Page 102 of Shielding Instinct

No matter the finger-pointing on the map, no matter the mumbling under her breath about the number of bags, the look of shock on Petra’s face when she saw that child was genuine. The girl’s appearance was unexpected.

What had Petra seen on the map that made her want to get eyes on?

Did any of it matter?

Possibly.

Hawkeye wasn’t at all sure that leaving Petra in the woods with a child—whom she’d protect—and Cooper—whom she didn’t know how to command—was the best idea.

The choices weren’t great. Sometimes, you had to do the thing that felt right.

The wind was picking up now. The foliage thinning out. A few more steps and there it was, a glimmer of blue. He’d made it to the top of the rise.

No phone bars. But a satellite overhead.

“Reaper, it’s Hawkeye. We’ve got a situation.” It took a moment to spell it out. All of it. Our subject, Molly McBeth, wasnotin the cabin. Her dog had been angry and famished but was now contained in a crate. He mentioned Petra’s job, the phone calls, that Rowan was en route, that Petra seemed like she was trying to disengage, but something about the map made her want to check something out. But that was all background information. The issue was that there was a child alone in the woods in a muddy bathing suit who was conscious but non-responsive, and the possibility that there were two other children in harm’s way.

“Given the situation on the island and emergency services slammed,” Hawkeye concluded. “I’m looking for next steps.”

“Is this an FBI op?” Reaper asked. “Are we stepping on toes? Obviously, we help the girl. But are we walking into a sting and messing something up if we continue with a lost-person search?”

Hawkeye stabbed a hand onto his hip. “Those are my questions.”

“Let me work the phones and get a plan together,” Reaper said. “Hang tight. Out.”

Hawkeye sat on the boulder letting his booted feet dangle over the side. He had made it to their original destination, the wharf that Petra had pointed out on the map.

There was a single white boat tied to a cleat.

Molly McBeth docked her boat down there. But they said the name of her boat wasThe Salty Margarita.

That the slips were empty made sense; the island boaters were out on search and rescue.

Why the one boat?

There was no activity around the boat. No tell-tale anything other than it looked like it was in consistent use. Nothing was covered in canvas, protected against the weather.

Hawkeye lifted his field glasses to scan along the way, looking at the tidepool where Petra had clung. Seeing the rocks where Lucky had grabbed her hair to save her, seeing how she would have climbed over to find a screaming Melissa, it was tough terrain and desperate circumstances.

Her stories from yesterday were harrowing.

Had he left her in danger again today? Hawkeye thought they’d be taking a walk in the woods when he volunteered for this assignment.

Hawkeye continued to scan for anyone out and about, for anything to give him information.

But the tide was gently rolling onto the beach with a whoosh and a slosh that soothed the soul and was antithetical to his present purpose.Come on, Reaper.

As if on cue, the sat phone rang.

“Go for Hawkeye.”

“Reaper here. Okay, we have a plan. Here’s the dilemma, they have no hands available. The concern is that the child suffered internal injuries, and that’s why she’s non-responsive. We want you and Petra to take the girl back to the cabin.”

“I could get the girl to the SUV. Petra could take the girl to the hospital, and I can continue the search.” Hawkeye pushed his field glasses into his ruck. “We’re burning daylight, and the wind is pulling the scent cone for backtracking to possibly find her brothers or her whole family, for that matter.”

“We considered that,” Reaper said. “If it was a single lost person, we’d have Petra bring the child on in. But if you find one of the brothers and that brother is injured, you’d be stuck there without comms. Looking at the time statistics, you’re right at the twenty-four-hour mark where there’s a ninety-eight percent chance of survival. Each hour from here on, that drops the chance. By this time tomorrow, we’re looking at a thirty-three percent chance the boys are alive.”

“If they’re even missing.”

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