Maggie K. Black - Deadline

“Well, good luck finding a hotel room on such short notice. My brother has a pretty decent sport’s shop, though, if you want to rent a boat. It’s on the other side of the island. Something tells me the two of you are cut from the same cloth.” The kind that came with far too many warning labels.

He grinned, then ran a hand ran through his tousled wet hair.

Oh Lord, why are the good-looking ones always the most dangerous?

She started picking her way along the shoreline. “Now, come on. Civilization, such as it is, is this way.”

He picked up the life ring and slung it over one shoulder. “Would you like my boots?”

“No, thanks. They’re way too big for me and there’s no point us both getting sore feet. Besides, my little brother and I grew up here. We practically spent our childhood running around barefoot.” At least he hadn’t offered to carry her. She wasn’t sure she could handle the embarrassment, or the rush it would bring to her already exhausted chest.

“The good news is that we’re not that far from town,” she went on. “We’ll pick up my car at the ferry and then drive to the police station in the middle of the island. It’s about half an hour away. I’ll need to check in with the wedding party too. But under the circumstances, a quick phone call to the bride will just have to do, until we’ve talked to the police. I wish we’d been able to let the police know before everyone disembarked.” The serial killer had probably just walked off the boat into the general population.

Jack frowned. “Why would we have to drive halfway across the island to get to a police station?”

“The closest town doesn’t have a police station. You’re in Northern Ontario now. Most towns up here are barely more than a few stores and handful of streets.” She slid over a fallen tree. “But there’s a very popular diner just on the edge of town. There’s a good chance we’ll find a cop in there. We’ll try that first. Even if there isn’t a cop there, we can at least call the station and ask if they want us to come in or if they’ll send someone to us.”

Although the last thing she was going do was incite island-wide panic by walking into the diner and announcing a possible serial killer had just arrived on the ferry. The gossip mill would be abuzz before she’d even manage to get creamer in her coffee. No, there was a way to handle things in a place like this. Go to the police. Have a quiet word. Trust them to handle it. Jack had said the Raincoat Killer liked his victims isolated. Well, this whole island was full of isolated places. But it was also full of people who understood hunters.

“What can you tell me about the victims?” she asked. “Were any of them connected to the island?”

“Not that I know of. Kristy Hooper was studying musical theater and the performing arts. The killer appeared to have broken into her dorm room through the fire escape, possibly looking to rob her. The police think she came home and interrupted him, so he hit her over the head with a lamp. Two different witnesses saw someone in a raincoat on the fire escape that night.

“About a month later, a florist, Eliza Penn, was run over in a back alley leaving work. The car was stolen. Security footage showed the killer wore gloves and a raincoat.

“Then just two weeks ago, another student, Shelly Day, was stabbed. Her landlord found her. I went on a walk-through of the crime scene. It was pretty violent. This one had the clearest security footage too. The killer actually walked right into the lobby of her apartment building, in a raincoat, waited until someone was leaving and grabbed the door to let himself in. Of course, there’s no footage of the actual murder, but the timing matches up with the time of death, and everyone else shown entering the building has been accounted for. Someone let a potential serial killer into their building and didn’t even notice.

“That’s when I stormed into the police station and urged my contacts it was time to go public, and warn people this killer was out there. They said the evidence was circumstantial and they didn’t want to create a panic. So I went to my editor, Vince, and talked him into running the story. I thought I was saving lives.”

His words were flat, matter-of-fact, like a newsman reading off a press release. Was there something more to this than he was telling her? She caught a depth of emotion in the recesses of his eyes. Sadness. Frustration. Along with the unspoken question How are you connected to all this?

She wished she knew.

The trees gave way to an unpaved road. A dilapidated convenience store came into view. Its windows were covered in posters for unsavory movies and advertisements for pornography, live bait and lottery tickets. Two teenaged boys sat on the front step, a mass of badly done body piercings and haphazard tattoos, passing a bottle in a brown paper bag back and forth. Kenny and Stuart Smythe. Kenny was eighteen and had been expelled from the island’s only high school for fighting and selling drugs. His brother, Stuart, was three years younger and rapidly heading in the same direction. A lot of people were looking forward to the day the young men hopped a bus off the island to find trouble in a big city, somewhere else and far away.

She wasn’t. As long as they were here, in the fishbowl of a small community, there was a chance someone would get through to them. At least, that’s what she prayed.

Meg smiled politely at the boys and kept walking.

Jack touched her elbow. “Shouldn’t we use their phone?”

She shook her head. “Trust me, we’re better off heading to the diner.”

“Hey, Meg!” Kenny hollered behind her. “You look like dirt! You and your boyfriend fall off a boat?”

Right, Jack was still carrying the life ring. Stuart snickered. Meg kept walking.

“Hey, dude!” Kenny’s voice was slurred, either from alcohol or his infected lip piercing. “Who are you? Why are you covered with mud?” More laughter. When stupid kids were that drunk and high, they thought everything was funny. “You sure you want to be seen in public with a girl that messed up? You do know her little brother killed a guy?”

White-hot anger shot like an arrow up Meg’s spine. No, she was not going to give them the satisfaction of a response. They were just stupid, drunk, drugged-up teenagers who didn’t know what they were talking about and were just trying to get a reaction. Her fingers clenched into fists. Angry tears filled her eyes. No wonder she still felt trapped by the past. Kenny and Stuart had practically been babies when Benji nearly died in that accident, fourteen years ago, and yet here they were, catcalling her about the terrifying moment that had filled her nightmares ever since.

She kept walking. Jack didn’t.

“Come on. Trust me, it’s not worth it.”

Jack’s boots planted themselves firmly. “Gentlemen, I think you should apologize to Ms. Duff.”

Stuart glanced uncertainly at his older brother. Kenny laughed. “Oh yeah? And what if we don’t?”

Jack’s stare grew harder. A grin that was anything but cheerful crossed his lips. Here was a man who’d probably seen more than his fair share of rude, drunk teenagers and wasn’t the slightest bit bothered by seeing two more—or, apparently, by the prospect of putting them in their place. For a second it seemed as if Kenny was actually going to try and stare him down. But Stuart scrambled backward up the steps and pulled his brother by the hood until he followed him.

“Whatever.” Kenny shrugged. “Sorry if you can’t take a joke. But just so you know, Meg, your brother just got arrested for stealing McCarthy’s dog.”

The door clanged shut behind them.

“Poor idiots.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to them, please. I just hope they get the help they need before they end up in serious trouble.” She kept walking. Jack matched her pace. “Thank you for standing up for me. I just didn’t have it in me for another fight. Their father owns the store and he’s just as bad, which is why I wasn’t about to use his phone. I guarantee that if you called the police on them for underage drinking, by the time the cops got here the boys would be gone and their dad would swear he hadn’t seen them all day.”