“We can’t just let her get swept away.”

  “The current in the Intracoastal? It’s strong. And we’re coming off high tide. You’ve been swimming out there, right? You know what it’s like.”

  The storm, the tide, the darkness. I don’t have to answer him. Yes, I know.

  “Jake, the moment that car went into the water, it was over. There’s nothing you or anyone else can do. And Alaina? I saw her before she left. I don’t know if she was…well, sober. I smelled the weed on her. She’s not clearheaded. You’d have to be clearheaded and a Navy SEAL to get out of that water on a night like this.”

  Stanley’s face is more serious than I’ve ever seen it. He makes more sense than I’ve ever heard him make. I struggle to accept the truth of his words, the reality of what we just watched happen to Alaina. On the heels of Dallas’ death, it’s enough to overwhelm me.

  “Jake, we have to focus on the people who are still here. Right now.” He points upward. “Your family is here. Everyone else who’s still in the building.” Stanley looks at the wet ground, the water pooling at our feet. “Did I ever tell you I served in Vietnam?”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “I was just a kid.” Stanley lifts his head toward the spot where we last saw the Elantra. “Over there, we had to keep going no matter what happened. Even when one of our buddies got zapped right in front of us. Maybe that’s made me hard. I don’t know. But I’m just trying to think of who we can still help. Who is still in this building.”

  My heart pounds so hard I have to place my hand on my chest. As if I need to stop it from spilling out from beneath my shirt. “I gave her the car, Stanley. If I hadn’t…”

  “What you did was try to help the kid out. So did Dallas. That’s a good thing. You didn’t make her drive out there. We don’t know what kind of troubles she was dealing with. We’ve all seen how she acts. We don’t know what was motivating her to go out there in this awful storm.”

  “You think she killed Dallas.”

  “What do I know about that? Maybe. Maybe not. But what I do know is, we need to focus on the here and now. The cops will sort this out when the storm is past. In the meantime…” He tilts his head back toward the building.

  Like he said—everyone else.

  The living.

  “Why don’t we go downstairs?” he says. “We can try Alaina’s door, but it’s probably locked. If it is, we’ll go talk to Lloyd about using his place. He’s a bastard, but he might listen to the two of us together.”

  His words hit home—like an arrow slamming into a bull’s-eye. I risk one more look out toward the water, hoping against hope I’ll see—what? A miracle? The Elantra driving out of the Intracoastal like an amphibious landing craft? Alaina emerging from the water unharmed?

  But there’s nothing there. As I knew there wouldn’t be.

  My hand goes out and clasps the railing for support. “I know you’re right, Stanley.” I turn and look him in the eye. “Thank you.”

  “Jake, we need you. Hell, we need all of us rowing in the same direction. But, like I said, you’re in charge now.”

  I want to object again, but the truth is, Stanley is right. Now that Dallas is gone, there’s no one else here to lead us. Jordan would be better at communicating than I will, but I’m the one who knows the people in this building, knows the island. I don’t have much choice in the matter.

  “Come on, boss. Let’s go downstairs and talk to that slippery bastard.”

  Twenty

  Stanley checks Alaina’s door first—which is locked.

  Then he leads me to Lloyd’s place.

  We linger outside like two salesmen contemplating the best approach to a difficult customer—which, in a way, is kind of what we are.

  Stanley looks at me and jerks his head at the door. My cue.

  The wind picks up suddenly and pushes Stanley and me against the building with one strong gust. We both reach out, brace ourselves against the wall on either side of Lloyd’s door. We can’t just stand around in this weather. We might get knocked to the ground.

  Lloyd surprises me by answering after one knock. He pulls the door open, chain still engaged, and looks out at both of us, his ruddy face filling the small space. Up close, he’s younger than I thought—not much past sixty—despite the presence of a white beard. His face is unlined, and his vibrant eyes move from Stanley to me and then back again.

  “What?”

  “Lloyd,” I say, “this storm looks to be bigger than anyone expected.”

  “Category Three,” he says with a slight nod.

  “We’re all in the line of fire.”

  “So? Get inside your apartment.”

  He starts to push the door shut, but my foot stops him.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Here’s the thing, Lloyd—we need to get everyone into the safest space possible before the full force of the storm lands. Together.” Lloyd’s eyebrows go up. “We can’t use Alaina’s or Dallas’ apartments, and you’re the only other person on this floor. So I was thinking…maybe we could all wait out the storm here?”

  “What’s wrong with Dallas’ unit?” A perfectly reasonable question.

  Stanley looks at me with a question on his face, as if to remind me I’m in charge now.

  “Something happened to Dallas. He’s…incapacitated.”

  Lloyd shows little reaction. “Well, I’m sorry. But you can’t possibly come in here. Go bug Alaina. She’s so high she won’t notice ten more people crowding in her place.”

  “Alaina’s gone.” I leave it at that. “Her apartment’s locked.”

  “I thought you were leaving.”

  “I was. But I can’t go now. The causeway’s washed out.” I study Lloyd for a second, trying to determine if he looks like the kind of person who has a family. “And on top of that…my family’s here now. My wife and daughter. I need to protect them. And everyone else. We all need to stick together.” Lloyd grunts his disagreement, but I go on. “Your apartment is on the lowest floor, and it’s in the center of the building. It’s the safest place. It’ll just be a few hours, Lloyd, maybe overnight. By morning the worst should have passed. We hope…”

  Lloyd’s eyes bounce between the two of us again. They linger on Stanley a little longer than on me. He shakes his head emphatically. “No.”

  When he tries to close the door this time, I push back with more force. Everything that’s happened—the causeway, Dallas getting murdered, Mackenzie and Jordan showing up, Alaina…poor, poor Alaina going off that bridge—conspires to make me want to kick Lloyd’s door in.

  I don’t. But my foot hits it with enough force to make him jump back.

  “Listen, Lloyd, we’re not playing around here. A hurricane is bearing down on us. People are going to get hurt. Quit thinking only of yourself and open the damn door.”

  His eyes flare with anger. “Who are you to ask anything of me? You’re all the time sitting out here with Dallas. Right on this walkway, yukking it up. And you never once invited me to join you. Now when you need something you come knocking on my door? You can go to hell. Both of you.”

  He slams the door so fast—and so hard—I have to move my foot or risk its getting sheared off.

  I keep talking like the door is wide-open.

  “Is that what this is all about, Lloyd? An invitation to have a beer? It never once occurred to me you’d accept. What is this—eighth grade?”

  “Easy, Jake. We’ll just—”

  I turn to Stanley. “Can you believe how selfish he’s being? Doesn’t he understand what’s going on?”

  “Maybe we can get into Alaina’s place. Or we can go up to the third floor.”

  “He’s pissed about us not inviting him to have a beer?”

  Stanley remains quiet. Doesn’t look me in the eye.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Well, you and Dallas—you know, the two of you seemed pretty tight. Like there wasn’t room for anyone else to join in the fun.”

  “Are you serious, Stanley?”

  “Hey, it’s no big deal. I know I can be irritating sometimes, but the two of you…well, you were kind of in your own world. You had your own jokes and your own talk. You know…it was easy for other people to feel left out.”

  My mouth hangs open for a second before I respond. “Okay, Stanley. Well, I am sorry. I guess…well, I guess I was always telling Dallas about my problems. He listened. And gave me advice.”

  “We all have problems, Jake. The whole world has problems. Anyway, let’s go upstairs.”

  My face flushes with embarrassment. Was I really so lost in my own issues that I failed to see what the people living right next to me were dealing with? Was I that clueless?

  Before Stanley and I hit the stairs, something rattles behind us. I fear it’s something coming loose in the wind—a railing or an awning, something about to break free and fly off into the night.

  Instead, Lloyd’s door opens again, revealing his ruddy face and broad shoulders. I anticipate another shot, one last dismissal before he hunkers down in his apartment for good.

  But Lloyd waves his hand, indicating that he wants the two of us to come closer.

  Maybe he wants to take a swing at us. Maybe I deserve it.

  Stanley doesn’t hesitate. He passes me, and I follow. When we get to Lloyd’s door, he’s stepped back, leaving it wide-open. A lone lamp burns behind him, producing a sickly yellow glow. The place smells like disinfectant. The only visible items of furniture are a hospital bed with a kitchen chair sitting next to it.

  A woman lies in the bed, the covers up to her chin.

  She pushes down the sheet and beckons us closer.

  “Who is this, Lloyd?” Stanley asks, not bothering to hide the shock in his voice.

  “My wife…well, not legally, but she is my wife. Her name is Catalina, and she said I should invite all of you in. And…the truth is, I always do what Cat says, so if you two idiots want to bring everyone in here, I guess I don’t have much say in the matter.”

  Twenty-One

  Stanley and I exchange the same look.

  Surprise. Confusion.

  Shock.

  One question races through my head. Stanley, as always, can’t keep it in, giving voice to what we’re both thinking. “You have a wife, Lloyd?”

  Lloyd’s face turns an even darker shade of red. He holds up his hands like he’s getting ready to shove both of us back out the door and into the storm. “Now, don’t start asking me a bunch of questions. I didn’t—Catalina didn’t—invite the two of you in here so you could interrogate me. Accept the offer or don’t. But no questions.”

  “Okay—”

  “Lloyd?” From the bed, Catalina’s voice is surprisingly strong. She talks over me, getting Lloyd’s attention. We all look her way.

  “Lloyd, you can tell them. Remember—” She starts to cough, cutting her words off.

  Lloyd moves to her bedside. He reaches down, gently helps her sit up, and with his other hand holds out a plastic cup of water with a straw. Catalina takes a couple of sips and then falls back against the pillows, as though the effort has exhausted her.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” she says, her voice much softer.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Lloyd turns back to the two of us, his face returning to its usual mask of anger. “You’re already upsetting her. So just keep your mouths shut.”

  “Lloyd,” I say, “you don’t have to tell us anything, okay?” I look directly at Catalina. “Neither one of you does. We’re just grateful to have a place to go. It’s very generous of both of you.”

  I’m ready to accept their offer and get everybody else downstairs. But Catalina’s hand reaches toward her nightstand. It quivers ever so slightly, but she manages to wrap her hand around a small bell and shakes it in the air.

  Catalina nods in our direction. I’ve known her five minutes, but even I understand what she’s saying. She wants Lloyd to tell us what’s going on. And why no one else knew she existed.

  “Okay, okay.” Lloyd turns back to us. “I’ll give you two idiots the CliffsNotes. And then no more questions.” He sighs. “Catalina has something called PSP. Ever heard of it?”

  Stanley and I look at each other like a couple of kids in a difficult science class. We both shrug.

  “That stands for ‘progressive supranuclear palsy.’ It’s a neurological disease, kind of like Parkinson’s but not really. Catalina and I met online. She’s from Nicaragua. She moved here to be with me, but we couldn’t get married right away.” Lloyd lets out a barely audible grunt. “She was still married back home, and we were waiting for all of that to get sorted out. Then she got sick. Since she’s not a citizen and not married to one, she couldn’t get health care here. We spent a lot of money, but…” Lloyd looks back at Catalina, and she nods. “There’s not much you can do for PSP. That’s just a fact. You can give patients medication to make them more comfortable or decrease symptoms, but there’s no cure. So we moved to Florida a couple of years ago. We wanted to spend our time together near the beach. Alone. I can take care of her. I can and I am.”

  “So, nobody knew Catalina was living here with you?” Stanley asks.

  “Dallas knew.” Lloyd nearly spits the words out. “He said it was okay. He said he’d cover for us.”

  “What’s there to cover for?” I ask.

  “He said he’d protect us from the owners. They charge disabled tenants more. They say it’s because they’re a fall risk.”

  “That’s illegal,” I say.

  Lloyd wheels on me. “No shit. But do you know how much it costs to hire an attorney? How much time? That’s the only way to fight it. Besides, Dallas said he wouldn’t tell them about Catalina.”

  “That sounds like Dallas,” Stanley says.

  “I thought so too. But he double-crossed us. A few weeks ago, we got a notice that our rent was going up. And we can’t afford it. Dallas must have ratted us out.”

  Catalina rings the bell again. This time more insistently.

  “I don’t care,” Lloyd says over his shoulder. “It had to be him.” Lloyd waves at us with unveiled disgust. “The rest of you can wait out the hurricane here. Bring your own food. You’re not going to eat us out of house and home. But Dallas is not welcome. He’s on this floor. He can stay in his own apartment and keep the hell out of ours.”

  Stanley and I go through our routine again, exchanging looks.

  For a change, Stanley opts to stay quiet, letting me be the bearer of bad news.

  “The thing is, Lloyd, Dallas isn’t…Well, remember when I said he was incapacitated?”

  “Of course. I’m not that old.”

  “Well, what I meant was…Dallas isn’t alive.”

  “What?” Lloyd doesn’t hide his irritation with this new development, and Catalina rings her bell so hard I’m afraid she’ll hurt herself.

  “I don’t know how to tell you both this, but someone murdered Dallas. Earlier tonight. That’s another reason we all need to stay together. There’s a killer out there somewhere.”

  Twenty-Two

  Lloyd shakes his head in disbelief.

  Catalina waves at me. When I get to her bedside, she puts her hand on mine. “I’m so sorry about Dallas.”

  “Thank you.”

  She squeezes my hand with surprising strength.

  When she lets go, I turn back to Lloyd. “I should probably tell you about Alaina too. Well, she drove off in my car. It’s a long story. But she got washed off the causeway and into the water.”

  Catalina gasps.

  “This storm is incredibly dangerous. Not to mention the situation with Dallas. More people could die if we don’t work together. Whatever might have happened in the past, we have no choice but to put it aside and help each other. Are we all in agreement?”

  Lloyd doesn’t respond at first, but after a long pause he finally nods.

  “Stanley and I are going to round everybody up. You two don’t have to go to any trouble. People can sit quietly on the floor and read or play cards. The storm should pass in a few hours. By morning it will be clear, and with any luck the cops will be here not long after that.”

  When neither one of them says anything, I motion Stanley toward the door.

  “Wait,” Lloyd says, holding up a finger before disappearing into the bedroom. I can hear him rustling around, searching for something.

  Catalina’s large eyes focus on me. “I’m sorry,” she says again, her voice softer, like she’s running out of energy. “Alaina was a sweet girl. Sweet but troubled.”

  “You’re right about that. I feel terrible about it. I was only trying to help.”

  “You and Dallas were always good to her. To everyone.”

  I flash back to what Lloyd said when we knocked on the door. “Maybe not good enough. Maybe we should have reached out more. To Lloyd.” I turn to Stanley. “To you.”

  Catalina shakes her head. “Lloyd…He’s very…sensitive.”

  “Lloyd is?” Stanley says.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “I wish I’d known about your troubles here. I would have tried to help.”

  “Lloyd didn’t want…”

  “He didn’t want anyone to know. He didn’t want to be a burden.”

  “Yes…”

  “I get it. But we’re all a burden sometimes. That’s what makes us human.”

  Lloyd reappears from the bedroom. In his hand he’s holding a sleek black object that shines in the overhead lights. A split second after I see it, it hits me what it is. “What the hell, Lloyd?”

  “Do either of you know how to handle something like this?” he asks as casually as if we’re talking about a vacuum cleaner or a blender, even though what he’s holding—based on my very limited knowledge—appears to be a Glock.