Chapter Twenty-Four

"What?" No. That couldn't be right. The portrait of Smoothy was Garrick, not Dalen. Garrick had left the embedded logo on customers. Not Dalen. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Selah said.

He leaned against the door, the wind blowing rain on his face. "Are they in this together, O? Is Dalen setting up Garrick to take the fall? Or has Dalen been behind this from the beginning?"

"I don't know, man."

"Thanks, Selah." He ended the call.

"I know where he took her, Agent Granger," Milo said. "I followed them."

"Well, why didn't you lead with that?" he hollered, and Milo flinched. "Sorry. I'm worried about her is all."

"Where did he take her?" Owen asked.

"To a marina. They got on a big speedboat, and I couldn't follow. So I thought I'd come back and see what was left to be done to prep the house. My place is already done, and I want Miss Hemmingway to be safe. She said she wasn't leaving."

Ty noticed the tailgate of his truck down and materials inside. Seemed maybe he was telling the truth. Or he was using the hurricane proofing to simply skulk around her and her property. One crisis at a time. "Where is it? The marina?"

He gave them directions. "Milo, everything you've done is great, but you can't show up at Miss Hemmingway's without permission even to help with chores and stuff. It's stalking, bud. And that's illegal. Am I getting through?"

"Sure."

Pretty certain he wasn't. But now was not the time. "Go on home or evacuate the island. It's getting worse. I'll find her." He had no idea how, but for once Ty was a step ahead. No way Garrick or Dalen would know about Milo. If they did, he'd be dead.

Unless Milo was also a part of this. Was it his job to infiltrate Bexley's life? Was his story even real? Had he been groomed like Josiah? His story had been flimsy.

This could be another elaborate part of the game. A trap.

He stormed back into the house, Owen on his heels. Both of them dripped water onto the floors as they moved to Josiah's room and to the computer. "He might have mentioned his place in a chat with him. He's been grooming him, Owen. Goes back a solid year. I have no idea what he's made that child believe, but it's been nothing but antagonistic words toward Bex and the father he doesn't know. He's using him as a pawn."

"We'll figure it out." Owen scrolled through his phone. "I can use the boat landing address and see what's around. I'm thinking an island. Maybe one I've already flagged."

Ty didn't find anything in the chat about an island, and he kicked a shirt lying on the floor. Time was running out. He glanced down at Josiah's sketchbook. The shirt had concealed it, but now it was open, and he picked it up.

Landscapes. A portrait of Tiberius. He flipped until a sketch caught his eye of an island surrounded by marshy land and a monstrous house right smack-dab in the middle. The place didn't seem conjured from his imagination, and every other drawing was a real location.

He showed Owen the sketch.

Owen studied it. "I know where that is. 'Bout twenty miles south of Patrick Swain's place, and the marina is only ten minutes away."

Ty tossed the sketch pad and punched the wall, feeling his knuckles crunch and burn. "We can't make it twenty miles with a hurricane barreling down on us, and it's out in the middle of the water. We'll all die."

"They made it twenty miles," Owen countered. "The hurricane hasn't progressed much more since then. We can make it. We can do it. But it's going to take some faith in something greater than ourselves."

Ty didn't buck him. He was on a teetering seesaw at the moment.

Owen laid a hand on Ty's shoulder. "I don't say anything to you about faith and religion and God, and that's my mistake. I know you got jacked by your family. All your life was about being controlled and manipulated in the name of God to benefit them. You've been hurt. Betrayed. But that's a cult, brother. That has nothing to do with a very real God."

"Owen, now is not the time to preach me a sermon. Bexley and my son are on some godforsaken island and we may not be able to rescue them." Anxiety tightened his lungs and shot acid into his throat like a fire-breathing dragon.

"It's not godforsaken. No place is godforsaken, Tiberius. I'm not preaching. I'm telling you the truth. We need divine intervention here. Or we ain't gettin' 'em back."

Owen was right about one thing. They couldn't man a boat alone in a hurricane. If God was real and wanted to climb in a boat with them during the storm of his life, he wasn't going to say no. Not today. "Who's going to give us a boat?"

"Use your imagination." He smirked, then got serious. "It's time to go." He tapped his chest with his fist, and Ty mimicked it.

"This is a suicide mission, O."

"Ride or die."

He'd rather ride.

But he was probably going to die.

Debris, trees and a kid's bike hurtled across the road. "It's like we're in the Twister movie," Ty said, gripping the wheel to keep them steady. Trees and power lines littered the ground. Sand from the dunes swept across the road in twirling tornados, pecking the windshield like pebbles.

"Well, we don't have cows yet," Owen said.

"There are wild horses though."

"If a horse flies by, Ty, I might tap out."

According to his GPS, Blue Harbor Marina was only five minutes away. Tornadoes had been spotted out at sea.

"You rethinking this?" Ty asked as he put some muscle into keeping them in the right lane.

"I'm not thinking at all." Owen smirked, but his eyes mimicked the same dreadful anticipation bordering on fear that Ty felt.

Their destination was on the right, and they approached a parking lot, empty except for the one dark blue sedan registered to Dalen Granger. Slipping into ponchos was a mechanical response to the devastating weather. They wouldn't protect them from this storm.

Boats slammed against the waves as they scouted the marina for a boat with keys they could borrow. Borrow sounded better than steal. After all, they were federal agents. Stealing was frowned upon.

"We need something big and fast if we plan to make it to the island alive," Ty hollered against the whipping wind, his clothes sticking to his body like a second skin and rain slicking down his hair and running into his eyes. This was what it had come to—pilfering like bandits and pirating boats in the name of justice.

They hunched forward, working to hold their ground against the wind at their front, and fighting through the stinging rain pelting their faces and blurring their vision. "Remember that true story movie with George Clooney about that boat in a hurricane?"

"No," Owen yelled.

"Okay, good."

Ty boarded a charter boat and climbed into the cockpit. He tried a console underneath the radio. Then he hurried back to the stern, waving his arms and signaling to Owen. "Yes!" he hollered.

Owen rushed down the slip and skidded to a halt. "Are you kidding me right now?" He pointed to the name painted on the back of the boat.

Sea Flower.

"Maybe it's a sign!" He could care less if it had an ominous vibe going. The boat came with keys. "Cut the ropes and come on!"

"A sign from who?" Owen retrieved his knife from his pants pocket. He sliced the ropes, then jumped on board and ducked into the cockpit with Ty.

"I'll take a sign from anyone or anything. The stars. Even God."

Owen ran his hand over his face, clearing drops of water. "I think we're gonna need a bigger boat."

The charter rocked, and Ty grimaced from the nausea. "Ha ha."

Ty turned the key, and the boat hummed to life; Owen tossed him a life vest and began securing his own. "Just FYI, it's been a hot minute since I manned a boat." Ty slipped on his orange vest and buckled it, pulling the strap tight.

Owen sat in the chair next to him and shook his head. "Why did I need to know that?"

"You didn't."

Ty's attempt to be funny fell flat as a wave crashed against the boat, tossing them.

"Hey, maybe this is like riding a bike." He'd maneuvered them out into the water. "Where to?"

"South. Go south!" Owen groaned. "I'm gonna be sick." His skin turned sallow.

"Hold your breakfast." Ty powered ahead, the waves clobbering the boat.

Twenty miles. Twenty miles was doable.

He hoped.

They powered through the dark, choppy waters. His stomach jackknifed as he lost his sea legs. Next to him, Owen gripped the rail, bouncing uncontrollably and pursing his lips.

Farther out, a cluster of small islands surrounded by marshy land came into blurred view. In the center of the small islands surrounded by forest and foliage stood a large mustard-yellow home on stilts with shaker siding and a large turret with windows. Was that where he was holding all these women? Like Rapunzel?

"Look! That must be the boat he brought Bexley over on." Approaching a private dock, Ty eased off the gas, unsure if they'd be able to dock this boat. The storm was increasing in force dramatically. But another boat had been docked. She was here. They were all here.

Marshland covered most of the area. "He must dock here and take a canoe through the narrow channels. No other way to approach the home."

But now a majority of the water had been sucked out from a reverse storm surge. Instead of the wind pushing water inland, the force of the fierce winds had resulted in pushing water outward, leaving sand, mud and debris to trek across.

"What do we do?" Owen asked.

"Let me dock this thing and we'll figure it out." Did they take a chance on walking through this marshland up to the island house? If the eye made landfall soon, the sound could return the water with destructive force, leaving them powerless.

He cut the boat engine and threw out a rope, working to attach it to the wooden beams.

"Leave it already! It's not worth it. Guy's insurance will cover it." Owen motioned him to follow, and Ty leaped from the boat onto the dock. The wind was coming from the north at their backs. This wouldn't be an easy trek. Leaving on their life vests, they began the battle, and Ty gripped Owen as they fought to stay upright.

"This is crazy!" Owen said through a nervous laugh.

"We'll look back on it with fond memories." Bits of marsh grass and sand pelted Ty's face and neck. He kept his head down and hunched, protecting his eyes the best he could manage.

Owen sank to his knees and growled. Ty pulled him from the sludge acting as quicksand. They only had about ten yards to go to reach the house but it felt impossible. Like miles.

Pushing through the gunk, they dodged flying trees. Forced to the ground by the gales, they clawed their way toward the house. Mud and sand slipped under Ty's nails and sailed up his nose and into his mouth. He squinted and continued the trek. A maze of boardwalks was up ahead.

His leg muscles spasmed and bits of shell sliced into his palms. From the wounds and traces of marsh debris on her body, Ty imagined Cami running from this place, slipping into the dark water and attempting an escape. The same grit and nettles digging into her feet and slashing at her skin. Fear fueling her to risk the torture that would come if she failed and enduring it with hopes the team would come to her rescue.

Ty had let her down.

He could redeem his lost efforts. He'd bring Garrick or Dalen or both of them to justice, give Cami's family closure and hope they could all forge ahead into some kind of new normal, but the office would never be the same without her. Their lives would never be the same.

Bexley, Josiah, Ahnah. The other women trapped. They kept him moving, but exhaustion overwhelmed his body and he couldn't catch his breath. He needed renewed strength. Not his own strength but something far greater and powerful—more powerful than this hurricane—to allow him to continue. Owen was right.

Lightning pierced the black sky, and the next peal of thunder rattled Ty's chest.

"You know I must love you something fierce, bruh, to willingly fight a storm for you," Owen yelled.

"You had the chance to back out!" Ty hollered as rain blew down his throat, choking him with sand. He coughed and crawled as the storm battered and beat them down.

Blood ran down Owen's cheeks and cuts littered his hands, but he pushed onward, never leaving Ty's side. Ty owed him. He would buy him coffee for a year or pay for his fancy suits to be dry-cleaned until he retired.

"And leave you to your own devices? Not a chance."

"Almost to the boardwalk. We can do this," Ty said.

"Ty!" Owen pointed upward, and Ty strained to see against the downpour, shielding his eyes.

Above, a funnel began shooting down over the water.

"Tornado!"