CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
gut instinct
My flashlight swings wildly, searching for the occupants’ identities, silent prayers racing through my head. Please don’t be Finan.
“Iona!” I yell, stuffing my flashlight into the waistband of my pants to enable me to fumble down the water-smoothed boulders that comprise this end of the island.
“Hey there, Lara,” she says, dropping her flashlight, which means I lose her position. I yank my own light free and scan the rocks between here and there, mapping a path to her. I’d like to avoid a late-night frigid swim, if possible.
Iona has literally crashed into Thalia Island, her vessel’s pointy nose and right side badly damaged. The padded, V-shaped benches in the bow seating area have been crushed together, and a gaping hole along the starboard hull hungri
