sign saying, ‘Come destroy me!’ to anyone who wanted to cause trouble, but I tried to tell myself that Tom’s fears might be overblown.
A week after that afternoon in Julian’s yard, I walked back to McIntyre Beach close to midnight. I’d been doing sporadic nighttime visits before, but with the nest flagged, I wanted to keep a closer eye on things. I’d left Roxie at home, because knowing her, she’d beg anyone trying to do damage for belly rubs.
I threaded my way through the trails of the park, walking on the soft carpet of sand and pine needles, fragrant from baking in the sun all day. I could see patches of starry light through the canopy above. Somewhere in the distance, a great horned owl hooted.
Eventually, I made my way down to the dunes. I frowned when I reached my partially rebuilt staircase. There were footprints to the right of the steps, partially obscured by sand that had slumped in to fill the holes.
Those hadn’t been there when I’d left this afternoon.
Moving even more cautiously now, I eased myself over the stairs and crouched low, still half-hidden by the bulk of the dunes. I scanned the beach, looking for signs of movement. My stomach dropped.
Something large and bulky loomed up the shore, very close to the nest. It was possible, I supposed, that it was an animal. Or someone out for a nighttime stroll. In a park with no facilities. On the outskirts of town. That just happened to be at the center of a legal battle.
Possible, but not probable.
Keeping my profile low and hugging the dunes as close as I could without walking on them, I crept nearer. The figure straightened into something that was definitely human-shaped and pulled off what had to be a backpack. Out of the backpack came a shovel. The figure approached the nest.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” I was still farther away than I wanted to be, but I wasn’t going to let them get any closer to the nest.
It worked. Kind of. The figure froze. Their head swung in my direction. They dropped the shovel. And then they bolted.
“Fuck.”
I ran after them. I wasn’t dressed for a sprint across the sand, in my heavy work boots and jeans, but the person in front of me wasn’t moving all that fast, and ten years of mostly physical labor had left me in pretty decent shape.
I closed the distance between us as we ran northward across the beach, wet sand spraying out behind me. McIntyre Beach wasn’t actually that long, and soon, we were approaching Slagle’s Marine on the northern border.
Rather than continuing along the shore, the figure in front of me angled inwards, toward the woods behind the beach. Dammit. Wincing with every footfall that took me across the dunes, I followed them over the sand and into the forest.
We weren’t even following a path at this point, and the tangled underbrush snagged at my legs as I ran. The ground was dimpled here, and it would be incredibly easy to put a foot wrong and break something.
I kept running. The forest had slowed the figure in front of me even more, and I was within fifteen feet now. Adrenaline pumping, I pushed to close the gap. Ten feet, then eight. The figure whipped around a tree, attempting to zigzag, but I was at their heels now. Four feet, then three.
At two, I reached out and grabbed the figure’s collar. I had them. They tried to pull free, still pushing forward, but I refused to let go. I had not worked up a sweat, gotten sand in my shoes, and been whipped in the face by more vines and spiderwebs than I could count just to let them get away.
But my next step didn’t land where it was supposed to. The ground dipped, and my foot hit the earth with a slam, throwing me off balance. I felt myself falling and winced in anticipatory pain.
I still had the guy’s collar—and this close, I was pretty sure it was a guy—but the momentary distraction was all he needed. He slipped out of his outer layer and ran on through the trees, leaving me holding his jacket in defeat.
“Fuck,” I groaned again, both in disappointment and because my ankle hurt.
Then I heard a shotgun click behind me.
“Stay where you are,” said a flat, angry voice. A woman, I thought. “I’ve got a gun, and I am not afraid to use it.”
What the hell was