A shadow slipped down the ramp, across the float, jumped the gap, landed sure-footed like a cat. Another Morgan. She could have guessed by how hard he was to see, the smooth decisive way he moved, the way he rode the deck without thinking about the swells under him. She recognized his face from the photo of Gary's "father" in the obituary column, his Dad, Daniel Morgan. He glanced around, saw the blood, the discarded shirt and body armor and life jacket, counted standing bodies. All in one flick of his eyes. Morgans thought fast.
Gary nodded. "Someone shot Ben. Arm hole in his vest, entry and exit wound, no froth in the blood, so I think it missed his lung. Says he got the bastard."
Daniel stepped toward the door, the hatch, down to the little forward cabin. Cuddy, Gary called it. Gary shook his head. "He isn't there. Went overboard."
Then Gary paused. Shook his head. "He Changed, Dad. Climbed up on the gunwale, pulled off his boots, and Changed. Dove. Swam away."
His father froze like a stalking cat with one paw raised, tail twitching, staring at Gary. "You're kidding me."
"No."
Just the single word. Daniel stared at Gary for a moment, a minute, longer, you could almost see him thinking through a puzzle. The boat rose and fell in the water, rubbing and groaning against a line of old tires on the float. Jane heard a "thump" off in the distance, toward the fire and smoke, Gary cocked his head and checked his watch. He closed his eyes and his lips moved, counting. That must have been the first bomb he'd left.
A deep hollow boom echoed across the water, Gary smiled, and he backed the boat away from the dock again. "He's hurt, Dad. Hurt and confused. You'll have to follow him. Find him. Like you showed me the currents, the landings, and where the ghost nets lurked."
His father, no, his dad, nodded. This name bit was going to get confusing. Better call them Daniel and Ben. Not that she'd have to worry about it for long. She didn't fit in with this family of strong people, people who knew what they were doing, dangerous people who didn't chew their fingernails up to their elbows, living with constant fear. People who answered a threat with guns and bombs, people with cannons mounted on their roof.
What would Tina do, what did Tina do, with people who knew that much about her?
Tina killed people who learned dangerous things about her. Jane had learned to be damned careful around Tina. It'd been scary, hearing someone had finally killed her, but she'd felt relief as well. One less demon lurking in the shadows that haunted Jane's life.
Now she knew dangerous things about Gary, about the Morgans. Jane ran her fingers over the cold metal of the gun they'd given her. It worked, she knew that, she'd fired it on their range and it had never been out of her hands since then. She'd loaded it with bullets from the same box that Gary had used, loading his pistol.
Ben had tried to kill her. And that was before she knew this much. Gary wouldn't leave her, he'd kill her. Either Gary, or Ben, or Daniel. She couldn't trust them.
The boat plowed through swells again, back toward the setting sun and thickening plumes of smoke. She smelled fire and bitterness on the wind, shattered rock and explosives and greasy half-burned oil staining the salt air and tang of seaweed, the faint reek of fish that wafted up from the deck. A yellow blotch stained the cliff, centered on a black mouth and fresh bare scorched rock. Gary cut the engine again, and they drifted in the heaving swells.
Daniel glanced over the pile of bloody clothing, the first-aid kit, discarded gear, and shook his head. He turned to her. "Gary would have stowed that stuff. You bandaged Ben? He came back hurt and you patched him up?"
She nodded.
Daniel grinned to himself and shook his head again, some kind of private joke, she guessed. "Describe the wound. How much blood, how was it flowing, was the exit hole bigger than the entry, where were they, that sort of thing."
She thought about wounds she'd seen, cuts, stabbings, the mess a smashed bottle made of a drunk's face. "Not a lot of blood, a flow rather than a spurt, and it slowed down a lot when he stopped moving." She touched her left armpit, front and then rear, felt bone under each spot. "Holes about the size of a pencil, both places, pretty much the same."
He nodded, chewing on his lower lip. "Might have punched through the ribs, might have deflected around. With that angle, it doesn't sound too bad. Ben's a tough old goat. I'm more worried about blood in the water, and sharks."
And she was more worried about him, about Ben. She knew too much. The boat felt like a trap.
Daniel was stripping off his clothes. He glanced in her direction, shook his head, and turned his back to her. Her fingers tapped at the gun again, the short heavy black gun with a silencer and full-automatic fire. She could shoot them, shoot both of them, and nobody would know, Ben would die out there alone. She could figure out how to run the boat by trial and error, get back to that dock.
Maybe. Her trigger finger slipped inside the guard, her thumb toyed with the safety.
Daniel dove into the water, naked, no life jacket, another man going to drown. It didn't make sense. And then his skin darkened, turned gray, his legs and arms shrank, his torso lengthened. Jane froze, unable to breathe or move or even scream. Black dots swam in front of her eyes. A seal swam in front of her eyes. Just like she'd seen before. But she couldn't have.
"Oh . . . my . . . God."
Gary held her, his warm strong body against
