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The air was humid, and the moon was almost full. A horn from a boat signaled in the distance.
Thoughts of his date were still in his head when Brody thought he heard the shuffling of feet. He spun around, but no one was there. He remained still for a moment, listening.
I’m hearing things, he thought.
He soon dismissed his concerns and continued home. As he walked, he listened for small noises, but he didn’t pick them out any further. Instead, he heard a boat horn again. This time it sounded like it came from elsewhere in the ocean.
Nearing the bookstore, he knew he wasn’t yet ready for bed, so he kept walking and headed toward the shore. The more he walked, the better he felt. He’d gotten over the earlier suspicion that someone was following him, and now his thoughts floated back to Daphne, the town, and his new life.
By being sent to this community, he had an opportunity to reinvent himself, to become a better man. He hadn’t initially intended to have those thoughts, but they sort of snuck up on him. Brody wasn’t going to ignore them, though. He was going to embrace them and see where they led.
The lighthouse stood proudly on the edge of the beach, illuminating the shore. Brody noticed a dark form on the water and squinted. It appeared to be a small boat that was motoring slowly away from the Pleasant Valley beach.
Across the channel were New Hampshire and another lighthouse. Was the boat heading in that direction?
When the boat disappeared into the darkness, Brody watched the lighthouse in the distance. Its light rotated gently in circles until it suddenly stopped and focused on one area of the channel. Was the lighthouse guiding the little boat safely to the harbor?
If so, what was it carrying?
And why couldn’t they just drive it up Interstate 95?
Sneaking anything across the channel didn’t make sense.
A horn sounded in the far distance.
Brody turned to leave the beach, and a shadowy figure sprinted up Main Street.
Someone had been watching him.
He instinctively crouched, his senses now on high alert. As he began the trek back to his apartment, every corner presented a new danger, and every storefront was an opportunity for someone to lunge out. Brody wished he had a gun or, at least, a knife. Even as Brody Steele, he wasn’t allowed to own a firearm. U.S. Marshal’s rules. But a knife, that he could own.
Earlier, he perspired due to the night’s humidity. Now, he was sweating profusely due to intense concentration. Each time he moved, he remained in a crouch, moving purposively from door to door, his eyes scanning the quiet streets. When he made it to his block, he strode into the alley and stopped.
Walking up the steps to his apartment was a fatal funnel. If someone was atop them, they could shoot down, and he’d have nowhere to go. Or the reverse was true as well, if he was ascending them, they could attack him from the bottom of the stairs, and he’d have nowhere to flee.
Brody wasn’t going to allow himself to be scared though. Caution was one thing; scared was out of the question. Sensing that the area was clear, he hurried to the steps, took them two at a time until he was in front of his apartment door. It only took him seconds to step inside.
When he relocked the door, he finally relaxed. A nagging thought finally made its way to the forefront of his mind.
What was really going on in Pleasant Valley?