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“Just left Carri Evans’s mom.” Glancing upward, he frowned. Rain pummeled the roof, making it hard to hear but he relayed the conversation to Owen. “Why wouldn’t Dalen—if she was still with him when she left the Family—not report her missing? Why didn’t Carri tell her mother about Dalen? What happened to make her want to leave without a trace? Is she in the clutches of our killer?”
“I firmly believe this killer is someone from the Family. While coming after you is personal, it feels like a shot at your father too, even if he did write you off. Maybe he talked of you fondly after you left. Showed remorse and regret, and it infuriated someone. Maybe they feared you returning to the fold and usurping their upcoming power.”
“For every question we have, we accumulate more questions instead of answers.” A streak of white-hot light flashed through the gunmetal-gray sky, and the car rocked. “We don’t have much time left, O,” he whispered. “And we don’t have what we need.” Any moment the text would come from Asa.
Evacuate.
“I know. It’s getting nastier by the hour. I checked two houses and got zip. No way to check the private islands. Have you seen that water? Pass.”
But women being held captive might be out there in an abandoned home. Their lives were in danger from their killer and a hurricane. There had to be a way to fight through the storm to rescue them. On the other hand, if they were wrong, Ty would be sailing straight into his grave.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Blue Harbor
Bexley Hemmingway’s house
Friday, September 7
11:02 a.m.
Bexley had rushed home around eight a.m., leaving Josiah at the SCU beach house. With this weather, she didn’t expect anything more dangerous than the hurricane, and Drew was only minutes away. He could check on him or swing by and pick him up if needed. No point in waking a sleeping bear, and after his stormy mood last night when she’d informed him that he was evacuating with the rest of the SCU team, she knew he needed space.
She understood his desire to remain; it was her desire too.
For the past three hours, she’d worked on hurricane-proofing her home. The windows had been boarded, and she’d filled the bathtub with water. Battery-operated lanterns and other sources of light had been scattered in each room. She’d brought in the garbage can, patio furniture and small gas grill as well as put the generator in place.
Several of her neighbors had already left to go inland, but others were weathering it and making last-ditch efforts at buying groceries and supplies.
A tornado had touched down in Nags Head during the wee hours of the morning, doing a nasty bit of damage but with no fatalities. Storm damage alone in Charleston had felled trees and power lines, leaving widespread power outages in over a hundred thousand buildings.
Now Jodie was coming for them.
Meteorologist Tom Stanley was live on Channel 3 in his rain gear and helmet at the shores of Ocracoke, hollering into a microphone, his image blurred from the rivulets of rainwater running down the video camera lens. The cameraman wiped them, but it did no good.
“Folks, it’s a challenge to stand out here. You can see how much strength I’m putting into keeping upright.”
“Then use that brain and get out of there, you idiot.” Why weather people thought they had to be some kind of storm junkie hero was beyond her. Viewers didn’t need him putting his life at risk when all they had to do was look out their windows. “Tom, don’t be a hero. Go back to the station,” she mumbled, as she rubbed the tension tightening her neck muscles.
The lights blinked.
No. Not yet!
“Even if you’ve ridden out storms before, this one is different. Don’t risk your life on riding out this monster,” Tom said. “Heed the evacuation orders, folks. It’s not only Hurricane Jodie with deadly winds, but flooding from storm surges you and your families need to consider. You only have two hours before surge floods are going to be too dangerous to cross. That’s an estimate. It could be sooner.”
With a boom of thunder, the lights flickered once more, and then the house went silent. Her breath caught in her throat. “Great,” she muttered. Did she power up the generator now? She only had so much gasoline. No, this was insane. Leaving Ahnah, who wasn’t safe, to be safe herself felt wrong on every level, but she was no help to her sister or her son if she was dead.
She had to go too. The window of opportunity was closing. Grabbing her phone, she called Josiah to let him know she would be joining them. All she had left was to pack a bag and she’d be on her way.
His phone went to voice mail. He was either still sleeping or ignoring her.
Great.
Growling and slamming her phone onto the counter, she stomped to her bedroom to pack a bag for evacuation. She opened the door, gasped and stumbled backward.
“You look surprised to see me, Bexley.” He was kicked back on her bed dressed to the nines, and his expensive cologne permeated her room. How had he gotten inside? How long had he been inside, and why was he on her bed as if he owned the space?
“What—what are you doing in my house? How did you get in?” How could it be?
