Page 7 of Island Rescuer

And that was before the threatening messages started showing up on her phone. Before her car had been keyed at the grocery store. Before a vague uneasiness had become her constant companion.

Here in Brookwell, the people were pleasant and she was just one of the group when she was out with her friends. It was heady stuff. When she visited Trina at the Inn or strolled down Central, it was almost like being a carefree kid again.

Around the Ellington, people tended to defer to her no matter how down to earth she was. In part, it was expected simply because she was the operating manager. In general, all her life she struggled with relationships. People rarely looked at her without judging or launching into some harmful comparison. The family money and privilege got in the way of healthy friendships nearly every time.

She walked to her car thinking of Sonya and Hannah. Neither of her sisters by choice would be in her life if she hadn’t insisted on going the basic dorm route at college. It hadn’t been an easy win. Her father had worried it was too risky, too public, for his only daughter.

Sheltered much?

The dorm had been a gift, one of those rare times when the playing field was even. Her background wasn’t obvious and couldn’t get in the way of budding friendships. Then she’d followed her dad’s lifelong example of generosity and brought her roommates home with her on that first winter break. Women the entire family now counted as their own.

When Hannah and Sonya had joined her family for Christmas—and gotten an up-close look at her home life—she worried it would unravel.

Every day she was grateful it hadn’t changed anything. The three of them adored each other, were bonded through camaraderie and friendship, inside jokes, silly secrets, and soul-deep dreams. Her monied background had never been a factor.

She drove across the bridge, leaving Brookwell behind once more. The pinch around her heart was familiar now, and though uncomfortable, it was definitely worth it. Maybe it was time to invest in her own place here on Brookwell. Affording it wasn’t the problem, but explaining it would be.

Her family had property all over the Lowcountry as well as up and down the Eastern seaboard. Brookwell, a mere half hour away from their primary residence in Charleston, wasn’t far enough removed to be considered vacation space.

She was driving through damp Charleston streets, taking the most direct route from one island to the next, when a car whipped around her aggressively and squealed away into the night.

“Good luck to you,” she muttered at the tail lights.

Some drivers were too impatient and foolhardy. These streets were old and narrow, the lanes far from predictable. Night made navigating trickier and rain required even more caution and common sense.

Reaching the bridge without further incident, she was thinking about how wonderful it would be to fall into bed when another driver roared up behind her, riding too close to her bumper. Was this the next incident? Would this be the point when the person harassing her caused real harm? She struggled not to fall down the rabbit hole of worst-case scenarios. She had to be smart. And calm.

Traffic in the next lane made it impossible to move over. She tapped the brakes, hoping it would be enough. To her relief, the driver backed off.

She convinced herself the aggression was a simple matter of a distracted driver when the car surged forward again. The vehicle was following so closely she couldn’t even see the headlights in her mirrors this time.

She didn’t dare tap the brakes now, it would nearly guarantee a collision. She jerked into the next lane, making an opportunity to merge, even though it meant missing her exit. Better a longer drive to the resort than a car wreck on the bridge. The defensive move gave her a fast glimpse of the vehicle driving erratically. She recited the descriptive features out loud to help her recall as she put as much distance as possible between her and the vehicle that frightened her.

Dark gray, BMW crossover model. Tinted windows and missing the hubcap on the left rear wheel.

Surely, she wouldn’t need the details. She must be overreacting. It had to be a coincidence. Bad drivers were part of life everywhere. Everyone dealt with distractions or bad moods in their own way. This couldn’t be specific to her.

Could not.

The recent unpleasant messages hadn’t been loaded with outright threats, just creepy vibes.

If there had been anything tangible, she would have gone straight to her Uncle Bruce. He had the security expertise and the law enforcement connections to handle any real concerns.

No one could take any action against random, angry messages from an unknown number or a random reckless driver. Without any idea of who would be bothering her, it seemed like a futile pursuit and a waste of manpower.

“Should’ve stayed overnight in Charleston.”

If she’d stopped at the Ellington Hotel downtown, she could have zipped across to the bridge and over to the resort in the morning before anyone else was on the road. Instead of dealing with sweaty palms on the steering wheel and shaky nerves cramping her shoulders, she’d be on her way to bed by now in the room they reserved for family use.

No use in that line of thinking. She was in it now and had to keep going. “Suck it up, Harper.” The unexpected detour only added another fifteen minutes to her drive. She’d be at the resort and the suite she called home soon enough. Still, each minute, every red light, felt like its own eternity as she anticipated trouble from every other car on the roadway.

Finally pulling into the resort, she parked in her designated spot. Instead of relief, she battled another wave of vulnerability. Neither the location nor her car had ever been protected information. What if the person behind the messages, potentially behind the near-miss on the bridge, was already here?

Every shrub in the lush landscaping suddenly took on a sinister air. At this late hour, she might as well be alone. This was the perfect place to catch her off guard. She gathered her phone and purse with shaking hands and reached for the door handle.

But she couldn’t make herself open it.

She swore. This was not normal for her. This wasnot her. Scared and weak weren’t in her vocabulary—not when it came to her behavior. Being cautious and alert were important, she was fit and yet well-aware of her limitations in a physical conflict. Awareness did not require her to sit and cower over a few shadows in the azaleas. She was strong. Iron-willed. Brave. It would take more than creepy messages and a reckless driver to change how she lived her life.

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