabric back, all three of us gasped. My shirt was wrapped around little Whiskey.

“No.”

Mac dropped to her knees beside the dog, and I stumbled forward, heaving. Whiskey is here. The lodge tilted and slipped toward the river. There were times when I thought about Bram’s crimes and wondered how much farther he could take this. Now I knew. He’d gone into Mac’s house, invaded her life and laid waste to her world. Visions of the bodies he left for me in Manhattan crowded the space behind my eyes, that gray skin and those bruises, matted hair, limbs akimbo, and vacant expressions. The ghosts of those women came up behind me and ran their cold fingertips down my neck. The panic I’d felt on Tern Island, the same all-consuming dread my ex-fiancé swore I’d never overcome, was back. No, I thought. It never left.

Mac’s shaking hands hovered over Whiskey’s body. There was blood behind his left ear and his eyes were closed, but Tim said, “He’s breathing, we have to move fast,” and bundled the dog into his arms. I listened to their boots pound down the hall, but still I couldn’t move. Off in the distance, a boat engine rattled to life. I recognized the sound immediately, and in that moment it was the only thing that could have brought me to my feet. I could still hear Tim and Mac downstairs. They hadn’t yet reached the door. I dragged myself upright, and I ran.

The path down to the river was firm and dry, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Bram’s bait had ensured we’d be far enough away from the dock that no amount of physical exertion would get us back there quickly enough. By the time we all reached the river’s edge, Tim still clutching Whiskey in his arms, the stolen boat was in the channel and racing back toward A-Bay. As the sun slipped below the glittery horizon, I could just make out a single hooded figure sitting stoically inside.

In seconds Mac was on her phone, yelling at troopers on the mainland to get their asses to the river, but I think she knew, as I did, we’d find the boat empty. If Trey wasn’t with Bram now, it was unlikely the boy was ever on Deer Island. The place had served its purpose.

I’d been warned.

THIRTY-ONE