Christy Barritt - Desperate Measures

At five, her father had left. Her boyfriend in college had cheated on her. Her husband had swindled people out of thousands of dollars, choosing money over his family.

She’d never met a man she could trust.

Which was why she needed to concentrate on something else at the moment.

“I think the neighborhood where I grew up is bigger than this place,” she said, careful to not reveal too much about herself.

But her words were true. The whole island could only be maybe fifty acres. It was small enough that Samantha, as she’d traveled from the wharf to John’s yesterday, had seen tombstones in people’s front yards.

He chuckled. “You could be right. I think there’s only around a thousand residents here. It’s unlike any place I’ve ever been. At high tide, the waters rise and small wooden bridges connect various parts of the island. Only about sixty percent is inhabitable. The rest is marshland.”

“I hate to see what that means during hurricane season.”

“They say the island was formed from a hurricane and another one could easily erase it. In fact, there’s an island north of here—locals call it the Uppards—that was once inhabited. Residents abandoned it about forty years ago because of flooding. The entire island became submerged during storms.”

“It was probably a good idea that they ditched the place then.” She crossed her legs, soaking in the sun for a moment. “What about the accent I heard on some of the locals. I wasn’t imagining that, was I?”

John closed the grill and leaned against a picnic table. “Not at all. When the island was first settled by the British back in the 1880s—yes, we’re talking nearly as far back as John Smith and Pocahontas—they were isolated. Really isolated. More so than they are now. Their way of life was preserved for a long time, even the accent stuck around. In recent years, it’s become not as prominent with television and visitors and so.”

“Fascinating. I didn’t get a good look at what’s here. I take it there’s not a Macy’s.”

He chuckled. “No, no Macy’s. But there is a general store, three restaurants, a bed and breakfast, the docks and the homes of the residents living here.”

“Why’s it called Smuggler’s Cove?” Connor asked.

“Many years ago, pirates were said to have buried their loot on the island, thus the name Smuggler’s Cove.”

“So, if I look hard enough, I could find treasure? Awesome! Can I start now?”

Samantha shrugged. “Go for it. Just don’t wander too far away.”

As Connor scurried off, John turned toward her. “So, you said you had experience in construction?”

She nodded. “I worked for a construction company, doing their books. I also helped Connor’s father with flipping houses. My uncle was a handyman, so he taught me a lot.” Even her uncle had ended up leaving his wife for another woman. He’d totally lost contact with the rest of the family when that happened.

She leaned back into the chair, imaging herself living a different life. A life where she could sit back and relax and enjoy the world around her. But there was no need to dwell on what wasn’t. She had to concentrate on survival. “How about you? Is this what you do for a living? Restoring cabins?”

“Nah, I quit my regular job at the Coast Guard Training Center. Decided I needed a change of pace.”

Why would someone do that? Samantha wondered. But the question wasn’t hers to ask. Not now. Besides, too many personal questions could be dangerous. She needed to stay on neutral ground.

She nodded. “Where are you from?”

“Texas originally. Gloucester for the past several years. Smuggler’s Cove now.”

Tension crept up her spine at the mention of Texas. “Really? What part of Texas?”

“The Houston area.”

Just a coincidence, she told herself. He probably hadn’t heard of Billy. Probably hadn’t heard about what happened to her husband. But what if somehow he made the connection that her former husband was a part of the gang that had cheated the city’s richest out of their money? What if he put two and two together?

She stared out to sea. The island seemed so secluded, so far off the beaten path.

But that seclusion would either keep her safe or keep her trapped.

“I just remembered a phone call I need to make,” Samantha blurted. She had to excuse herself before her face gave way any more of her thoughts.

“Go right ahead. I’ll finish cooking these fish. Dinner will be ready in no time.”

She stood and plodded through the sand, going far enough away that John wouldn’t be able to hear any of her conversation.

She walked toward the shoreline, noting how Connor dug holes in the sand not far away. Still searching for buried treasure. She smiled sadly as she looked over at him.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a cheap track phone she’d bought from the gas station beside the hotel last night. She’d needed to call a few people, but she didn’t want to be traced. She’d thrown her old phone into a river, trying to take every precaution possible not to be tracked.

She wished she could simply walk away from her life in Yorktown and disappear. But her boss was counting on her. He might call the police if she simply left without a word. And Connor’s summer school teacher would worry if he just stopped going to classes. It was best she covered her tracks and made everyone think this was a last-minute trip. That way no one would call the police. The last thing she needed was a missing-persons report.

She cleared her throat and dialed her boss’s number. A moment later, Hank came on the line. “Samantha, where are you?”

“I’m sorry, Hank. Something’s come up. A family emergency.”

“Man, Samantha, I’m sorry to hear that. Talk about awful timing, all the way around.”

She bristled. “What do you mean?”

“You heard about Lisa, right?”

Samantha’s muscles constricted. Lisa had promised not to say a word about their meeting. And Samantha hadn’t even told Lisa where she was going. The fewer people who knew, the better. She’d only asked Lisa for a ride because she couldn’t risk keeping her car. The thug who’d attacked her had seen the vehicle. He knew her license plate.

“No, I didn’t hear.” Her throat burned with the words.

“She died last night. She ran off the side of the road, apparently. No one really knows what happened. Rumor has it that she had some drugs in her system.”

“Lisa didn’t do drugs,” Samantha said. “You know that.”

And Lisa hadn’t been high when she’d helped Samantha. An inkling of the truth began to creep into her mind. Someone had killed her and covered their tracks. Just like someone had killed Anthony and made Samantha look guilty.

“She’s gone. I can’t believe it. And now you’re not here. I don’t know what I’ll do without you two ladies.”

“I’m sorry, Hank. I really am.”

“Come back as soon as you can, you hear?”

“You got it.”

As she hung up, cold, stark fear swept over her.

Lisa... Not Lisa. This was Samantha’s fault. She’d put her friend in danger. She should have been more careful, tried to be more independent.

Now her friend was dead.

Guilt pounded at her conscience. If she could only go back, she’d do things differently. She’d keep her friend out of this.

But it was too late to change anything of that.

She’d managed to escape these thugs before. Why did she feel as if her time had run out? All of the running in the world wouldn’t make her feel safe right now.

FOUR

John noticed the change in Samantha when she returned from her phone call. He wondered what kind of conversation she’d had. He hadn’t missed the pallor that had come over her at the mention of Texas, either.