Covert Cargo. Elisabeth Rees

for now he kept his questions to himself. Various customers from the town had come and gone, bringing a range of animals, but now the waiting room was empty and the receptionist on a break. The silence lay heavily in the air, loaded with anxiety and unanswered questions. All the while, Beth was conscious of the bulk of the stone in her jacket, weighing down her pocket and her mind in equal measure.

      The vet entered the waiting room and sat down on a chair. He had a smile on his face, and Beth’s heart lifted with relief. Henry wouldn’t be smiling if the news were bad.

      “Ted is fine,” Henry said. “But he’ll need to stay in for observation, probably no more than a day or two. He suffered a wound to his liver and I want to make sure he doesn’t have an infection.” He looked between her and Dillon. “Is this okay with you both?”

      Beth suddenly realized that Henry thought she and Dillon were romantically involved. She considered explaining the situation but decided against it. It was too complicated.

      “Can I see him?” she asked.

      “Ted is highly sedated at the moment,” Henry replied. “If he sees you, he may get overexcited and try to stand. It’s best that you leave a visit until tomorrow.”

      Beth felt her shoulders sagging. The thought of returning to the lighthouse without Ted was horrible, but it was made worse by the fact that she couldn’t even see him.

      Dillon noticed her sadness and stepped into the conversation. “Thank you for all your help, Dr. Stanton,” he said, rising. “We’ll come back tomorrow and see how Ted’s doing.”

      The vet stood also, and the two men shook hands. “Please call me Henry,” he said. Then he looked at Beth. “And can I say how pleased I am to see you, Beth? It’s been too long.”

      She forced a smile. She was too ashamed to admit that she normally used the veterinarian who lived in the next town, but she guessed that Henry already knew. Nobody could keep any secrets in a town like Bracelet Bay. She stood, pulling her long sweater down to cover the bloodstains on her jeans. She thanked Henry and headed for the door.

      A light rain was falling outside and the temperature of the earlier sunny day had dropped away. Beth pulled up the hood on her raincoat and felt the painted stone hanging in the pocket. Dillon stayed by her side, his face a picture of tension. The air seemed to feel different, as though particles of fear itself were being swept on the wind over the water. Ted’s stabbing had struck deep into her psyche. She was too numb to even cry.

      “This incident changes everything,” Dillon said, standing so close that she could see his curly hair collecting tiny droplets of water, as delicate as a spider’s web. “You can’t be alone at your lighthouse anymore.”

      Beth took a deep, steadying breath. “There’s something else you need to know,” she said, curling her fingers around the stone hidden beneath her coat. “Ted found something on the beach this morning.”

      His eyes widened and he steered her toward the truck, checking their surroundings before bringing his attention back on her. “What?”

      Beth slowly pulled the smooth stone from her pocket and held it in a flat palm. The skeletal figure seemed to have become even more sinister, even more ominous since she had last looked.

      Dillon took the pebble and studied it hard, his eyebrows crinkling in concentration. “This is Santa Muerte,” he said finally. The way he said the words struck dread into Beth’s heart. His tone was grave.

      “Who is Santa Muerte?” she asked. “And what does this mean?”

      Dillon seemed reluctant to answer, and Beth’s heart began to hammer. “Ted found it on the dunes right by my house,” she said. “I think it may have been left there by the man on the Jet Ski in the bay.” She looked up into his face. “If you know what it is, please tell me.”

      He swallowed hard. “Santa Muerte is a saint worshipped in some parts of Mexico, where she is also known as Our Lady of the Holy Death.”

      Beth clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. The mention of death was chilling. The significance of this find was worse than she’d thought.

      Dillon opened the truck door and gently guided Beth onto the passenger seat, but he remained standing in the lot, his outstretched arm resting on the open door as though he were holding a shield. “Santa Muerte is particularly revered among Mexican drug cartels, who pray to her for protection, for guidance and to grant them a painless death. People also sometimes ask her to grant them success in eliminating targets.” He looked down at the stone. “They often perform a ritual to Santa Muerte when a target has been identified.”

      “Is this a ritual?” Beth asked, unable to keep her eyes off the bony image staring up at her from Dillon’s hand. “I’m the target, aren’t I? That’s why the stone was placed by my home. They want to eliminate me.” She realized that her voice was becoming quick and breathless, so she tried to steady it. “The cartel wants me dead, right?”

      Dillon said nothing, but his silence was answer enough.

      “Why me?” she asked, rubbing her moist palms on her jeans. “What did I do?”

      Dillon shook his head. “I don’t know. Not yet anyway. But I’ll need to assign you protection.” He held up the bright stone. “This is too serious to ignore.”

      Beth thought of her tranquil little cottage, cramped with people allotted to look after her. She and Ted had gotten used to a quiet life. Could she handle the intrusion of others sharing her space? But she knew that Dillon was right. This ritual to Santa Muerte was far too serious to ignore. She turned her head to look over the ocean.

      “Okay,” she said quietly. “Who would be staying with me?”

      “I have a friend—Tyler Beck—and I’ve already put in a request to transfer him into the Bracelet Bay Station to assist us with some duties. He’s a surveillance expert working for the Department of Homeland Security on the East Coast. If you’ll allow us to create a lookout post in your lighthouse tower, Tyler and I will set up home there until the cartel members are in custody and no longer a threat to you.”

      “You do realize how small the lighthouse tower is, right?” Beth asked. She imagined two big men bedding down for the night in the tightly curved space, dominated by the huge lenses of the disused beacon. “It’ll be a really tight squeeze.”

      Dillon smiled. “Tyler and I have worked plenty of missions in the past where space was limited. We’ll manage just fine.”

      “Missions?” she questioned. “You make it sound like a military operation.”

      “The coast guard is a branch of the US armed forces,” he replied. “Not many people realize that we are part of the military. The coast guard is trained in reconnaissance, search and rescue, maritime law enforcement and many more things besides. And these are all very good reasons why you should place your trust in us to keep you safe.”

      Beth rubbed her hands together, creating friction to keep them warm in her lap. Dillon’s words and tone sounded formal, and they made her feel even more ill at ease. Her safety seemed like a military mission to be accomplished, and the severity of her situation had hit home.

      “So you and Tyler would be with me twenty-four hours a day?” she asked.

      “I’ll be continuing to work at the station during the day while staying at the lighthouse during the night,” he answered. “Tyler will take the lead in providing protection for you.” He must have noticed a look of disappointment sweep over her face. “Tyler is a highly trained individual. You can rely on him.”

      “Of course,” she said. “It’s just that I kind of figured you would take charge of things.” She felt awkward and uncomfortable asking him to take the lead, but if she must accept somebody being responsible for her safety, she would at least prefer it was someone she was already on a first-name basis with. And although she didn’t want to admit it, he radiated a strength that reassured her. She felt