Island Pursuit: The Island Escape Series Book 2 Read online

  Island Pursuit

  The Island Escape Series, Book 2

  R. T. Wolfe

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 2019 by R.T. Wolfe. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep

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  Published by ePublishing Works!

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  eBook ISBN: 978-1-64457-086-9

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Before You Go…

  Island Reveal

  Also by R.T. Wolfe

  About the Author

  Special thanks to Suzi Fox and Kathy Doddridge of Anna Maria Island Turtle Watch & Shorebird Monitoring,

  EMT, Matt Cummings, and Jim & Val Winkler for their expertise with diving.

  One

  Willow faced the Gulf as an orange-tinted sky ignited the horizon. The long, lazy waves of her hair whipped over her bare shoulders and down her back. Like magic, the water transformed from pitch black to deep, serene blue.

  Warm waves caressed her ankles, immersing her feet deep into the sand. It reminded her of the strong draw she had to this island she loved, and how impossible it would be for her to pull anchor and leave the land, the sea, her friends and her family. Closing her eyes, she lifted her chin and filled her lungs with the coastal air. This. This was her peace, her life energy. The water left her ankles in a rush, much like the danger that had faced her family.

  Her arms hung still at her sides as daybreak coaxed Ibis Island alive. Nearly all the human inhabitants remained behind the closed doors of their homes or rented condos. Most of the winged and four-legged inhabitants, however, did not. Shore birds dodged in and out with the waves. Ghost crabs and coons scurried to their burrows after a long night of hunting.

  “Mom, you’re falling behind,” Willow’s daughter yelled from down the beach. “Again!”

  The corners of Willow’s mouth curled. She turned in the direction of Chloe’s six-year-old annoyed voice. Grabbing her grandma with one hand, Chloe pointed inland with the other. Harmony Clearwater wouldn’t allow just anyone to pull her around. Chloe’s blonde locks bounced as she dragged her grandmother toward a row of dunes. Turtle tracks. It was time for Willow’s other peace. Protecting the sea turtles.

  She pulled her shoulder bag higher and made her way toward the two of them. As she walked along the edge of the water, Willow noticed her mother gesture to a spot near a cluster of sea oats. Chloe leaped and ran, keeping her distance from the potential nest of between eighty and a hundred and fifty ping-pong ball-sized eggs. Would her daughter ever tire of this? Willow hadn’t.

  Before Willow made it to where they stood, her mother lifted the tablet used for logging Turtle Watch data and announced, “False crawl.” Regardless, it needed to be recorded.

  Yes, Willow nodded as she stepped closer. No bowl or oval-shaped markings. No scattered sand the turtle would have thrown to conceal the nest. Chloe dragged her small feet, destroying the long line of flipper tracks leading inland and back so other Turtle Watch volunteers wouldn’t stop to investigate. Her daughter’s knowledge and young expertise added yet another slice to Willow’s peace pie.

  Her mother slid a hand through Willow’s arm.

  “You only snuggle up to me when you want something,” Willow said, glancing at her from the corner of her eye.

  Her mother dipped her head. “I think you and Raine should go see Detective Osborne and ask why we haven’t gotten Seth’s remains back yet.”

  So much for peace. Air filled Willow’s lungs, but this time, the deep inhale was followed by a heavy sigh. Seth. Her brother. Her murdered brother.

  She turned toward a spot in the sand that seemed to move. It was most likely another ghost crab.

  “The arson burns aren’t even healed yet on Zoe’s arms.”

  “Chief Roberts was caught red-handed,” her mother added, wiping her hand down the long gray-blonde ponytail she always wore.

  It was useless to argue, yet Willow did. “Dane’s home has yet to be razed.”

  “There is no need for them to keep Seth’s remains from us any longer.” Her mother rotated toward the water and yelled to Chloe, “Now, stop that, dear.”

  Chloe ran, ignoring her grandmother, and scattered a group of Ibis.

  “Don’t disturb their feeding,” she added. “You should know better than that.”

  Willow placed her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Mom, wait. She does know better.” Together, they watched as Chloe snatched a discarded bag of bread from the sand before continuing her job of wiping away turtle tracks.

  Through the proudest of grins, Willow said, “She also knows that human food like bread keeps the birds from the true nourishment they need. I have a beach yoga class at 7 a.m. and Pilates at 8 a.m. I can drop Chloe off at your place and head to the St. Pete’s Police Department after that. Since Zoe actually mentioned something about her camera locked up in the evidence room as well, I’ll ask her first.”

  “You’ve got yourself so busy.” Her mother paused, then shook her head. “Sometimes what you’re missing is right under your nose.”

  The movement from the sand erupted. It was no ghost crab. “Chloe! Mom!” Willow yelled as she spotted the first tiny flipper, then the sun as it lifted from the horizon. “Chloe, go to the car and get the bucket. Run! Mom, call Raine.”

  Her mother eyed a nearby flock of gulls. “We don’t need Raine. We can handle this on our own.”

  The sand bubbled like boiling water. Willow’s heart both cringed with fear and swelled with excitement. Daylight was upon them.

  Hatchlings, each about the size of a silver dollar, scurried out of the sand like ants
scattering from a sudden rainfall. This was a surprise nest, unmarked and tucked between the sea oats. A gull landed nearby, eyeing the hatchlings, then Willow. “Don’t even think about it,” Willow growled.

  She spotted Chloe as she sprinted from the beach access where Willow had parked the four-wheeler. Sheesh, her little legs were quick. Baby turtles scampered around Willow’s feet and over her toes as they raced to the water. The first bird swooped as Willow’s mother ran, tiptoeing around hatchlings, yet waving her arms and yelling obscenities like a madwoman. Willow would have taken out her phone and videotaped if tiny lives weren’t in danger.

  Chloe came with the bucket, dropped to her knees by the babies, and hesitated. She looked to Willow with the biggest of blue eyes.

  Willow answered Chloe’s unspoken question. “To hell with regulation.” State law may allow only certified volunteers permission to handle hatchlings, but this was life and death. As her mother waved off the growing number of birds, Willow and Chloe gently tossed hatchlings into the bucket.

  The sound of opening patio doors and curious voices came from the other side of the sea grass-covered dunes. Willow’s mother likely woke the families with her shouting. The first few hatchlings made it to the water as Willow and Chloe gathered and pitched the toddling brothers and sisters into the bucket. She couldn’t help but count as she tossed. Fifty-six, Fifty-seven. Occupational habit.

  From the corner of her eye, something large and blue flapped in the wind. Her mother had graduated from waving hands to waving a large piece of cloth to swat away the birds. After a double-take, Willow winced and noted the piece of cloth was her mother’s shirt. At least she’d worn a bra that day.

  Two curious families came running from their rentals to find a six-year-old and a Turtle Watch volunteer chucking sea turtle hatchlings into a bucket as a topless, middle-aged woman waved her shirt and cussed like a sailor at swarming, hungry gulls.

  One of them dodged Willow’s mother and got ahold of a flipper, flying away with its breakfast as the first of the families arrived on the scene. “Can we help?” the dad panted.

  “Yes, please!” Willow yelled. “They shouldn’t emerge from their nest in this daylight. The predators in and out of the water can see them too easily. I think a few got lost in the sea oats over there,” she said as she pointed to the side of the path. It was also against the law to step on sea oats. She was going to Turtle Watch hell for this.

  As they gathered the last few hatchlings that were in the open, her mother let out one more crazy-person scream and swatted her shirt to the cloud of gulls over her head. “Six made it to the water,” she said. Her mother, too, would have the occupational habit of counting hatchlings. She strolled toward the group of tourists as if she hadn’t just been battling a group of birds and wasn’t walking shirtless toward complete strangers.

  “Forty-two,” Chloe added, making Willow smile from ear-to-ear.

  “I found one! I found one!” the father said as he came from the sea oats cupping a hatchling.

  “And I counted sixty-one,” Willow said. “That makes one hundred and ten. Well done, team. We’ll cover the one hundred-four with a towel and let them get back to sleep until dark.”

  That was, after she scoured the area for any other hatchlings and did a less hectic recount. “Would you like to join us this evening when we release them?” she asked the families. “We will come back to this location at dusk.”

  As Liam Morrison wrote the day’s lesson on his classroom interactive board, he noted a special disinterest coming from the boys. Sam and Aiden didn’t want to be there and, frankly, neither did he. But, since his students needed to pass physics that fall, here they all were.

  “Your parents are paying me. It’s easier to be tutored if your eyes are open.”

  “I don’t have parents.” Aiden emphasized the ‘s’ as his cheek rested in the palm of his hand.

  Liam sighed. He wanted to bark a sarcastic comeback about how Sam’s mom and dad plus Aiden’s single dad equaled parents plural, but it was sunny and eighty-five on Ibis Island and living without a mother sucks. So instead, he erased his lesson plans and wrote three words on the board.

  Hydrochloric acid

  Aluminum

  The boys didn’t budge, which was one of the reasons they needed to be tutored in physics instead of out on the Gulf or better yet, diving in it.

  He opened the cabinet above one of his sinks and took out a beaker. Changing his mind, he put it back and chose a bigger one. He considered setting it between the boys on their table, but with what he had planned, that might not be safe. So, he placed it on the counter and paused.

  Sam lifted his chin from the palm of his hand and turned his head toward the beaker. Progress.

  Liam opened the drawer neatly labeled Foil, and thought of how Willow ribbed him for his organization. Willow. Distraction.

  He shook his head clear. Ah. There it was. After pulling out about a half foot, he ripped the foil from the box before shoving it back in the drawer. As he shut the drawer with his hip, he wadded the foil into a ball.

  “Most people do this using sealed two-liter bottles, but that’s not safe. It can explode, the toxic liquid burning plants and animals. We will be responsible and not blow anything up. Today.”

  Aiden sat up at the sound of the words ‘blow up,’ exposing the faded red tongue of his Rolling Stones t-shirt. Boys were easy. “While I go down the hall for the last ingredient, you two discuss what I might be doing that involves a beaker, aluminum foil, and something that will definitely not make a bomb. No using your phones.”

  They definitely would use their phones, which would pique their interest more, so win-win. He left them to their wits as he made his way to the custodial closet. Two men in suits walked along the end of the hall. Their backs were turned, but he could tell who they were, the principal and the super. He found the hydrochloric acid he needed and tiptoed back to his room before the men remembered he used his classroom for summer tutoring.

  The toilet bowl cleaner bottle was half full. Or was that half empty? Shrugging, he read the list of ingredients. This one had 20 percent hydrochloric acid. That would work.

  As he entered the room, he noted the boys had abandoned their upright beds and stood by the beaker. “You’re making a Works bomb,” Sam said with the appropriate amount of enthusiasm.

  “Let me repeat. I am unequivocally not making a bomb.” Liam held out his arm, then shooed the boys away from the beaker. “What did you find out while I was gone?”

  Without trying to hide it, Aiden held up his phone and read, “Hydrochloric acid. A strong mineral acid with many industrial uses.”

  Liam rolled his eyes at Aiden’s lack of attempt to hide his phone. “Examples of said uses, please,” he said as he wrestled with the childproof lid. Push and turn or squeeze and turn? All lid manufacturers of the world should make a pact and use one or the other.

  “Hydrochloric acid uses,” Sam interrupted.

  Aiden wasn’t having it. “Hey, I’ve got this. Give me a minute. There. Batteries, fireworks.” His eyes grew and he pulled his phone closer to his face. “Used to process sugar and make gelatin? Damn.” He said the last word in two syllables.

  “Language,” Liam said, reminding himself of something Harmony Clearwater would say.

  “Sorry, Mr. Morrison.”

  “Pretty cool, huh?” Liam asked. “Sam? You got aluminum?”

  “What is this, chemistry class?”

  “We can go back to the lesson plan for the day if you prefer.”

  “Aluminum,” Sam said, and pecked his phone with his thumbs. “Used to make cans and foil. Thrilling. Low density and nontoxic.” He turned his eyes to the beaker and squinted.

  Liam stepped closer and held up the toilet cleaner in his hand. “First one to write the periodic symbol on the Smartboard for both gets to pour the acid.”

  He leaned his backside against the counter and folded his arms as the boys shoved each other, juggling t
he forbidden phones. He had the best jobs he could think of. Physics teacher during the school year and diving instructor/tour guide during the summer. Along with some construction side jobs and tutoring, he made a living doing the things he loved. Life was good, and it was complete.

  Through the window, a burgundy-colored smart car caught his eye as it drove over Pelican Bridge. Willow. She had a passenger he couldn’t make out from the distance, but he knew the car. So, maybe life was good and almost complete.

  The boys were out of breath, HCI and Al were written on the board, and they stood staring at him. He nearly let both of them pour the hydrochloric acid when a voice came from the doorway.

  “Good day, Mr. Morrison. Thank you for helping out our young citizens in need.” Dr. Hart, the school superintendent. Liam may have never seen the man out of a suit or minus the extremely straight side part in his hair, but at least he did show his face now and then, and that said something. But young citizens in need?

  Liam scratched his head. “You’re welcome, although these boys are in need of very little.” He slipped the bottle away from them. “They outsmart me every time I turn around.”

  “Very well, then. Carry on.” Hart hadn’t said a word to the boys.

  “With the looming boss of my boss on the premises,” Liam whispered, “it looks like you two sit, and I pour.”

  He poured just enough of the clear liquid to cover the foil, then stepped back and sat. They waited. And waited.