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Ethan grabbed his keys and jacket from where he’d thrown them last night, pausing at the door to glance back at the open notebook on his desk. The crackpot theories and unanswered questions glared back at him.

Today was awash, and tomorrow he’d be stuck on Preston’s yacht with a forced smile on his face. Once he’d paid his dues to the corporate overlords, he had made up his mind on what he needed to do.

He didn't know what was going on, and maybe he was losing his mind. Or maybe there was more going on here that he just couldn't see yet, something impossible that his rational brain refused to understand or believe.

One thing was for sure, though—whatever Evie was hiding, whatever she was running from—he was going to find and help her. He wasn't done trying to figure it out, yet.

Not by a long shot.

Ethan’s feet thundered across the gravel pathway leading up to Bell Harbor Marina as he sprinted toward the entrance. Thrusting his hand into the pocket of his black dress pants, he ripped out his phone. 4:30 PM.

Shit, I’m so late!

After his absolutely psychotic break yesterday, he’d spent the whole morning out at Lake Rattlesnake clearing his mind and mentally preparing for the grueling task of being stuck on Preston’s yacht.

After losing track of him, though, his already stressful day quickly turned into a disaster. By the time he’d sped back to the city—a forty-five-minute drive that he’d done in thirty—he didn't have much time to think about his outfit.

He’d grabbed the closest thing to fit the ‘black-tie’ theme before sprinting out the door. Ethan had no hope that Preston would wait for him. God, he could already hear his grating voice in his head: “Ward, you’re fired. You should be grateful I’m allowing you to even be here!”

Joyce is going to kill me if I don't make it, he thought, rounding the corner onto the harbor’s walkway.

White yachts gleamed in front of him in the fading afternoon sunlight. Their pristine hulls lined the dock like oversized toys, blinding him with a wealth he’d never have. Ethan wondered how many of these the Willows owned.

He let the warmth of the waning sun wash over him, but frustration quickly came that on one of the first nice days of spring, he was here wasting it with the Willows.

Fantastic.

Ethan’s pace slowed when he saw Joyce and a large number of other guests up ahead, towards the end of the dock.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, he doubled over and attempted to catch his breath. As his eyes moved to the ground, his stomach dropped as he noticed his shoes. White sneakers caked with dirt glared back at him—completely destroying whatever attempt at black-tie he'd been going for.

He wore tuxedo pants, a white dress shirt, and a bow tie that he'd tied three times in the car before settling on his failed attempt. The jacket he’d grabbed from the back of his closet hung off him, far too big on his frame. He looked like a waiter who'd taken a wrong turn through a construction site.

Whatever, he thought. Who am I trying to impress?

This type of thing would usually stress him out, but right now the only thing on his mind was Evie.

“Ethan, honey!” a voice called out ahead of him, pulling him back to the moment. “Yoohoo!”

Ethan looked up to find Joyce waving frantically at the end of the dock. He gave a small wave back and slowly made his way toward her.

Joyce met him halfway, hobbling over in heels that were completely impractical for a yacht, but he was not one to talk about inappropriate footwear.

She’d really gone all out, a far cry from her usual cardigans and coffee-stained blouses. Joyce stood smiling wide at him in a royal-blue dress fit for a first lady. A strand of pearls adorned her neck, and her hair was teased so high that there had to have been enough hairspray in it to withstand a hurricane.

Ethan stared back wide-eyed and couldn't help but laugh to himself.

At least I won’t be the odd one out, he thought.

“Oh, Ethan, you clean up real nice, honey!” She patted him on the back, her bracelets jangling like wind chimes. “I’m glad you’re here. We was startin’ to worry you weren't comin’.”

“Sorry…running a little behind today.” He forced a smile. “Oh, you look great, by the way.”

“Thank you!” Joyce beamed at him before dropping her gaze to his shoes. Her brows bunched. “Well, what happened—oh, never mind. Let’s go!”

Joyce curled her arm around his, and they slowly made their way toward the yacht. “Between you and me…I still can’t believe Preston invited us.” Her eyes widened with excitement, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s usually for the bigwigs, ya’ know?” She squeezed his arm. “Kinda’ nervous!”

“Yeah, same here,” Ethan muttered, distracted by the growing crowd as they approached the yacht. His gaze scanned the group of well-dressed guests as they made their way toward what he presumed to be Preston’s yacht.