Just as she neared the shore, she saw a faint glimmer of dawn light on the horizon, the sky lightening to gray. The lighthouse was like something from a postcard. White with a black top, below it a lightkeepers’ house, painted red. And in front of the house she could make out a lone car, its lights off, along the edge of what was probably a visitors’ parking lot. Was someone waiting for her? She turned south and began paddling as hard as she could. She was hoping to spot a better place to come onto shore, less rocky, and not someplace where she might be spotted.
The kayak was moving slowly, a rip current working against her, but soon she spotted a tree-shrouded cove, a strip of sand visible in the dawn light. She pointed the kayak toward the shore, slapping against a flat rock just under the water, then the bow of the kayak slid up onto the beach. She stood, lost her balance, and fell out of the kayak into three inches of icy water. Her elbow hit something sharp and her arm went numb. She grunted, then quickly stood, pulling the kayak a little farther up on the beach.
The sky was now a pearly white, and the air was filled with dawn mist.
A man stepped out of the tree line about ten yards from her, a long rifle in the crook of his arm.
CHAPTER 32
Abigail reached inside the kayak, trying to get hold of her own gun with numb fingers.
“Can I help you?” the man said. His voice, the calmness of it, was startling.
“Stay right there.” Abigail found the gun and pulled it out, pointing it at the man. He was heavyset, wearing a fleece hoodie with a camouflage pattern.
“Shit,” he said, and dropped his own gun, which had been pointing at the ground, then put his hands up.
Abigail had begun to shiver, but she kept her finger on the trigger and kept the gun pointed at the man. “Step back,” she said, and he did. She let her eyes flick toward the ground in front of him and saw that it wasn’t a rifle he had dropped but a metal detector, an elaborate handle on one end, a flat disc on the other.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
“I was here yesterday. My wife and I were fishing, and she lost her wedding band. I’m here to look for it.” His voice trembled. Abigail believed him, but she didn’t want to take a chance and kept the rifle pointed in his direction.
“Do you have a phone?” she said.
“Yeah. It’s in my front pocket.”
“Reach in slowly, okay? And pull it out.”
He did as he was told, pulling out a flat black phone from the front of his baggy jeans.
“Toss it to me.”
He threw the phone in a low arc and it landed three feet in front of Abigail on the sand. “Sit on the ground, okay, and keep your arms above your head.”
“Okay,” he said, and awkwardly lowered himself onto a hump of grass at the edge of the beach. Once he was settled, Abigail picked up the phone. The screen was asking for a four-digit passcode, but on the lower left was the word EMERGENCY, and when she pressed it, the phone dialed 911.
“Where are we?” Abigail said quickly to the man, once she heard the ring in her ear.
“What?” he said.
“What location are we at? What street?”
Before he could answer, she heard a click, then a female voice. “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“I’ve just kayaked from Heart Pond Island,” Abigail said into the phone. “There are men there, they were trying to kill me. I’m at …”
She looked over at the man, who was sitting cross-legged, his arms still above him, and he said, “Hannaford Point on Cape Elizabeth.”
She repeated the information to the woman on the other end of the line, then answered more questions, the dispatcher assuring her that a patrol car was on its way. After Abigail ended the call, the man said, “You kayaked here from Heart Pond Island?”
“Uh-huh. You know it?”
“I did some work out there a few years ago. I’m an electrician.”
“For Chip Ramsay?”
“I don’t remember. Maybe. What happened to you?”
“Bad marriage,” she said, then laughed, realizing that she sounded a little hysterical.
“Can I put my arms down now?”
“What’s your name?”
“James Pelletier.”
“Go ahead and put your hands on your knees. I don’t really trust you yet, James.”
He lowered his hands slowly and placed them on his knees. Abigail, without thinking, lowered herself to the damp sand, but kept the rifle pointed in the man’s general direction. “Where will the police car come from?” she said.
“The road’s right behind that line of trees. There’s a little dirt parking lot. We’ll see it coming.”
Sitting down had been a mistake. Abigail could feel the exhaustion flooding through her limbs, and she wondered for a moment if she’d be able to stand up again.
“I really thought you were going to shoot me,” James said, shaking his head.
She looked at him, still waiting for his hand to move swiftly into the pocket of his hoodie, whip out a gun, and put a bullet through her head. She didn’t think it was going to happen, but why wouldn’t
