A - Immortal Sea

Edith‟s eyes glinted behind her glasses. “The party‟s in there.”

Liz followed her gaze down the hall, and her wildly beating heart stopped, frozen in her chest. The blood drained from her

head.

Morgan. She recognized the strong flow of his back, the muscled curve of his shoulders. Above his black jeans and black

T-shirt, his hair looked almost white. His voice was deep, cool, annoyed.

And clinging to the long, black line of his leg was her daughter, Emily.

Trouble, Edith had said on the phone.

Oh, yes.

Liz rolled forward, propelled by a surge of protective fury. “What are you doing here?”

Morgan turned, his expression unreadable. “I was looking for you.”

Her heart jumped. She ignored it. “I want you to stay away from my children.”

Morgan cocked an eyebrow. “Then you will have to remove this one from my leg.”

Hot blood swept into her face. “Emily, come here.”

Her daughter loosened her grip on Morgan‟s pant leg. Liz pulled her close, steadied by the sharp, delicate bones beneath

her palm.

“Maybe we should all sit down,” Caleb Hunter suggested.

The police chief sat behind a battered desk covered with short stacks of paper and neatly aligned pens. Zack slouched in a

chair on the other side, gaze fixed on his dirty black combat boots. He did not, would not, meet her eyes.

Liz‟s mouth dried. Her pulse pounded in her temples. What had Morgan said to him? What was he thinking? Why was he

here?

She turned to Caleb. She‟d met the policeman a week ago at his wife‟s prenatal appointment. He‟d struck her then as a

clear-eyed, thoughtful man with big hands and a slow smile. He wasn‟t smiling now.

She moistened her lips. “There‟s no reason for him to be here.”

“No reason,” Morgan shot back. “But every right.”

Oh, God.

Zack raised his head. His pale gold eyes blazed, hard and curiously adult. Morgan‟s eyes, in their son‟s white face.

The accusation in his gaze hit her like a punch in the gut. Liz‟s heart plummeted to her stomach.

He knew, she thought sickly. Or he suspected, and his suspicions were ripping him apart. Tearing them apart.

She ached to go to him, to take him in her arms. But in this mood, in this setting, she knew the teen would never tolerate

her touch.

She crossed the small office to him and stood as close as she dared, Emily a warm weight against her side.

“Zack . . .”

“I‟ll just get another chair,” Caleb murmured and left the room.

“You lied,” Zack said bitterly.

She clenched her hands together. “No, I—”

“When were you going to tell me?”

Liz sighed. “I don‟t know. I was trying to find the right time to—”

“Liar.”

Morgan‟s rebuke cracked like winter ice. “You will not speak to your mother that way.”

“Fuck off.” Zack‟s head whipped around as Caleb reentered the room carrying one of the wooden chairs from the lobby. “I

want him to leave,” he said to the police chief. His voice wobbled around the edges. “I want them both to leave.”

Liz‟s heart broke. She raised her chin. “He‟s only fifteen. You can‟t question him without an adult present.”

Caleb set the chair for her and shut the door. “That would be true if he was facing charges. However—”

“I won‟t talk unless they go,” Zack said.

“According to Chief Hunter, you did not talk before we came,” Morgan said coolly. “Now shut your mouth and listen.”

Liz bristled in defense of her son.

“That sounds like a father,” Caleb said dryly.

She opened her mouth to deny it. Shut it again.

Caleb moved behind his desk. “Why don‟t we sit down. See if we can clear this up.”

She recognized the order beneath his mild tone. She unlocked her knees enough to perch on the edge of the chair.

“I will stand,” Morgan said.

Caleb shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He dropped onto his chair. “Look, your family situation is none of my business. But what

happens on this island is. People here depend on the sea. The sea and their neighbors. Anybody interferes with that, they take it

seriously.”

Liz‟s face felt stiff. “I don‟t understand.”

“There have been reports in the past week of lobster traps coming up empty.” Caleb spoke to her, but his eyes were on

Zack. “Most infractions around here, the fishermen handle themselves with a warning. Knot a line, bust a trap. If that doesn‟t

work, they‟ll send a call out over the radio, sometimes a gunshot across the bows. With the economy so bad and lobster prices

down, feelings are running pretty high. Poaching is the Marine Patrol‟s responsibility. But keeping the peace is mine.”

She didn‟t need a lesson on the island economy or police jurisdiction. “What does any of this have to do with Zack?”

“Your boy here met the ten-thirty ferry with a cooler full of lobsters. He was selling them to tourists for four bucks apiece.”

She‟d been braced for something else. Drugs. Alcohol. Those would fit the pattern. Shoplifting, to support her son‟s

suspected habit. Fighting, because they were new in town and Zack looked different, was different, from other boys. But . . .

“Lobsters?” Incredulity strained her voice. “Where would he get lobsters?”

“That‟s what I asked him,” Caleb said.

“Zack?”

He jerked a shoulder, eyes on his boots.

“Did someone give you the lobsters to sell?”

He was silent.

“Because if you‟re protecting someone, they don‟t deserve your loyalty.”

Something flickered across his face and was gone, too quickly to be identified. He didn‟t look up.

Frustration tightened her jaw. “He‟s not a poacher,” she said, wanting to believe it. “We don‟t even have a boat.”

“I wondered about that,” Caleb said.

“He would not necessarily need a boat,” Morgan murmured.

The two men exchanged a long look.

“I wondered about that, too,” Caleb said. “He one of yours?”

“The evidence would seem to point that way.”

Incomprehension swam in her head. She narrowed her eyes. “ One of yours? How many children do you have?”

He flashed his teeth at her. “Only one. And I do not intend to lose him again.”

Zachary watched from under his lashes while they talked about him as if he wasn‟t there. His stomach churned with a

combination of guilt and greasy panic. His eyes burned.

They couldn‟t prove anything. It‟s not like lobsters came painted with lobster serial numbers.

But maybe Big Cop would lock him up anyway. Maybe it would be a relief. Ever since they‟d come to this stupid island,

Zack was finding it harder and harder to control himself. If they threw him in jail, at least he could stop trying.

His mom was in full doctor mode, pressing, prodding, trying to get at the root of the problem. But she couldn‟t fix this. She

couldn‟t fix him. Nothing in her medical books, no online diagnosis Zack had ever found, offered him any help, any hope at

all.

So he kept his mouth shut and prayed Em would do the same.

She was just a baby. Too young to be charged, too young to be believed. Too young, he thought with another lurch of guilt,

to be mixed up in his shit. To her, the furtive trip to the beach had been a game, an adventure. Anyway, he‟d been careful not

to let her see anything that would scare her. She‟d been a hit with the tourists, too. Grown-ups who wouldn‟t give Zack the