CHAPTER 1
Sophie dockedthe small dinghy and cut the motor. With an expertise built from growing up along the barrier islands, she jumped from the boat and secured it to the tiny private dock then pulled out her backpack. A brief glance at her phone confirmed what the dark skies overhead foretold. A storm was coming and she needed to get the Peirson’s house cleaned and prepped for their visit in as short a time as possible.
She hiked the backpack onto her shoulders and headed up the sandy walkway to the house. Situated on a small rise, the two-story stilted structure offered a breathtaking view of the Atlantic from the front of the house and an equally stunning view of the Florida coastline from the rear. She sighed at the thought of owning such a place. While she loved her tiny cabin in the Appalachicola forest, she envied people who could afford luxuries like beachfront property. Or, in the Pierson’s case, an entire barrier island, even if it was less than two miles in total.
The house had been a rental for about five years and Sophie had cleaned it for four, making it the longest contract she’d had for her business. Now, as she input the code at the door, she glanced around the small front deck to see if the guests had left it in order.
Inside, she started the process of going through the house to determine what had to be done. With visitors making the most of pre-Christmas visits with family, the odd sailing trip or just weekend getaways, the house had been surprisingly full for the past month. Now, she had to make sure the place was pristine when the owners arrived to spend the holidays.
An hour later, she had laundry partially done and had vacuumed and mopped floors. Now, she surveyed the kitchen. She always left that for last, as most people either never touched it or made a huge mess. Glancing in the refrigerator, she found the usual. Beer, hard seltzer, and water, along with some unopened artisan cheese and eggs and an opened package of sandwich bread. The freezer was empty and so was the coffee maker, although the previous visitors had neglected to empty the coffee grounds from the maker. A look at the small cabinet next to the outer wall revealed unopened bottles of wine and one of whiskey. She emptied the opened liquor bottles and left the unopened in the cabinet.
She began the cleaning process and soon had the kitchen as clean as possible and then remade all of the beds. All the while, she glanced out of the bedroom windows toward the ocean and watched a shelf of dark clouds come closer. In the distance, she saw rain and the odd lightning strike, sending her the message to hurry. If the storm arrived before she finished, she might be stuck on the island for the duration, and that wasn’t something she relished.
At last, the house was clean. A final walkthrough revealed neatly made up beds and dusted furniture, clean floors, decks free of debris and sand, at least for now, and a pleasantly smelling kitchen. After putting the bread in the trash and the eggs and cheese in a spare grocery bag, Sophie shouldered her pack, tucked her cell phone in the back pocket of her jeans and picked up the full garbage bag and grocery bag.
She locked the door and headed to the steel enclosed garbage can. As she removed the carabiner from the hasp, a faint noise caught her attention and she looked around but saw nothing. Not a small animal, anyway, and that was the sound she’d heard. The pelicans and gulls wheeled around in circles above the garbage as usual, waiting for the odd fragment to fall out of the enclosure. Sophie knew as soon as she left, they’d be pecking around the area, trying to get at the leftover bread. Thank goodness the Pierson’s had taken her advice and bought the enclosure to prevent the garbage being spread all over the island from foraging animals.
She lifted the top grill from the enclosure then dropped the bag into the can inside. A brave gull dive bombed her and Sophie waved it away. “Go get a fish,” she called with a laugh and then lowered the grill with a clang.
The sound came again and she looked over her shoulder. No animals around. But there was something. She glanced at the ground in front of the trash container. Only sand, stubby grass and sea oats, and the odd rock. She decided to walk around to see if a raccoon or fawn had gotten caught up in old fishing line. She glanced up at the sky again. “Five minutes,” she reminded herself, thinking of the choppy waters she’d have to maneuver through to cross the bay and near home.
She walked around the enclosure, nothing. Deciding to go a little further, she started a small circle, her eyes downcast as she made her way through the grass and sand. A flash of vibrant blue caught her eye and Sophie frowned. What was- “Oh, my God.”
A figure lay face down in the sand, the body sprawled as if washed up with the tide, though the shoreline lay at least a hundred feet away. She ran to the figure, a man, laying with his head nearly covered with sand. Her breath caught in her throat. This must have been the sound she’d heard. “Please, God,” she breathed, praying he was alive.
She knelt beside the body and quickly took stock of his position. One arm was underneath his body and the other was extended, as if he’d flung it out in a desperate attempt to hold on to something. She reached for his wrist and with a sigh of relief found a steady pulse. His skin was clammy, understandable in the cool winter weather, but was it also because he was injured?
A brief glance over his frame revealed jeans, neither new nor overly worn and a dark blue knit long sleeved shirt, along with running shoes. She couldn’t see a wound anywhere, but if he’d been in the bay or in the Atlantic, he may have fallen out of a boat or run one ashore. “But how did you end up here?” she asked her silent friend as she looked around for evidence of a boat. Nothing.
Another murmur pulled her attention back to the man and his movements. His outstretched hand flexed, grabbing sand in his fist and then bending his arm, as if trying to pull himself along the ground. “It’s okay,” she said, laying her hand on his back in an effort to reassure him.
Suddenly, he thrashed and flipped over, coming up in a near sitting position, way too close to her.
“Who’re you?” he said in a rough voice and Sophie sat back on her heels, suddenly fearful of the look in his eyes. A blazing light blue, those eyes held menace and something else she didn’t want to identify.
He grabbed her arm above her wrist as she leaned on it. “I said who are you?”
“S, Sophie. I work here.”
“Where? Where?” he looked wild and his head darted to the left and right, taking in the surroundings. Then he moaned and released her arm to clutch at his forehead. Before she could move, the man had doubled over and leaned to the side then vomited into the sand.
Sophie scrambled back out of the firing line and watched as he heaved and tried to breathe through the tumult. She waited, wondering why she didn’t get up and run. But, even if he scared her, the man was still helpless.
“We’re on Pierson Point, near Appalachicola.” At his blank look she continued, “In Florida.”
“Florida, right,” he muttered then slowly looked up at her and then scanned the area. All around was scrub, an odd oak and oat grass and sand. Lots of sand. Other than the house, the tiny island was bare of any structures.
He looked at her, his eyes now less threatening, only questioning. “Do I know you?”
She shook her head and gestured at his damp and sand covered clothes. “I found you here. Do you remember anything?”
He shook his head then groaned and clutched at it again. “Might have gotten hit.”
Sophie waited and watched as he took deep breaths and then looked up at her. “We need to get out of here.”
“We?” Sophie repeated and then reached out to catch at him as he tried to stand then fell back onto the sand.
“No time, got to get out before he comes back,” he said and stared at her. Then his eyes rolled upward and he fell back on the sand, unconscious.
