The camera zoomed in on Lost Souls Glacier, wedged in a valley between two steep mountain peaks. “Have you noticed the effects of climate change around here?”
Uh oh. This was Megan’s second favorite topic after birds. It was also the topic that got her in trouble with the old timers.
“Oh, absolutely. That glacier you’re looking at is shrinking every year. A lot of people say Alaska is the canary in the coalmine when it comes to global warming. Not only are the glaciers shrinking but permafrost is thawing and there’s less sea ice than there used to be. All of the species that live here or who migrate here in the summer are being forced to adapt. Some won’t be able to. See all those glorious spruce trees?”
The camera panned across a grove of spruce standing guard over a stark granite cliff.
“They’re probably doomed. This entire peninsula will shift from spruce to birch, probably within twenty years. I honestly don’t think people realize how quickly everything’s changing. They’re burying their heads in the mudflats, so to speak.” Her tone shifted, as if she’d suddenly realized how dire she sounded.
“So if you want to see this magnificent scenery in person, you should come soon!”
And there was Megan again, on camera, with a big grin and a thumbs up.
A hostile murmur swept through the audience. Oh shit. Of all subjects to talk about, why couldn’t she have picked something less controversial—like her damn Caspian tern?
The narrator’s voice took over again. “Megan Miller has been studying the birds here for almost a year. Lucas Holt grew up in Lost Harbor and owns and operates the family-run Jack Hammer Fishing Charters. Suffice it to say, he and Megan Miller don’t see eye to eye on much.”
Lucas saw his own face fill the screen now. He squinted to reduce the weirdness of seeing himself like that. Sunglasses, waders, a t-shirt, a tan. He stood on the deck of his boat, legs braced against the slow rollers coming in from the open ocean.
“A lot of people come here from other states and don’t understand the unique challenges of living in Alaska. My grandparents were homesteaders here, before there was even a store. They survived by trapping, fishing, raising their own food. It was an exceptionally hard life. It’s still hard in many ways. Fishing is considered one of the most dangerous professions on earth. If you make a mistake, it has a good chance of being fatal. Props to the fishermen who go out in all conditions—ice storms, thirty-foot waves—just to make a living and take care of their families.”
A murmur of approval rose from the audience. Lucas cringed at the way his comments were edited to contrast with Megan’s. She hadn’t intended to offend anyone, of course. She just didn’t realize how resistant people were to change. Or to acknowledging change.
“What do you want people to know about Lost Harbor? What was it like to grow up here?”
Onscreen Lucas hesitated, looking across the water as if for inspiration. “Hard and beautiful,” he finally said. “It’s hard work, surviving the winter without going crazy. I always say if you can survive in Alaska you can survive anywhere. I stand by that.”
“What would you say to those warning about changes to the ecology here?”
“Everything changes. We’ll survive. We’ll adapt. We have so far.”
Applause broke out in the crowd. Lucas wiped a hand across his forehead; it came away sweaty. Shit, they’d edited his comments to make it look like he disagreed with Megan. But he didn’t, not really. The glaciers were shrinking. Things were changing. Anyone with eyes could see that.
At that point the scene on camera switched to him and Megan together. They were standing on the boardwalk. Both of them stood with their hands on their hips, confronting each other. What had they been talking about? He couldn’t remember, but probably not climate change. Maybe they’d been arguing about whose turn it was to replace the toilet paper in the office.
The narrator’s voiceover didn’t mention toilet paper.
“Even if Lost Harbor survives the changes in the climate, it might have a harder time surviving the arguments over it.”
Megan waved her finger in Lucas’ face. Ah—now he remembered. They’d been arguing about whether the ice cream shop served mango sorbet. It had seemed very important at the time. Neither of them ever wanted to lose an argument.
Eventually he’d taken her by the arm and hauled her over to the ice cream shop to prove he was right.
He wasn’t. So he’d bought her an ice cream cone as an apology. He’d bought himself one because he needed it after all that arguing.
The next shot showed the two of them licking at their cones as they strolled down the boardwalk.
“Of course in a small town like this,” said the narrator, “people learn to resolve their differences—over ice cream, if possible.”
Amused snickers rose from the audience. “Get a room,” someone called out. The laughter increased. Lucas looked again at the shot, which the producers had slowed way down to increase its impact. Megan looked sexy as hell in slo-mo. Her cutoff jeans and rubber boots showed off her shapely legs. She wore a long-sleeved top that shouldn’t have been attractive but somehow it was. Her breasts rose and fell as she walked.
She looked up at him, laughing at something. With a sidelong smile, he tilted his head to meet her gaze, and the chemistry could have sizzled a hole through the screen.
Holy shit. Chemistry with Megan. And it had taken a TV show to make him truly see just how strong it ran.
He slipped out of the theater into the lobby. There was only one way to handle this. He was going to pretend he hadn’t seen the show. He was especially going to pretend he’d never seen those shots of him and Megan.
He’d hang onto the shot of Megan in a bikini, however. He couldn’t forget that unless he got himself a lobotomy.
Chapter Nineteen
All of her hard work trying to make headway with the Lost Harbor community—gone in a snap. All that stuff about climate change—she hadn’t even thought it would make it into the show! She’d just been casually chatting at that point. It had never occurred to her that they’d put boring rants about the environment in the show.
What a fiasco.
And somehow it made it even worse that Lucas came across so well on camera. Not only was he photogenic and utterly gorgeous in his sunglasses and waders, but he spoke well. Not like he was trying to prove something, but like he was telling a story. He was easy to look at and to listen to.
While she came across as a ranter. A hippie-chick ranter in a bikini.
She should have stayed miles away from the Trekking production.
She could tell the difference as soon as she drove out to the boardwalk after dropping Ruby at the library. No one stopped to chat with her about the weather. No one gave her any friendly nods as she hauled a bucket of soapy fresh water down to the Forget Me Not. She needed to give the dashboard a good scrubbing and somehow the ocean water never got things clean enough for her liking.
From the overlook on the boardwalk, with its view of the boat ramps, she saw that the berth next to the Forget Me Not was empty. The Jack Hammer must already be out on the water. At least she wouldn’t have the humiliation of watching Lucas gloat. She was actually surprised that his boat was out; the forecast called for a rare summer storm.
As she reached the top of the ramp, she paused to survey the bay. Only a slight breeze ruffled the surface. Maybe the forecast had changed. That happened a lot around here.
A text from Zoe came in. You okay there, girl?
Yes. No big deal. I’m used to being shunned.
It’s not that bad. You’re only the second top topic of the morning.
After what, dare I ask?
Carla smashed into Ralphie’s truck after the viewing last night. Maybe on purpose.
Oh good. Drama. Maybe they’d all forget about the Trekking show. Or maybe, for once—would it kill them to actually listen to her? She sighed heavily. Fat chance of that.
Stay strong, lady. Don’t
worry about the old crabs around here.
At least she hadn’t lost her only friend in Lost Harbor.
When she reached her slip, she found a police officer standing next to the Forget Me Not, writing something in a notebook.
Right away, her heart went into triple speed. The last time she’d been in the presence of a police officer was right after the shooting.
“Can I help you?” she asked through the flutters in her throat.
The officer, a black woman around her age, fixed her with a stern stare. “I’m Officer Badger. Are you Megan Miller?”
“I am. This is my boat, the Forget Me Not. I’m in my proper slip and I’m paid up through the summer and all my licenses are current and I’m not sure if maybe someone said otherwise but—”
The officer held up her hand to stop her nervous flow of words. “Have you noticed anything unusual on your boat?”
“Well, I just got here, so I can’t really say.” She walked to the edge of the ramp and gave her boat a thorough scan. “Everything looks normal. Why?”
“We got a call this morning from someone worried on your behalf. He thought we might want to swing by and make sure no one does anything stupid. How about I wait here while you check over your boat?”
A chill shot through her, from her head down to her toes. “Something stupid, like what?”
“Oh, could be anything. Fishermen get pretty creative when they’re feuding.”
“I’m not feuding with anyone. Well, Lucas Holt, but I don’t think…” She sucked in a breath. “He wouldn’t—”
Officer Badger laughed. “I’ve known Lucas since high school. He’s actually the one who called to give me a heads-up there was rumbling in the ranks. I don’t think you have to worry about him.”
“Right. Of course not.” Flushing with embarrassment, she put down her bucket of water and climbed onboard. Not only had she almost accused Lucas, but he was actually looking out for her. When would she ever get a read on that man?
She started up the engine. It gave a spluttering cough before it settled into its purring idle. “It always does that,” she called to the officer, who nodded with little surprise. It was a rare boat engine that didn’t have some kind of quirk.
“Everything seems normal.” She shrugged as she came back out on deck. She reached into the cooler. “I appreciate the drop-in. Would you like a cupcake?”
“Now that definitely isn’t normal.” Officer Badger smiled as she accepted it. “You’re upping the game around here.”
“I use whatever advantage I can get. I always offer my passengers cupcakes but I usually end up with extra. Too many special diets these days.”
“I hear that. Me, I eat it all, except fish. Too slimy for me. Just don’t tell the guys around here or I’ll never hear the end of it.” As Megan smiled, the officer handed her a business card. “Call me if anything comes up.”
“Thank you. I will. Oh, Officer,” she added as the woman turned away. “Just curious. What was Lucas like in high school?”
Officer Badger nibbled the icing of the cupcake as she contemplated the question. “One of the good ones,” she finally said. “A lot more sensitive than he looks. But don’t tell him I said that or he’ll never forgive me.”
Once Officer Badger was gone, Megan brought the bucket of soap suds onboard. She tried to focus on her cleaning task, but the encounter had unsettled her. Even though the woman was perfectly nice, she still wore a uniform and carried a firearm holstered on her belt. Megan had tried hard not to look at it, but could sense its shiny menace.
Totally different gun, totally different situation, she told herself. You can’t freak out every time you see a gun.
She drew in a few deep breaths as she’d learned to do to fight anxiety. It helped, but not quite enough. Her heart still raced, and her throat tightened. The other boats—the hulking tenders, the sleek sports boats, even the more refined sailboats—seemed too close, almost threatening. The constant thrum of boats passing in and out of the harbor grated on her nerves.
She needed some peace and quiet.
If Lucas had gone out, she probably had time for a quick run before the storm hit. If it hit. It could have easily changed course when it hit the Lost Souls Wilderness peninsula.
Ruby was at an all-day art class at the library. Her next tour booking was later in the day, but she was considering canceling it due to the forecast. She had a little time to herself, for once, so why not take advantage of it?
After casting off the lines, she steered the Forget Me Not toward the mouth of the harbor.
She dialed Captain Kid on her cell as she steered with one hand. “Hey, I’m taking a little pleasure cruise out to Bird Rock. I want to check on that tern we spotted. Maybe I can see a nest or some chicks. Anything new on the weather front?”
Terrible connection. All she heard of his response was the word “squall.”
“Did you say ‘squall’?”
The phone crackled in response.
“I can’t hear you, Ben. If you can hear me, go ahead and cancel this afternoon’s trip if there’s a squall in the forecast. I think there’s only three people booked for it. I won’t be long, an hour max. Talk to you later.”
By the time she stopped talking the connection had dropped out completely. As she glided past the fuel station at the mouth of the harbor, she noticed that their wind socks were going crazy.
She hadn’t seen them whipping around like that since winter.
Should she go back to her slip? A sea otter glided past her, floating on his back as he gnawed on a mussel. He seemed unworried about anything other than extracting every bit of nutrition from his catch.
If a bad storm was coming, the otters would sense it, wouldn’t they? She tuned her radio to the marine channel.
“Marine warning for northern Misty Bay, seas of fifteen to twenty feet and winds up to sixty knots,” the forecaster intoned. “Small craft advisory posted for Aurora Bay to Tenpenny Creek.”
Megan relaxed as she rounded the tip of the breakwater that formed the harbor. Lost Harbor was in the southern part of the bay. She should be fine as long as she didn’t go toward Tenpenny Creek. She opened up the throttle. The bow of the Forget Me Not lifted eagerly. A mist of spray splashed across the windshield and she laughed with joy.
All her anxiety vanished. Out here on the bay, with nothing but ocean and air and wild creatures, everything made sense. All her worries fled as if chased away by the rising wind. Out here, there was absolutely no chance that a terrifying figure brandishing a weapon would suddenly appear before her.
Except in her memory.
When those images came back to her, she couldn’t always stop them.
He’d worn a gas mask. People didn’t mention it much, but that little detail was the thing that surfaced in her nightmares the most. He hadn’t looked human. When he’d first walked in, she’d wondered for a wild moment if they were being invaded by aliens. And the sounds hadn’t made any sense at first. Pop-pop, splat. Roar. Scream.
She focused her gaze across the bay, on Lost Souls Glacier, picking out each crevice filled with blue light. That was the glacier she’d told the crew about, the one in the local legend about a lost tribe. The story had always piqued her imagination. Was it based on a real event or was it pure fabrication? Maybe it was a warning. Strange things happen around Lost Souls.
A hissing sound brought her back to the here and now.
The flat bottom of her boat thumped against the surface of the water. The strange sound was coming from her right; she looked that way just in time to see a wave curling several feet above the side of her boat, like a dragon ready to strike. Holy shit. That thing could swamp her if it broke broadside. She swung the wheel hard to starboard so she could hit the wave head on. Or more precisely—so it could hit her.
Slam.
Chapter Twenty
The Forget Me Not crested the wave, lost power for a second, then plunged into the valley between one wave and th
e next. A shudder traveled through her boat; she could feel it in her feet, in the controls, in the rattle of gear.
Jesus. She’d lost her steering for a second. The rudder had been out of the water, that was why. These waves were too big for the Forget Me Not.
The storm had hit. Fast, powerful, inescapable.
Another wave crashed across the bow and sent gray water rushing over the windshield. The splash and roar of it, the whine of the engine, all added to the din—as if she’d plunged at full throttle into a washing machine.
Keeping the bow pointed directly into the waves took all the strength she had. It fought her like a wild mustang, the rudder system straining against the intense force of the ocean.
Was she going to die out here? Alone? Fighting the ocean—just her against the incredible force surrounding her. Oblivious to her.
She’d never felt this alone, not even when a gunman had been spraying bullets nearby. At least then she would have died holding hands with her coworkers. Out here it was just her. At least she hadn’t brought Ruby.
Ruby.
She didn’t have time for the terror that wanted to swamp her. Fight. Stay alive. With her entire being, she focused on the enormous waves coming at her little boat as if they wanted to eat it alive. Bang, slam, thunk. How the hell wasn’t the boat shattering into a million splinters? How long could it last under this pounding?
Of all things, that familiar bit of theme song from Gilligan’s Island flashed through her mind. “…A tale of a fateful trip…”
“No. Not a fateful trip,” she said out loud. Panting, wet from the spray, arms aching, she wrestled with the wheel. “Ruby needs me,” she shouted at the ocean. “You’re not taking me! Not today!”
Her radio crackled. She could hardly hear it over the wild ocean roar.
“Calling the Forget Me Not. Is that you?”
She couldn’t take her hands off the wheel but managed to turn up the volume with her elbow. “Yes!” she yelled.
But of course no one could hear her unless she pressed the “talk” button and that would require one-handing the wheel. Stupid fucking design.
Mine Until Moonrise (Lost Harbor, Alaska Book 1) Page 11
