This whole time I’ve been worried Frank would send someone after me. I failed to realize he already had.

“Like tailing an errant fiancée.”

“Yes.”

“So this all goes back to Frank, then.”

“Yes.”

“What did he tell you when he hired you? To what—follow me to Key West?”

“That his bride-to-be had run off. That she was young, spoiled, impetuous. Possibly in the company of another man. He said he was worried about her—you—and asked me to locate you. He knew you were headed down to the Keys and that you’d left on a Tuesday. He’s had someone on you since the beginning. But it’s a difficult time for Frank. There’s trouble in New York, and he needed his most loyal men around him. So he sent me after you. He knew I was originally from Florida, that I was familiar with the area. It was just a matter of finding you on the train.”

“So it wasn’t a coincidence that we were seated by each other.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“When I flirted with you—” My eyes narrow. “If you were supposed to get close to me, why did you reject me on the train?”

“Because I saw you—the way you courted men and attention. I knew you would be bored if things were too easy for you. You would have collected me among your admirers and then cast me off. I needed to be a challenge for you.” He gives me an apologetic look. “That’s what I do in my job. I read people.”

“Learn their weaknesses,” I retort. “Did you even fight in the war? Or was that another lie you told, another way to get close to me, to prey on my feelings and my worry over my brother?”

“I didn’t lie to you about that. I promise. Everything I said to you was true.”

“But it wasn’t. Bringing me to Matecumbe wasn’t a matter of chivalry, but rather obligation.”

And the friendship that I’d thought had sprung up between us wasn’t real at all—the almost kiss on the beach—it was all a lie.

“Elizabeth.” Sam steps forward.

“Stop. Just stop. Don’t lie to me. You owe me the truth, at least. What did Frank want you to do with me?”

“He wanted me to follow you. To make sure you didn’t get into trouble.”

“Nice try. Frank isn’t that altruistic.”

“He wanted me to bring you home.”

“And if I don’t want to go home?”

“Do you really think I’d force you? That I’m the type of man who would be rough with a woman?”

“I don’t know what type of man you are. I thought I did.”

I foolishly viewed him as a white knight of sorts, the sort of man with whom a woman could be safe. It’s that betrayal that cuts the deepest.

“I never meant to hurt you, Elizabeth.”

“That’s what everyone says, isn’t it, after they hurt you?”

“We need to go,” he pleads. “The storm is getting worse.”

“Not until you answer me. I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me the truth.”

“Everything I told you was true.”

“Everything except why you helped me in the first place.”

“I helped you because it was the right thing to do. Because you needed my help.”

“Frank can’t want me to find my brother. He has to know that if I do, I won’t marry him.”

“I agreed to make sure you didn’t get into any trouble,” Sam replies.

“To make sure I didn’t cause Frank any trouble,” I correct.

“He said you were to be his wife.”

“So that gives him a right to be what—my jailer? To spy on me?”

“I was doing my job. Making myself indispensable to him so he would let me into his inner circle. What about you? How did you end up with someone like Frank Morgan?”

“I did what I had to. Why didn’t you tell me this from the beginning? That he was the man you were investigating?”

“Because I didn’t know if I could trust you. We’re building a case against him. It’s been difficult, to say the least. The people he has working for him in his inner circle are loyal. I needed to know if you were. I didn’t know why you were marrying Frank; if you were a love match, or—”

“Did you think we were a love match?”

“I try not to make too many speculative efforts in my line of work. I deal best with facts. My firsthand impressions of people. I wanted to see you. Get a sense of your motives for marrying Frank.”

“Did I pass the test, then? When we nearly kissed on the beach yesterday—was that enough proof for you?”

His expression is pained. “I want to help you.”

“So you trust me now,” I say with a harsh laugh.

“I do. And I need you to trust me. The storm is coming. Fast. Right for us. We need to get out of here. If we miss that train, we’re going to be stuck in the eye of the storm here.”

He holds out his hand.

“Please, Elizabeth. Whatever anger you have, whatever mistrust exists between us, the most important thing right now is getting out of this storm. After that, I’ll answer whatever questions you ask me. I promise.”

* * *

—

Outside the inn, the conditions are even more hazardous than I thought they’d be. We drive slowly, the water flooding the roadway. Sam grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white. The visibility is so bad, we can only see a foot or so ahead of us, the rest of the road obscured by the storm. The car appears featherlight as the wind blows it around, the struggle to keep it under control evident by the tension in Sam’s face and body. There’s no time for me to be angry at Sam; our sole focus is getting to the train, heading north, and escaping the hurricane’s path.

I don’t know how the forecasters got the trajectory or the timing so wrong, and at the moment, their oversight hardly matters. Survival is everything.

The storm makes the drive much longer than it should be, and it’s late by the time we arrive at the train station. I fear we’ve missed our chance at escape, but when we approach the depot in Islamorada, we’re confronted with a sea of men, women, and children.

Sam parks the car quickly, taking my hand and tugging me toward the station. The storm has already damaged the structure, and the hurricane is blowing even harder than before, debris flying past us. I use my free arm to shield my face from the sand and earth whizzing past us.