“Who’s the incident commander?”

“Ray Tatum. He’s aware you’ll be arriving.”

“How long do we have before we need to go public?”

“We’ll make that assessment when you arrive.”

“You have a marine meteorologist available?”

“We will have. She’s flying in from Philadelphia at about the same time you are.”

“All right. I’ll be in touch.”

“There is one other thing,” Eloise said in the same cool, even tone.

Austin tensed. Eloise was about to drop the hammer. “What would that be?”

“There’s a large wildlife refuge on Rock Hill Island and surrounds. It’s a well-known stopover for migratory birds and this is apparently the beginning of their nesting season. The area is a popular tourist destination.”

“Where is it relative to the rig?” Austin locked the cabin, tossed her bag in the back of the Jeep, and climbed in.

“The island is almost directly in line with our rig and presently represents the outermost point of contact should the spill progress toward land.”

“In other words, a PR nightmare.” And now she understood why she’d been called at such an early point. Eloise wouldn’t say it, but the company was counting on her to keep a lid on news of the breach. What she needed to do was plug the leak in terms of publicity, and if this wildlife refuge became threatened, to minimize the bad press.

“I’m sure you’ll handle it.”

“What do we know about this place and the people?” It was probably too much to hope they’d find someone sympathetic—environmentalists generally were opposed to any kind of drilling and, once an accident occurred, took full advantage of the situation to lobby against the whole industry.

“I’m afraid not very much,” Eloise said. “I have people working on that now, but you’ll probably never need to interface with them.”

Austin read between the lines. Make sure the environmentalists don’t get wind of the threat.

“Right.” Austin backed down the drive. “By the time I get there, the problem might already be solved.”

“Precisely.”

“Right.” Austin disconnected and drove toward the river, a black ribbon under the moon, quiet and still and deadly. Right.

❖

“We’ll be landing through a bit of a storm moving in from the south,” the pilot announced. “Might be a bit bumpy for a few minutes, so I’ll ask everyone to keep your seat belts on and close up your electronics at this time.”

Gem flagged the page in the latest population report she’d received from the Carolina Coastal Observatory, closed her iPad, and slid it into her computer bag under the seat in front of her. She’d known the storm was coming and had caught the earliest flight out of Hartford she could before the anticipated fog rolling in with the front grounded planes along the East Coast. She’d been lucky to get one of the last coach seats still open. She didn’t mind stormy weather—in fact, she often stood on the shore waiting for a front to roll in just to watch the beauty of the clouds roiling in the sky, dark blues and purples swirling and dancing, as if an invisible artist mixed the colors on a wild palette in a frenzy of creation. She loved the way the wind buffeted her hair and plastered her clothes to her body, the stinging bite of the first needle-sharp raindrops bringing every sense and cell to life. The sea felt it too—cresting and crashing as to the call of the wind. While she was often the only human on the beach, life around her pushed on as if in a race with the storm to lay claim to the shore. Terns and gulls scurried along the edge of the frothing waves, plucking up the sea creatures that struggled valiantly against the battering push and pull of the tides.

Even when the rain blew in solid sheets of icy water, she’d often stay, the scent of fresh pure air and the untamed sea filling her with wonder and peace. She loved those solitary moments when she knew in her bones her life was nothing but an inconsequential point in a vast continuum of time.

As much as she loved those moments of abandon, she detested flying in airplanes. The unnaturalness of it, being contained in a metal canister, breathing recycled air and other things she’d rather not consider, reminded her of how land bound she was and how different from the creatures she envied.

As the plane began to descend, she remembered the first time she’d told her mother she wanted to be a bird.

“Why is that?” her mother had asked patiently, never laughing at any of her wild fantasies.

“Because they can go anywhere they want, and they’re never really alone, even when they’re by themselves in the sky.”

Her mother studied her and nodded gravely. “You know what we call that, honey?”

She’d shaken her head.

Her mother had patted her hair. “We call that freedom.”

Freedom. Yes, but even the free flying creatures she loved were not really free, but bound by some innate instinct that directed their life cycle and bade them return to certain places every year, against all odds or adversity. They followed the call of some distant drummer, on a stage too ancient and too primal for her to ever understand. But she’d keep trying, and keep envying them.

The plane bumped down, bumped again, and the deceleration pulled her forward in the seat until the plane came to a halt. She glanced out the window, but it might as well have been midnight rather than just after seven a.m. Thick fog blanketed the runway. The lights from the terminal barely penetrated the murk. They were lucky they’d been able to land at all. She could have been diverted to Philadelphia or worse, where she’d end up spending days trying to get to the coast.

Still, her connection was undoubtedly going to be grounded.

As soon as the flight attendants opened the doors, she grabbed her computer bag and carry-on and trooped out, breaking away from the crowd as quickly as she could and heading for the rental car area. The lines snaked away from every counter, two and three people deep, as the departure board flashed canceled after nearly every flight.

She picked the shortest line and hoped for the best. She would have dearly loved a cup of coffee, but she wasn’t giving up her spot for anything. She flicked through email while she waited, answered a few, and as she drew closer to the counter, began to hear snippets of conversation between stranded passengers and harried service representatives. The news wasn’t encouraging.

A middle-aged man in a rumpled white shirt, business pants, and a monogrammed briefcase slung over one shoulder by a hand-tooled leather strap announced angrily, “Look, I’ve got to have a car. I have an important meeting in two hours and I’m going to have to reschedule that as it is.”

“I’m really sorry, sir, but our only remaining vehicles are reserved, and we can’t release them—”

“Have you looked outside? Those people with reservations aren’t going to be arriving. I’m here now. I need to have a car.”

“I’m very sorry, sir,” the woman said again, her tone unbelievably calm considering the morning she must be having, “but we are not authorized to release any of the reserved—”

“I want to see a manager.”

“I’m afraid he won’t be in—”

“Never mind. I’m sure one of the other agencies can take care of me.” He spun around, knocking into the woman behind him. She stumbled back and collided with Gem.

“Oh!” Gem’s phone slipped from her hand and, off balance, she made a clumsy grab for it.

“Sorry,” a dark-haired woman said in a husky, rich alto. Somehow, Gem’s phone was miraculously scooped from the air by a long-fingered hand. “Got it.”

Gem straightened and met bittersweet chocolate eyes shot through with gold. “Thanks.”

“I think it was my fault you dropped it. Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault. It’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it?”

The woman shrugged. “That’s what we get for trying to outsmart Mother Nature.”

Gem grinned. “But we’ll keep trying.”

“Undoubtedly.”

The stranger was about Gem’s age, dressed in khakis, a pale-blue cotton shirt, and casual boots, and carrying a worn leather satchel in one hand and an equally travel-weary computer bag slung over the other shoulder. Her collar-length, layered dark brown hair verged on black. The angular slant to her arching cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and bronze skin tones hinted at the Mediterranean somewhere in her ancestry. Her lips parted in a full, confident smile, and Gem felt herself blush. She was staring. She never did that.

“I think you’re up.” Gem nodded toward the counter. The woman looked over her shoulder and back at Gem as if reluctant to end the conversation. Gem was certain she was making that part up, but an unusual spark of interest shot through her nonetheless. “Good luck.”

“Appreciate it.” Austin didn’t expect to have any better luck than the fellow who’d knocked into her. Dozens of other passengers milled about in the same fix and no one seemed to be getting any vehicles, but she’d waited this long and might as well try. She smiled at the petite redhead behind the counter. “Hi.”

“Your name please?”

“I don’t have a reservation.” Austin paused. Her flight had been short, but Eloise had called hours ago. Given the time it had taken her to drive to the airport and catch her plane, maybe Eloise had used her crystal ball. “I don’t think.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Check under Germaine.” She spelled it, glad she’d automatically lined up at the rental place the company always used.

“Oh. I have it.” The redhead smiled for the first time in twenty minutes. “You’re lucky. It came in right before the rush hit.”

“Better lucky than good,” Austin said.

The agent laughed again and raised a brow. “Sometimes it’s nice to be both.”