Free You Don't Want To Know by Lisa Jackson

with them all constantly. Climbing aboard, she watched as Butch twisted his cap so that the bill pointed down his back, slid a pair of sunglasses over his nose, then started the engine. “You still miss him.”
    â€œJust every damned day. That’s all.”
    She sat on one of the plastic seats as he maneuvered the boat away from the other crafts nestled in this little marina. She missed her brother, too. Soul deep sometimes, though the night he died was partially lost in her mind, her brain not accepting the horror of it all, though she’d been with him . . .
    The mouth of the bay was tricky to navigate, as it was guarded by seven black rocks visible only in low tide but lurking under the surface when the tide was in. Treacherous and sharp, they’d been named the Hydra by her great-great-grandfather, and she always shuddered as they passed, for upon those hidden rocks, her brother had died.
    Refusing to stare into the gray depths of the sea, she wrapped her arms around her torso. For his part, Butch didn’t so much as glance in her direction as they passed the only dark tip currently visible, a stony protrusion thick with barnacles and starfish.
    Once in the open water, Butch let the engine out. Churning a heavy wake, the little boat cut through the dark waters where a stiff, salty breeze was whipping up whitecaps, and seagulls soared in the clear blue skies.
    Her spirits lifted as soon as she stepped ashore on the dock in Anchorville. It was afternoon now, the sun sinking lower in the western sky, but she spied the boat Wyatt had used earlier tied to its mooring. A sleek inboard cruiser, it boasted a galley and sleeping quarters, though it was rarely used for anything but transport to and from the island.
    â€œYou want me to wait?” Butch asked after she handed him a twenty-dollar bill, which he made a big show of not wanting but pocketed anyway.
    â€œNo. I’ll ride with Wyatt.”
    â€œSure?”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    Butch cocked a bushy, doubting eyebrow but nodded. At the top of the graying steps leading into the town, she paused and looked out to sea. Spying the Holy Terror streaking away from the mainland, she held up a hand and waved, then let it fall. Butch didn’t so much as cast a glance over his shoulder.
    She checked her watch and saw that it was two-fifteen. The ferry to the island returned at four, so she’d have to be quick if she wanted to finish everything on her agenda.
    First stop was to try and catch up with Tanya, a high school friend who had dated Ava’s cousin Trent—who just happened to be Ian’s twin—for a few years. The relationship had fizzled when she’d met and quickly eloped with Russell Denton, a bad-ass cowboy type who couldn’t stay faithful, sober, or away from poker tables.
    That marriage had crumbled fairly quickly but not before she’d gotten pregnant. . . twice. Tanya and Russ had been involved in one of those mercurial and toxic relationships that they could never quite end. Eventually, less than a year ago, the divorce papers had been inked. Now a single mother of seven-year-old Brent and his older sister, Bella, Tanya was the owner of Shear Madness, one of the two beauty shops in Anchorville. With her nose for business and ear for town gossip, Tanya was doing all right, or so she’d told Ava. Tanya had left the marriage in possession of the house, an older bungalow built on one of the town’s steep side streets, and this little shop. She was one of the few people Ava felt she could trust entirely.
    As clouds gathered overhead, Ava hurried to the beauty shop, some five blocks from the docks and wedged between a deli and the best bakery in the county. Her stomach growled as she passed the bakery’s open door where she caught a whiff of freshly brewed coffee laced with the scent of warm bread and cinnamon.
    The door to Tanya’s salon was closed, the lights dimmed, and a sign in the window