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