By the time they reached Tristan’s house—a sturdy cedar structure that seemed to be mostly windows—word had gotten out that the Desperado was missing. A small crowd milled around, sharing greetings and hot coffee and stories. They took off their coats and added them to the pile just inside the door.
DesperadoIn the front room, Ian recognized some of the fishermen he’d seen at the Olde Salt, although Old Crow wasn’t one of them. He overheard scraps of stories being told—shipwrecks and close encounters with whales and hundred-foot swells.
He didn’t want to hear that, so he veered into the next room, a cozy breakfast nook. In this one, a group of worried-looking women gathered around a twenty-something brunette with a neck tattoo of a serpent. She couldn’t stop crying, no matter how much th
