The wooden door swung open. Outside, dark clouds hung low, moving in patterns that signaled a storm. The air smelled metallic. Wind whipped across the lighthouse grounds in gusts, bending the coastal vegetation to the ground. Waves crashed against the base of the cliffs, sending spray twenty feet high.
Vivienne’s weather prediction had proven accurate. Her local knowledge of coastal patterns beat the meteorological forecasts.
A police cruiser pulled into the parking area, followed by an unmarked van with the county forensics logo. Chief Sullivan got out, concern on his face as he scanned the darkening sky.
“Storm warning just came through. This isn’t tracking like anything they’ve seen before. The patterns are unusual.” Sullivan’s composure had cracked. “They’re tracking an unexpected low pressure system moving up the coast, but the satellite imagery shows formations they can’t explain.”
“Chief, we need to talk privately. We have an active situation.”
Sullivan read the urgency in Brooks’s posture. He gestured toward the cruiser. They took shelter inside as rain began to strike the windshield.
“What did you find?”
“Melissa Clarkson is alive. She’s being held in an underground chamber connected to the passage system beneath the lighthouse.”
Sullivan’s eyes widened. “You found her? Without a warrant?”
“The lighthouse is city property under historical society management. As law enforcement responding to a missing person case, we had reasonable cause to investigate. The Aldriches have been using the network to move contraband. Based on the infrastructure, they’ve operated this way for decades.”
“The Aldriches . . .” Sullivan’s tone went flat, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “You understand what you’re suggesting? Winston Aldrich isn’t just the mayor. His family founded this community. There can’t be any doubt.”
Brooks studied the chief’s reaction and heard the fear in his voice. Sullivan had spent his career in Westerly Cove, rising through ranks where Aldrich influence touched everything from budget approvals to promotions.
Earlier that morning, before exploring the lighthouse with Vivienne, Brooks had driven to Jack Thornton’s home. The old harbor master had information about the tunnel system that might prove useful.
The inside of Jack’s house resembled a maritime museum. Navigation charts covered every wall, dating back to the 1920s. Ship wheels, barometers, and brass instruments filledthe shelves. The old harbor master had greeted Brooks with knowing eyes, as if he’d been expecting the visit.
“Passages flood at king tide. Always have. The Aldriches know the schedule better than anyone.” His weathered finger had traced handwritten annotations along the margins of a tidal chart. “See these dates? Every major smuggling run for fifty years. They time everything around the tides.”
Brooks had studied the notations—dates, times, and what looked like cargo manifests in Jack’s careful script.
“Three ways out if you know where to look. Main entrance at the lighthouse, the Hawthorne access near the cliff, and an emergency exit that comes up through the old storm drain system behind the harbor master’s office.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Edmund Hawthorne was the keeper when those passages got sealed. My father worked with him.” Jack had pulled an antique compass from a drawer, its brass surface worn smooth. “But nothing stays sealed in Westerly Cove. Saltwater finds a way through everything.”
He’d pressed the compass into Brooks’s hands. “Still points true. You’ll need it down there when the electric lights fail.”
“Anything else I should know?”
Jack’s expression had grown troubled. “She’s at risk,” was all he said.
The warning had settled in Brooks’s gut. That conversation had happened hours ago. Now, sitting in Sullivan’s cruiser with rain drumming on the roof and Vivienne alone in flooding tunnels, he understood exactly why Jack had been so direct.
“Chief, I understand the political complications. But we have evidence of ongoing criminal activity and a kidnapping victim in immediate peril. Your concerns about the Aldrich family’s influence are secondary to that.”
Sullivan’s jaw worked. Finally, he nodded. “You’re right. What do you need?”
“Vivienne Hawthorne stayed in the tunnels to monitor the situation and keep eyes on Melissa’s location.”
“Alone? Down there?” Sullivan’s disapproval was clear. “That was reckless.”
Brooks wanted to ask his chief if he had ever dealt with Vivienne because in the small amount of time he’d known her, he could confidently say, telling her no wasn’t an option.
“She has extensive knowledge of the system through her family history. The Hawthornes built the original passages. And she’s proven herself accurate throughout this investigation. Without her information, we wouldn’t have found the entrance or known about Melissa’s location.”
Sullivan studied him. “You trust her.”
