"Kane's legacy," Isla said quietly."He wanted to expose corruption, and he did.Just not the way he planned."
The Cold Current bumped gently against the dock as the tugboat maneuvered her into position.Crime scene tape still fluttered from her rails, and Isla could see the dark stains on her deck that no amount of scrubbing would ever fully remove.Five men had died on that boat—four criminals and the vigilante who had appointed himself their executioner.
She thought about what Kane had said in those final moments, the knife pressed against her throat.These waters are mine now.He'd believed it—believed he had the right to decide who lived and who died, to dispense justice that the system couldn't or wouldn't provide.And part of her understood that belief, even as she rejected it.
The system was broken.She'd known that since Miami, since Alicia Mendez had died because Isla had made a mistake and the bureaucracy had been too slow to catch it.Criminals operated with impunity while law enforcement drowned in paperwork and jurisdictional disputes.Morrison had taken bribes for years, and no one had noticed until a traumatized veteran with a Ka-Bar decided to do something about it.
But Kane's way wasn't the answer.Murder begat murder, violence begat violence, and eventually the righteous warrior became indistinguishable from the criminals he was hunting.Kane had held a knife to her throat and been ready to use it—had already used it on Halverson, a man who deserved prison but not execution.
"What are you thinking?"James asked.
Isla turned away from the Cold Current, her eyes finding the vast gray expanse of Lake Superior stretching toward a horizon she couldn't see."I'm thinking about the other one," she said."The Lake Superior Killer.The one who makes accidents."
James was quiet for a moment, processing the shift in subject."You think he's still out there."
"I know he is."Isla felt the certainty settle into her bones, the same certainty that had driven her through almost two years of investigation, through dead ends and cold trails and the quiet despair of hunting a ghost."Kane was loud.Obvious.He wanted people to know what he was doing.The LSK is the opposite—patient, invisible, making his kills look like misfortune.He's been operating for years, maybe decades, and we've barely scratched the surface."
"And now that Kane's taken all the attention—"
"He'll keep operating.Quietly.Carefully.While everyone celebrates the capture of the 'ghost ship killer' and moves on to the next story."Isla drained the last of her coffee, grimacing at the grounds that had settled at the bottom."We caught one predator.But there's another one out there, and he's been watching all of this unfold."
James moved to stand beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched."Then we keep hunting."
Isla looked at him—at the lines of exhaustion around his blue eyes, the stubble that had progressed well past fashionable, the steadiness in his gaze that had been there since he'd taken the shot that saved her life.They'd been partners for almost two years now, and somewhere along the way they'd become something more—something neither of them had quite acknowledged, something that waited in the silences between their words.
"Emma's soccer game," she said suddenly."I promised."
James's face softened, the professional mask cracking to reveal something warmer underneath."It's not until this afternoon.You should get some sleep first."
"So should you."
They stood there for a moment, watching the Cold Current settle into her final berth, watching the lake stretch gray and patient toward the horizon.Somewhere out there, the Lake Superior Killer was watching too—observing, planning, waiting for the attention to fade so he could return to his work.
But Isla would be waiting too.She'd been hunting monsters since before Duluth, since before Miami, since the first time she'd understood that some people used the darkness to harm others and that someone had to stand between them and their victims.Thomas Kane had believed he was that someone, and in the end, his certainty had destroyed him.
Isla's certainty was different.She didn't believe in vigilante justice or righteous killing or the idea that one person could appoint themselves the arbiter of who deserved to live or die.She believed in evidence and procedure and the slow, grinding machinery of a legal system that was flawed but still worth defending.
And she believed that eventually, if she was patient enough and careful enough and stubborn enough, she would find the Lake Superior Killer and drag him into the light.
"Come on," James said, touching her elbow gently."I'll drive you home.We can start fresh tomorrow."
Isla nodded, letting him guide her away from the dock, away from the ghost ship and the memories of violence that clung to it like fog.The morning light was strengthening now, burning through the gray to reveal patches of blue sky that promised a warmer afternoon.
She thought about Kane's words one more time as they walked toward the parking lot.These waters are mine now.
No, she thought.They're not.They never were.And I'm going to prove it.
The lake stretched vast and patient behind her, keeping her secrets, waiting for the next chapter in a story that was far from over.
Isla would be ready when it came.
EPILOGUE
The amber liquid in Isla's glass caught the lamplight as another panel of talking heads debated whether Thomas Kane had been a hero or a terrorist.She muted the television with more force than necessary, plunging her apartment into silence that amplified every sound from the harbor below—the distant groan of cargo cranes, the whisper of wind through rigging, the eternal lap of waves against stone that had become the soundtrack to her sleepless nights.
Three weeks since theCold Current.Three weeks since Kane's war had ended in Lake Superior's cold embrace.The media storm showed no signs of abating, transforming a complex federal investigation into simplified narratives that fit evening news sound bites.
Sixty-three percent of Americans viewed Kane as a hero.Only thirty-seven percent supported the FBI's position that systematic murder remained criminal regardless of the victims.The numbers felt like a referendum on law enforcement itself, a public declaration that federal agencies had failed so completely that vigilante violence seemed preferable to legal prosecution.
