Page 67 of Jonah’s Lure

Pete studied him. For a moment, he seemed to measure the distance between where he was and where he had expected to be. The ambulance doors had closed. Jonah Holt was alive. Months of planning had come apart because the tide hadn’t been fast enough, because Angus had stayed inside the line, and because a frightened woman had finally chosen the more expensive honesty.

Pete looked at the ambulance.

“The tide should have done what Cobb couldn’t,” he said.

Barely more than a thought finding its way out.

While Pete’s focus had been on Angus, Miguel quietly positioned himself to effectively record everything.

Miguel said, “Say that again, Pete.”

Miguel’s voice landed on Pete like a wrong answer landing on a man who has just realized he gave it. The control in his face faltered. Not panic—nothing as manageable as panic. Something colder. The realization that what he’d kept protected for months had just been spoken aloud, on camera, in front of a badge.

He moved.

Angus had seen it before—the shoulder dropping, the weight shifting forward, the decision made a half second before the body committed to it. He stepped to the side, caught Pete’s wrist, guided him into the panel of the nearest patrol car and held him there. Both hands. Controlled. No more force than the moment required.

Pete struggled once. Then stopped.

“I want a lawyer,” Pete said.

“You’ll get one,” Miguel said. He worked the cuffs with the efficiency of a man who had practiced the motion until it required no thought. “Peter Hutchinson, you’re under arrest in connection with the murders of Walter Greer and Raymond Cobb, the abduction of Jonah Holt, and related offenses.” He continued through the rights clearly and without rushing.

Pete said nothing after the first sentence. Whatever he had been since he came back to Weyport—composed, reasonable, a man with patience to spare—was gone now. What was left was a man in handcuffs beside a road, watching the ambulance meant to carry a body carry a living person instead.

Miguel opened the patrol car door and put Pete inside.

The door closed.

Through the glass Pete looked at nothing in particular. Then he looked at Angus. Then he looked away.

The ambulance rolled past Holt Marine with Jonah Holt alive inside.

Angus stood in the red wash of the lights and felt the lure finally fall slack.

Chapter Forty

The hospital was too bright after the annex’s darkness.

Angus stood in the corridor outside Jonah’s room and felt the contrast in his eyes—clean floors, white light, the hum of climate control doing its work without anyone asking it to. Through the glass panel in the door, he saw Jonah beneath two blankets with an IV in his arm and the kind of color in his face that still looked borrowed. Frank sat beside the bed. Clara stood near the window.

Miguel found him there.

“Tammy’s statement is holding,” Miguel said. “The physical evidence is coming in behind it—forensics, emails, the shell company trail.” He looked at the door. “And what Pete said at Holt Marine—that’s on body cam.”

Angus looked at the door.

“‘The tide should have done what Cobb couldn’t.’” Miguel said it quietly, the way you said things that were now evidence rather than conversation. “On record.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

“Kovak’s been notified,” Miguel said. “The review isn’t formally closed yet, but it will be.”

Angus said nothing for long enough that Miguel looked at him.

“Good,” Angus said.

It was the only word he had.