“When they find them, we will need to be prepared for the worst,” Dr. Conklin, the new orthopedic surgeon and Chief of Surgery at Seascape Shores General said as he pulled his scrub cap from his head. “And I don’t think it’s going to be pretty.”
“You and I have been doing this for long enough to know that unfortunate truth,” Tabitha agreed.
The men on the missing boat had been gone for three full days now. Their food supply would be dwindling, especially now that it had been revealed their trip was only supposed to be a one-day excursion. They likely hadn’t brought enough—or any—rations for the extra days at sea.
In more than one way, they hadn’t done things by the book, nor even ethically, for that matter.
The media recently released new information about the passengers, one of which was said to be an assemblyman who had started off as Mark Todd’s intern years ago and then ran to fill his empty seat when Camille’s ex-husband made the move to state senator. The missing man was a young politician with ambition, grit, and a whole lot of controversy that followed him throughout his campaign and into his career. He had a sketchymoral compass when it came to fundraising and was rumored to have taken money from lobbyists in a not-so-by-the-book way. Tabitha hadn’t voted for him, but she paid little mind to the politics of her patients. Her goal—her duty—was to treat each and every person she operated on, regardless of differences of opinion. She’d taken an oath. She cared little about the personal lives of those in her care.
The media, on the other hand, had a field day with these sorts of things. Where drama wasn’t present, they would invent it, and they’d created a frenzy of speculation about the true mission of this missing boat. It was speculated that it was a chartered fishing expedition but based on the captain’s reputation and the combined wealth of the men aboard, many believed it to be a great white hunt masquerading as something less suspicious.
This wasn’t surprising to Tabitha, mostly because Skip had already uncovered this detail in his own research. The sailor was consumed with the case in the way Camille was a true crime junky, trying to unravel clues and piece together stories in order to get the full picture. Those two with their overactive imaginations made quite a pair.
But Tabitha knew they wouldn’t have the full picture until the boat was recovered—and hopefully with the men still aboard it, alive and well.
She’d never gotten the full picture when it came to her parents. That was a mystery they’d never have answers to.
While Dr. Conklin met with their recent patient’s family and relayed the surgery’s success, Tabitha headed to her car in the physician’s lot, hoping to steal a moment of quiet before continuing her shift. She was tired. Always seemed to be lately. What she wouldn’t give for a nap right now, just a few brief moments of shuteye. But she still had five hours left until her shift was over, and so she would power through. It’s what she did.
To decompress, she scrolled mindlessly through her phone, hopping from one social media app to another, when a text suddenly buzzed through.
Ben.
She’d been so used to calling him her ex that this new label as her boyfriend was a difficult transition. More so in her head than in her heart. Because her heart felt that new term deeply. The way it raced at the mere thought of him was startling, but she accepted it. Liked it, even.
Her eyes quickly scanned the text, smile drawing up her lips.
Ben: I’d like to take my girlfriend out tonight if she’s available.
Tabitha: She is. When and where?
This third person talk was silly, but in a flirty way she wasn’t used to.
Ben: 7:00 PM. And it’s a surprise.
A whoosh rushed through her belly. She was never really one for surprises, but when it came to Ben, she was up for it. She trusted him. And other than Camille, he knew her better than anyone.
Ben: I’ll pick you up at the beach house.
She was about to give the text a thumbs-up when another text from an entirely different man blipped across her phone screen.
“Mark?” Her voice pitched as she read the name attached to the incoming message. When was the last time she’d heard from her ex-brother-in-law? The man only reached out when he needed something, and she had a sneaking suspicion she knew exactly what it was about this time.
She planned to ignore the text. That was easy. Click and then delete.
Less easy was sending all three following phone calls straight to voicemail.
By the fourth, she relented and picked up, just to get him out of her hair.
“Mark, I really can’t talk right now. Headed into surgery.”
“You and I both know you’re not, otherwise you wouldn’t have answered.”
She frowned. “What do you need?”
“Your discretion.”
She settled into the seat of her car, preparing for whatever came next. One never knew when it came to Mark. “What are you talking about?”
