As Finan pulls up to the island’s west side, it’s clear someone has been here since our visit last week.
“Any surveillance at all on this side of the island?” Wes asks, leaning against one of the fishing seats as Finan drops the anchor. I turn and lift an eyebrow at Wes’s question; Finan smirks.
“No surveillance. At least not yet,” I say, pivoting back to Wes. “I’ve been overruled. Something about how the new residents don’t want to live in a police state.”
“Sure they don’t. Until they’re in a state when they need the police.” Wes takes the waders Finan offers and steps into them. They won’t fit over his chest or shoulders, but he’s quick to improvise with the belt from his black cargo pants. He catches me smiling. “I’m used to it. I was basically born with a full beard.”
“Your poor mo
