Page 119 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

And if Hudson arrived first?

The engine protested, but she didn’t care. Her face was numb with cold when Morrow Point emerged through the blowing snow.

The cannery stood on its stilts above the water exactly as it had three days ago. The processing hall. The packing room. The cold storage beyond. The covered dock where Petey had spent ten minutes complaining about the drainage.

Her radio crackled. ““Coast Guard response boat to Aurora Sheriff.”

Wyatt.

Sarah lifted the receiver. “Coast Guard, this is Aurora Sheriff, copy. Go ahead.”

“We’re established south of Morrow Point. Suspect vessel moored. No visual compromise.”

Sarah watched the dock through the blowing snow. “Maintain a covert position. Hold unless they break for open water.”

“Copy.” A beat. “You got enough people?”

Waiting for backup meant giving them time to put Cord aboard. She looked at Walter. He lifted one unimpressed eyebrow.

“Enough for now.”

Seconds passed.

“Sarah...”

She knew exactly what Wyatt meant. “We’ll bring everyone home.”

“Roger that. Coast Guard holding.”

Sarah throttled back a hundred yards from the cannery. The engine dropped to a low growl as she angled toward the lee of the dock, using the pilings and the abandoned loading structure to hide their approach from the warehouse windows. She eased the patrol boat into the shadow of the loading structure and killed the engine.

A light crossed an upper window, vanished, then reappeared in the next window farther along. Someone moving through the cannery.

Okay.

Sarah shrugged out of her life jacket, drew her rifle from the case and checked the chamber before slinging it across her chest. Her sidearm stayed holstered.

If Hudson was mobile, he’d keep coming and find a way to reach Cord. This time, he wasn’t doing it alone.

Sarah scanned the warehouse doors and the dark line of windows facing the bay. “On me, Walter. We clear together.”

Walter took his rifle, caught one of the dock pilings and pulled them alongside.

Sarah stepped onto the ice-slicked dock. “Let’s go.”

47

Something wet and cold nudged Hudson’s hand.

Gunner.

“Hey, buddy.” Hudson scratched behind the dog’s ears.

Gunner nosed his ribs, then the blood congealing on the sleeve around his injured arm. A low sound gathered in the dog’s chest.

“I’m fine.”

Gunner sneezed. Blood matted the white around his muzzle, though none of it appeared to be his.