Emma nodded slowly.
‘You won’t see it coming.’
Yes, she needed to tell Zach.
Chapter 31
Eerie Calm
The island felt wrong.
Zach registered it the moment he stepped outside his cottage at 0600—the unnatural quiet, the absence of early-morning staff chatter, the darkness where the beachfront cabanas usually glowed with prep lights. Helene was now forecasted to hit as a category four, so they had evacuated most of the non-essential personnel, leaving only core security and maintenance. The resort buildings stood shuttered and empty, windows covered, outdoor furniture already stored.
It reminded him of forward operating bases right before contact. That eerie calm when everyone knew violence was coming but couldn’t predict when or how.
He’d barely slept. Three hours. Every time he’d closed his eyes, he’d seen Emma in the cave, looking at him like he wasn’t a weapon. Like he was a man.
Distraction.
He ran his usual route despite the circumstances—ten miles along the perimeter road, checking sight lines and access points. The sky was lightening, but the air tasted different. Heavy. Electrically charged. The storm was approaching, and according to the last update at 0500, it was heading straight for them.
By the time he circled back to the cottage, dawn was breaking, gray and oppressive. No sunrise. Only a gradual shift from black to slate.
Nick and David were in the kitchen.
“About time,” David said without looking up from his tablet. “Thought you drowned in the ocean.”
“Storm surge doesn’t hit for another twelve hours.” Zach moved to the coffeepot and poured black coffee into a ceramic mug, surrounded by the aroma of bacon and something sweet—David’s doing, no doubt. His youngest brother was a bacon addict.
Nick sat at the island counter, phone in one hand, laptop open in front of him. He’d clearly been up for a while—mug empty, multiple weather sites pulled up on his screen. His eyes flicked to Zach, assessing in his quiet way that always saw too much.
“Storm track shifted overnight,” David finally looked up. His hair was disheveled, glasses crooked. “Moved west. We’re in the center of the cone now.”
Zach set down his mug. “Yes. Saw that in the 0500 update. Direct hit?”
“Possible. The NHC has us at a twenty to forty percent chance of Category Four winds. Forty to sixty for Category Three.” David swiped his tablet, turning it so Zach could see the projected path. The cone of uncertainty was wide, but Isla Nocturna sat in the middle. “They’re calling for sustained winds of one-thirty to one-forty, gusts up to one-seventy. Storm surge eight to twelve feet in the bays.”
“Generators?”
“Tested and fueled. Backup systems are operational.” Nick’s voice was calm, methodical. He’d always been strong in a crisis—focused without being rigid. “I’ve got Clay checking the anchor points on the perimeter cameras. The exposed units will gooffline before wind speed hits fifty, but we should maintain coverage on the main buildings and core areas.”
Zach nodded, running through mental checklists. “Interior spaces secured?”
“Everything mobile is either stored or tied down. Windows are shuttered. The dock equipment is secured.” David flipped to another screen. “I pulled the boats yesterday afternoon. They’re in the main facility.”
“Staff?”
“Skeleton crew. Eighteen people total, all essential—security, core maintenance, medical—” Nick met his eyes, “and Emma.”
Zach’s jaw tightened. “She’s staff.”
“HR doesn’t qualify as essential personnel during a hurricane.”
“She’s the HR director. She has authority over personnel decisions during evacuations.” The words came out harder than intended. “She insisted on staying until everyone was accounted for.”
David glanced between them, eyebrows rising, but said nothing. He turned back to his tablet, but Zach caught the small smile.
“Fine,” Nick said mildly. “Just clarifying.”
