“Okay. Good,” Ted said, his tone matching his wife’s, but only for an instant. “I need to talk to Flynn about what’s in his ditch bag. He should keep his radio on him all the time.”

Zanne and Erin took their cues, one trailing the husband and one the wife.

Fifteen minutes later, after reviewing emergency protocols in the game room with Ted and a bored Flynn, who would definitely not be rescuing himself or anyone else in a typhoon, Zanne took the ditch bag down to the garage, where James, the lead driver, was loading all of Flynn’s gear into the back of the SUV.

“I already got a suitcase, a first-aid bag, rod and tackle, and a whole mess of boxes labeled Just In Case. Don’t tell me we missed something. It’s not possible,” James said.

James was the best-dressed person on the estate, hands down. A tailored suit every day with a pop of color in the shirt or tie, sometimes even a pocket square; in the thick of summer, he might skip the tie and wear his shirt open at the neck. Today’s look: dark gray suit, lavender dress shirt, purple tie.

“Just doing my job,” Zanne said with a laugh.

“For now.”

“Huh?”

“They’re looking for a new chief of staff. Saw the listing on InsideScoop. That job’s got your name written all over it.”

“Oh,” Zanne said, blushing with pride. “Here.” She handed James the ditch bag and he put it in the car.

James was the longest-serving member of the personal staff. He’d been All-American at USC and headed for the NFL until he blew out his knee in the last game of his final season. He got the job driving Ted right after that. About ten years ago, he earned an executive MBA at night school and Ted gave him a small portfolio of stocks and funds to manage. James must have had other opportunities along the way—he was handsome and funny; he would’ve made a great broadcaster—but he was still here. Zanne kept waiting for the day James stopped driving Ted, but it never came.

“How’s Nikole?” she asked.

“We’ve got an appointment today. Getting the results of her scans.”

“Okay. We’ll think positive.”

“Yeah. Just taking it one day at a time.”

Nikole had been diagnosed with triple-negative breast cancer seven years ago. Then, six months ago, a routine follow-up scan came back positive. She’d opted for a double mastectomy this time and yet more chemo.

“What time’s the appointment?” Zanne asked.

“Twelve thirty. But the office always runs behind. As long as I’m there by one...”

She checked her watch. James would make it in time if they left for the marina now.

“I’ll go check on—” she said, but just then Holly, Ted, and Flynn arrived, Erin and Mark trailing behind.