Page 67 of Dead Drift

Twenty minutes out, as Luke’s breath clouded in vapor, she bent and lifted the Maglite to reveal a tiny bay island with a small, round lighthouse. “We’re here.”

Luke tied the boat to the pier and gazed up at the white-and-green lighthouse. “What is this place?”

“My friend Chris’s second home.”

“Your friend owns an island and a lighthouse?”

“Yep. It’s been in her family for generations. The land was originally deeded to one of her ancestors in 1747 by Lord Baltimore. He deeded out several islands, as a matter of fact, two of which are still owned by the original families—Chris’s and Talbot Island.”

“Interesting.”

“I know.” She smiled. “The main house is on the barrier island about five nautical miles that way.” She pointed southwest. “After having several shipwrecks on their barrier island, they built the lighthouse. They hired someone to run the lighthouse, and that”—she shone the light at the small, run-down cottage—“belonged to the lightkeeper and his family. Over time a bigger lighthouse was built about a half-dozen nautical miles farther out in the bay, and there was no longer any use for this. It fell out of memory and into disrepair until Chris’s dad died and passed it on to her. She had fond memories of playing pirates here and decided to restore it with her husband. They finished the lighthouse first and are starting on the lightkeeper’s cottage next.”

She unlocked the lighthouse door and punched a code into the security panel.

“A security system for a lighthouse?” he asked, clearly impressed.

“We’ll be safe here for the night.”

She flipped on the light as they entered, and Luke stared at the full-blown security system, and video monitors showing the entire surrounding area.

“Chris is upper echelon at a security firm and a complete tech nerd, so let’s just say she’s a little over the top when it comes to security.”

She led him up the winding wooden stairs, and they moved to the windows, staring in awe at the stars and the sea and God’s magnificent creation.

The water set her soul at ease, and the line from Horatio Spafford’s “It Is Well with My Soul” rang through her mind. “When sorrows like sea billows roll . . .”

The ocean had been her gift of solace from God during Luke’s absence. It was where she felt at home—in His arms and on the sea.

“So, will this do?” she asked Luke as she leaned against the pine railing, praying against all odds that the cop chasing down Lauren had caught her and she was securely behind bars. She doubted it though. They appeared doomed to be targets.

28

Luke studied Kate in front of the round window of the lighthouse. Moonlight streaked across her face.

He drew near. “It’s perfect.”

“So maybe you’ll actually get a good night’s rest?” she said.

“What do you mean?” Had she brought them to the secluded safe house so he could rest? And all this time he’d been so thankful she was finally appearing to be taking extra safety precautions for herself.

She leaned back against the window, the moon illuminating her silhouette, the flame from the lantern she’d lit dancing across her high cheekbones.

Cheeks he loved to caress, but lately, he’d only been wiping away her tears—tears he’d caused.

“You’re tired,” she said, her voice sounding sleepier than he felt.

Being with her in such a remote and stunning place renewed his energy and fueled his longing to be with her. Only her. Always her.

Katie was a starlit night filled with the bursts of fireflies. She was the pummel and froth of a waterfall booming in his ears, the surge of a plane jetting into the bright blue sky, pressing him back against the seat, his chest tightening with excitement. She was a tender movement of a slow dance on the front porch to the soft melody of crickets. She was every sensation, every good moment, every emotion rolled into one. One person. One love. It was her.

He’d known it all along, and yet he’d walked away. Talk about the definition of madness.

It was time to make things right.

To be right.

For that to happen, he needed to be at her side.