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“And yet…” I shrug. “Personally, I consider myself to be a woman with an unusual hobby. Or a self-destructive streak. The line between the two gets a little blurry.”
Vaughn’s feet hit the ground. “Remember what I said about the importance of open and honest communication? That we don’t keep secrets in this camp, because we need to trust one another. Our safety depends on it.”
“Seriously? I started my day discovering a woman’s grave. Recent remains, to use your own words. So you want to talk about trust? Here it is: I don’t trust any of you. Not a single person on this atoll.”
“Jesus. Do you ever back down from a fight?”
“No.”
He scowls, rakes his hand through his brown hair. I’m beginning to understand that the motion is one of his tells. He’s disturbed about something, and it’s not just me.
“Why are you here?” he asks tersely. “The real reason, this time.”
“Because this is what I do. Travel from place to place, picking up work as I go. You’ve seen my résumé. I don’t have a permanent address or, quote, unquote, real job. I’m restless. Always have been.”
“But you’ve gotten involved in searching for missing people. You’ve assisted the police?”
“That’s not how they see it.” Now I’m being perfectly honest. No cop likes a layperson getting involved in their investigation. Let alone the time a local sheriff and his two deputies, Redneck 1 and Redneck 2, tried to chase me out of town with shotguns.
Vaughn thins his lips, clearly annoyed by my opaque answers. He’s tired, I realize, fatigued in a way that goes beyond the usual stress of managing a camp of this size and complexity.
“You’re concerned about something.” My turn to issue a statement of fact.
“Welcome to project management. I’m always concerned about something.”
“How many of these assignments have you done?”
“Four.”
“Always with MacManus?”
“Mac’s a good guy. We go way back.”
“To when Lea was young?”
“There you go again, asking questions.”
“Clearly I drove my parents crazy from a young age. Come on, Vaughn, what do you really want to ask me?”
He grimaces, looking up and away. More hair pulling, face rubbing. Something is definitely eating away at him. I remain silent, the best interrogation technique I know.
“Do you have opinions on the skeleton?” he asks abruptly. “You said it wasn’t your first body. And based on what I read, it sounds like many of your cases… don’t result in locating the living.”
I don’t love his euphemism but can’t argue with it, either. I contemplate him for a moment. We are at an impasse, I realize, where he knows more than I’d like him to know, and I need someone to trust more than I’d like to need someone to trust. I decide turnabout is fair play.
“Tell me about Chris. How did she really sprain her ankle? Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”
“She stepped into a crab—”
“You can stop right now.” I raise a hand. “When I said answer my question, I meant truthfully. You’re the one who keeps talking about the importance of open and honest communication. And yet, you lied to me first, and we both know it.”
“I didn’t lie first—”
“So you admit you lied!”
He sits back, scowls at me. “You’re fucking annoying.”
“Thank you. I consider it one of my superpowers. Right up there with once I ask a question, I don’t quit till I get the answer.”
