Sam waved a hand and grunted. “Freaking storm kept me up half the night, so I slept in. I had no idea how late it was and...” He looked at me, rubbed the stubble on his fleshy cheeks with an equally meaty hand, as a puzzled expression crossed his face. “What’s going on?”

“Have you seen Jack?”

“I assumed he was at your place.”

“No, and he’s not answering his phone.”

The look on Sam’s face changed from half-asleep to fully alert in a split second. “That’s not like him. That’s not like him at all.”

His confirmation made the panic billow and mushroom inside me. Fear traveled up my throat, thick as molasses, threatening to suffocate me in the hallway, turning my next words into a strained whisper. “I can’t get ahold of him. We haven’t spoken since last night when—”

“I’m sure he’s fine—”

“He went swimming, Sam. At the beach.”

“We’ll take my car.”

I didn’t argue, didn’t think I’d be able to get my hands and legs to cooperate well enough to drive. Sam grabbed his sneakers, threw on a jacket, and we were on our way to Gondola Point, the secluded beach where Jack preferred to swim any day the weather would allow. It was a ten-minute drive. Sam made it in seven.

“There!” I yelled as we turned the last corner, pointing to the truck at the far end, but the relief was swiftly replaced by more rising anxiety when we got closer and I saw the vehicle was empty. Before Sam came to a full stop, I jumped out, ran over and tried the handle, but the truck was locked. Undeterred, I searched underneath the front bumper, found the set of keys that Jack often hid there, something I made fun of him for because it was the most obvious place a thief would look. Except now I didn’t think it was funny. It wasn’t funny at all. I unlocked the truck, reached under the driver’s seat and, when my fingers closed over Jack’s wallet and phone, let out a whimper. Sam stood next to me now, and when I turned around and he saw me clasping Jack’s things, the fear I knew he’d worked hard to hide was splashed all across his face.

“Where’s Jack?” I shouted, my voice carried away by the wind. “Where is he?”

Sam put his hands on my shoulders. One look and I knew what he was going to say. I wanted to press both of my hands over his mouth, forcing his words to stay inside. Once he said them, they’d be out there. They’d make this nightmare real.

“No,” I said, trying to back away so I wouldn’t hear, but Sam held firm.

“Lily, honey,” he said, his voice gentle. “We have to call the cops.”

3

THE MAN FROM THE BEACH