On the Edge

by Heather Graham, Carla Neggers

  She opened the door the rest of the way and pretended to peer out onto the street. “What, no entourage?”

  “I came alone.”

  “Really? They let you do that?” She didn’t bother to curb her sarcasm, as if she lumped him in with Ty and he deserved for her to give him a hard time was the best she could get. “Do you have a limo waiting? I’ll bet your people keep a tight leash on you—”

  Hank unclenched his jaw and tried to smile. “I’m just a guy doing his best.”

  “Yeah, right. That’s what all the ex-rescue pilots turned senate candidates say.” But her sarcasm let up, her tone lightening slightly as she sighed, then motioned at him. “Okay, okay. You might as well come in.”

  He followed her down a poorly lit hall to her first-floor apartment. The place was the polar opposite of her little log cabin in New Hampshire, just down the road from the sprawling center-chimney house Tyler North had inherited from his wacky mother.

  “I see you’ve been painting,” Hank said, noting the bright colors of all the walls and furnishings in the apartment’s adjoining three rooms. He couldn’t see the bathroom, but expected it, too, was bright. The kitchen cabinets were a citrus-green, the walls mango-colored.

  “My landlord said I could.”

  “You don’t think he meant white?”

  She gave him a quick, unexpected smile and sat at her kitchen table, painted a cheerful lavender-blue. Somehow, all the colors worked together. “I didn’t ask.”

  A photograph of a red-tailed hawk hung above the flea-market table. It gave Hank a start, as most of Carine’s photographs did. She had a gift, one she couldn’t be using to its fullest in Boston. He’d avoided asking Antonia too many questions about her younger sister, but the last he’d heard, Carine had taken a commercial assignment with a Newbury Street shop.

  But he stayed focused on his mission. “I’m wondering if you’ve talked to Antonia recently.”

  “Why?”

  Hank didn’t respond to her reflexive suspicion. “We had dinner together on Saturday.” That was three days ago, he thought. Three days and not a word from her. “She’d just come off shift and was tired, maybe a little on edge. She seemed to have a lot on her mind. She said she planned to go out of town for a few days to work on a journal article she’d been putting off. I assume that’s where she is?”

  Carine was the youngest of the three Winter siblings, orphaned when they were three, five and seven, and she wasn’t one to easily give up what she knew—even on a good day. “She didn’t tell you?”

  He shook his head. “I might not have been clear on the dates, or just missed it when she said where she was going. I left several messages on her cell phone. She hasn’t returned my calls.”

  Carine lifted her blue eyes to him. “Maybe you should take the hint.”

  “Carine, for God’s sake—”

  She kicked out her legs and folded her hands on her lap in a gesture of pure unrepentance. “How’s the campaign going?”

  “Fine. It has nothing to do with why I’m here.”

  She ignored him. “A retired air force major. A hero. A Massachusetts Callahan. A candidate for the United States Senate. I guess you wouldn’t be used to people giving you the brush-off, huh?”

  “Antonia wouldn’t sneak off if she wanted to get rid of me.” He knew he couldn’t back down, show even a hint of weakness—otherwise he wouldn’t get a thing out of Carine. “She’d tell me. She’s a straightforward woman—”

  “A clean, quick death instead of a slow one,” Carine said, her tone suddenly quiet. “Either way, in the end, it still hurts, and you’re still dead.”

  “I’m not Ty North, Carine.”

  Her moment of melancholy vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “That’s true. If you were, I’d have stink-bombed you out on the porch.” She dropped her hands to her sides and sat up straight. “Hank, honestly, I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

  She wasn’t sorry. He saw it now. She was stonewalling him—on purpose. It wasn’t just her close-mouthed nature at work, or the tight bond between the two sisters. Carine knew something, and she didn’t want to tell him. Or wasn’t supposed to tell him. Or both.

  “Carine, normally I wouldn’t be here.” Hank tried to keep his tone reasonable. “I’d wait for Antonia to get back and talk with her then. But she wasn’t herself the other night at dinner. She blamed her work, but I’m worried it might be something else.”

  “You, maybe?”

  Ty had warned him that Carine could worm her way right down to a person’s last, raw nerve. Hank controlled himself, refusing to react defensively and let her see she was getting to him. “Maybe. I’m serious about her, Carine. If my campaign’s made her nervous—”

  “That’s not what you think,” Carine said confidently. “Am I right?”

  “You’re right. It’s not the campaign.”

  “On the other hand, maybe whatever’s going on with Antonia is her problem, not yours, and what you should do is mind your own business.”

  Her tone was matter of fact, as if he should have thought of this point on his own. Independent, Hank remembered, was another word Ty had used to describe the Winters, right after hard-bitten and stubborn. Hank figured his only defense was to stay the course—get Carine on his side, get her to trust him. But her emotions were still raw after what Ty had done, and she had good reason not to trust anyone, especially one of her ex-fiancé’s friends, so easily again.

  “What if it’s something she can’t or shouldn’t handle on her own?” Hank asked, trying to appeal to her common sense. “What if she’s in over her head?”

  Carine averted her eyes, and Hank knew he had her—she was on the defensive. He wasn’t crazy. Something was up with Antonia. But he made sure he didn’t let any victory, any smugness, show. Too much was at stake. Every instinct he had said so.

  But ten seconds stretched into thirty, thirty into a minute, and she didn’t say a word.

  Hank let a hiss of impatience escape. “If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, Carine, okay, I can’t make you.” He paused, debating, then said, “I’ll just call Gus.”

  She didn’t like that. Gus Winter had raised them since he’d carted the bodies of his brother and sister-in-law off Cold Ridge thirty years ago, when he was just twenty years old himself and in no position to take on three little kids.

  Carine jumped to her feet, her long hair whipping around as she flounced across the small, dingy linoleum floor to the scarred stainless steel sink. “What do you mean, you’ll call Gus? Like Antonia and I are twelve years old or something?”

  Hank leaned back against the ancient counter cabinets. This was working. He couldn’t back off—he had to go for the jugular. “All right. Forget Gus. I’ll get Tyler here. He can hang you out your window by your toes until you talk.”

  She stopped dead, one hand on the sink faucet, color rising high in her cheeks. “Go ahead. See if I care.”

  “I just want you to understand that I’m serious. Something’s going on with Antonia. I think you know it, or at least sense it, but you want to make this hard because you promised her you’d keep your mouth shut.” Hank let his tone soften slightly and attempted a smile. “I figure Antonia will forgive you for talking if you tell her I stooped low enough to threaten to sic Ty North on you.”

  “Meaning you’re bluffing?”

  “Meaning I wouldn’t underestimate my determination.”

  She let out an exasperated sigh but said nothing.

  “Is Antonia in some kind of trouble, Carine?” Hank asked. “Are you?”

  “Not me.” Her eyes spit fire at him. “I’m in good shape now that I have all you military types out of my life.”

  “I’m just a senate candidate these days.”

  She scowled. “Don’t think I’ll vote for you.”

  He grinned at her. “You will, and you know it. You liked me before Ty bailed on you. You have a soft spot for us military types.” He took a step towar
d her. Tyler North was one of the bravest men Hank had ever known—except when it came to Carine Winter. She was without a doubt the one woman Ty would ever love, and the dope had skipped out on her. Hank knew it still hurt. “Give Ty a little time—”

  “I’m not giving him anything. He’s out of my life. I don’t even think about him anymore, unless people like you insist on bringing up his name.”

  She was such a liar, but Hank decided not to tell her so.

  “Anyway,” she said, “he’s got nothing to do with what’s going on with Antonia.”

  That was his confirmation. He was right. There was something.

  Carine turned on the faucet and filled a mason jar with water. Her cheeks were red, but her underlying color was pale, the strain of the last months evident. Despite the bright colors she’d used on the walls and furnishings, the place was still old and rundown, a testament to her hand-to-mouth existence. Hank didn’t know if she lived the way she did because of the temporary nature of her life here or because she didn’t have any money—or because she was just too tight-fisted to part with it. She could always sell her log cabin in New Hampshire, but Hank knew she hadn’t even rented it out.

  And she thought of herself as an artistic type, a sensitive soul, not a typical risk-taking Winter. Something about her tended to bring out people’s protective urges. But as Hank watched her gulp down her water, he knew he had to keep up the pressure. “Tell me what you know, Carine.”

  She turned on the tiny television on a shelf above the table. Hank had no idea what she was up to. The TV was tuned to the Weather Channel, which was giving the latest coordinates on Hurricane Hope, a menacing Category 3 storm working its way up the east coast. Its maximum sustained winds were 120 mph, with even higher gusts. No watches or warnings had yet gone up in New England—Hope was expected to turn out to sea before it got that far north.

  Carine glanced back at him with a studied nonchalance. “What do you think of naming a hurricane Hope?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it at all.”

  “We Winters are mountain types ourselves. We’ve been in the White Mountains since Madison was president. One of the high peaks is named after him, did you know that? Mount Madison.”

  “Carine—”

  He might not have spoken. “Put me on top of a five-thousand-foot peak in the White Mountains when the weather gets bad, and I’d know what to do.” She shifted back to the weather report. “I can’t say I’d know what to do in a hurricane.”

  Hank wasn’t following her, but checked his impatience. “Are you worried about Hope?”

  “Not for my sake. I’m not as exposed here as you all are on the Cape and the islands. Your family’s on the Cape, right?”

  “Brewster. We’ve done lots of storms.” His family owned a popular marina on Cape Cod Bay. He spoke warily, uncertain of the ground he was on now—he didn’t want to miss any signals, veer off in the wrong direction and lose her completely. “People have learned to pay attention to watches and warnings. They heed evacuation orders. They don’t fool around.”

  “That’s because they know their coastal storms, and they have access to the warnings, weather reports, evacuation orders. If someone didn’t—” Carine licked her lips, staring up at the small screen. “Let’s say you don’t know storms, plus you’ve got other things on your mind. You’re alone on an isolated island, and Hurricane Hope doesn’t turn out to sea—you could be in a mess real fast, couldn’t you?”

  “You could. But that’s theoretical. I don’t know how you could be alone on an island off the Cape—”

  “It could happen. Even these days.”

  Hank narrowed his eyes on her, aware of her intensity of emotion—her ambivalence about what she was doing. “Carine, are you saying Antonia is alone on an island, without access to storm reports and evacuation orders?”

  “I’m not saying anything.”

  But her breathing was more shallow and rapid as she shifted back to him, as if she was waiting for him to figure out what she was saying and do what she already knew he would do.

  He fished out his cell phone and dialed Tyler North’s cell number. Ty was stationed at Hurlburt Field Air Force Base in the Florida panhandle, where he was assigned to the 16th Special Operations Wing as the Team Leader of a Special Tactics Team. God only knew where he’d be. Hank expected to have to leave a message, but Ty picked up on the second ring. “North.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Florida. Drinking a beer. You?”

  “Cambridge. I’m with Carine.”

  Ty was silent.

  “Something’s up with Antonia. She must have sworn Carine to secrecy, so I can’t get any straight answers.”

  “Good luck, pal. She’s not talking unless she wants to talk.”

  “She’s given me a hint. Apparently Antonia is on an island somewhere off Cape Cod, and Carine’s worried she’ll be stuck there if Hurricane Hope doesn’t turn out to sea—or she’ll ride it out, because she doesn’t have access to weather reports or doesn’t know any better.”

  Ty grunted. “She’d know better, but she’d ride out the fires of hell if she thought she had to. Both of them would.”

  “Yeah. Carine did almost marry you.”

  “We’re not going there, Major.”

  Tyler only called him major nowadays when he wanted to distance himself. Hank had put him on the spot. “She knew I’d call you.”

  “Carine did?” His tone changed, becoming more serious. “Then you damn well know there’s something wrong. I’m the last person Carine would let you turn to for help. Hank? What the hell’s going on?”

  “That’s why I’m here—to find out.”

  “Carine’s okay? She’s safe?”

  Hank’s pulse pounded in his temple. He couldn’t figure out what had happened to Ty. One day, Hank was making plans to attend his friend’s wedding in Cold Ridge. The next day, the wedding was off, and Tyler had taken off into the White Mountains with not much more than a jackknife and a pair of crampons.

  “She’s fine,” Hank said. “She’s standing here watching the Weather Channel and pretending she doesn’t realize I’m talking to you. I’m guessing she thinks you know where Antonia is.”

  Tyler sighed. He’d known these women all his life—in many ways, they were the only family he’d ever had. “Shelter Island. You’re a Cape Codder. You must know it.”

  Hank was confused. “Of course I know it—it’s a tiny barrier island off Chatham. But it’s a national wildlife refuge. I thought there weren’t any cottages on it anymore, and it’s illegal to camp there.”

  “You wouldn’t get Antonia in a tent, anyway,” Ty said. “There’s one cottage left on the island. Antonia has this friend in Boston—she’s like a hundred or something. She has a life-lease to the last cottage on Shelter Island. When she dies, it goes to the birds, literally. Antonia used to go there to study for exams when she was in med school.”

  She had never mentioned her friend or her cottage, another reminder, Hank thought, of just how much he still had to learn about her.

  “You’re going down there?” Tyler asked.

  “Yes. As soon as possible. I have a feeling there’s more going on than just a hurricane that might or might not hit. Antonia was on edge when I saw her last on Saturday.”

  “Carine knows more?”

  “Almost certainly.”

  “Want me to drag it out of her?”

  He’d do it, too, Hank thought. “I’m not having you go AWOL on my account. I’ll handle it. If Carine knows anything that would help me help her sister,” he added pointedly, for Carine’s benefit, “she’d tell me.”

  Carine didn’t respond, still pretending not to be listening.

  “The Winters don’t think like normal people,” Ty said. “How many women do you know who would stay by themselves in the only cottage on a barrier island with a hurricane churning up the coast? If Antonia doesn’t think she needs to leave, she’s not going to.”


  “Any advice?”

  “Bring her a toe tag. Then the rescue workers can identify her body.”

  “North, for God’s sake—”

  “It’ll get her attention. She’s an E.R. doctor. She knows what happens to people who don’t heed safety warnings made in their best interest.”

  He hung up.

  Hank stared a moment at his dead phone. The surprise wasn’t that Tyler North had canceled his wedding to Carine Winter at the last minute. The surprise was that it had ever been on in the first place.

  He sighed at her. “You were really going to marry him?”

  She managed a halfhearted smile. “It seems crazy now, doesn’t it? Are you—Hank, Antonia specifically asked me not to tell you—”

  “I suspected as much. And yes, I’m going.”

  “She’s very independent. She’s not used to—” Carine broke off, then resumed. “She won’t like the idea of anyone thinking she might need to be rescued. Me, you. It doesn’t matter. It means we think she’s in a situation she can’t handle on her own.”

  “It’s not a fun place to be. But if you’re there, you’re there.”

  Carine nodded, saying nothing.

  “Carine, is it just the hurricane?”

  “No.” Her voice was barely audible, but she cleared her throat and went on in a normal tone. “There’s something else. But she wouldn’t tell me.”

  She left it at that, and for the first time, Hank saw the sadness that still clung to her. Usually it was buried under anger and stubbornness—the resolve not to let Tyler North be the ruin of her. But not this time. “Do you know anything?” Hank asked softly. “Do you have any ideas?”

  “I think she’s scared. That’s not like her.” She pushed a hand through her hair and seemed to force her mood to shift from its palpable uneasiness. “Are you taking a posse with you or going alone?”

  By posse, Hank knew she meant not just the people who surrounded him as a candidate, but his air force buddies, led by pararescuers Tyler North. But he shook his head. “I’m going alone.”