Romance on the Edge 01 - Hooked

common knowledge Kendrick had a hand in her sinking.”
    “If it’s common knowledge, why wasn’t he arrested?” Garrett asked.
    “Same reason he wasn’t brought up on charges in the burning of the Mystic fifteen years ago,” Judd said. “Not enough evidence. That time we lost three and one was a fifteen-year-old girl. Kendrick’s got everyone scared shitless out here. I’d sure like to catch him at something and throw his ass in jail.”
    Skip brought them back to his list. “We need to keep an eye out for the Mary Jane. Word is she’s doing more than fishing. We’ll need to inform DEA if we catch any drug activity.” Skip glanced at his clipboard. “Last on the list are the Savonskis.”
    Garrett uncrossed his legs and sat up. “Who’d you say?”
    “Savonskis. You familiar with them?”
    “The grandparents were on my flight.” Garrett didn’t feel inclined to mention he’d been invited for dinner tomorrow night.
    “Sonya Savonski has thrown in with the drifters. According to the district registration cards she turned in, she’s planning on set netting and drifting this summer. There’s bound to be trouble.”
    “That’s it.” Skip laid his clipboard down and stretched out his own legs. “Unless you guys have something else to add.”
    “I’ve got something,” Judd said. “What’s that new wife of yours been feeding you?”
    Skip actually blushed. “Wren’s pregnant, and I guess I’ve been a little sympathetic to her situation.” He rubbed his belly. “I’ve been cutting back on the carbs.”
    “Well, with this knucklehead’s surfboard, and you eating for two, the fishermen will think we’ve gone soft and take advantage.”
    “Just let ’em try.” Garrett smiled.

    Sonya slowed the 4-wheeler down as camp came into view. Red Fox Camp was situated on the edge of Tory Creek, which cut a gully through the tundra—the only place for miles where the bluff lowered enough to allow for cabin sites.
    Wes Finley, family friend and seasoned crewman, jogged toward them as she parked the 4-wheeler high on the beach out of reach of the incoming surf. Grams and Gramps followed right behind.
    “I was getting worried you guys wouldn’t make the tide,” Wes said, with a ready smile. High tide would flood the available beach, making getting to camp impossible.
    Wes was a man with steady brown eyes and trimmed brown hair. Even when he let his beard grow during the fishing season, he kept it neat. He was like a rock, solid and sure, and wise beyond his twenty-three years. Wes gave both Grams and Gramps a warm hug and then reached for the luggage.
    Peter grabbed a duffel and hefted it over his shoulder, and Sonya seized the last bag.
    Gramps started to sputter. “Give me that, young lady. I’m not so old I can’t fetch and carry anymore.” He held out his hand.
    Sonya handed it over. The man was built like a moose and sometimes showed the stubbornness of one.
    Grams settled her hand on his arm. “Nikky, let Sonya take the bag. I’d like to stretch my legs a bit after all that traveling. I was hoping you’d take a walk on the beach with me.”
    True to form, Gramps tossed the duffel at Sonya—who was braced to receive it—and took his wife’s hand, kissing her fingers. “Sounds like a dandy idea, Maggie May. See you kids in a bit.”
    Grams’s laughter caught on the wind as Gramps wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. The man was still besotted with his wife after forty-five years.
    Someday, Sonya thought, she’d find a man who would love her like that.
    “You coming, Ducky?” Peter’s voice broke into her thoughts.
    “Call me that one more time and you’re going to be on dish duty tonight,” Sonya threatened. She hitched up the bag and began the twenty-foot climb up the bank to the cabin perched on the bluff.
    “Quack, quack,” Peter countered, already halfway up the trail. “My hands need a good soaking anyway.”
    “All right, you two,” Wes said from near the top of the bluff. “Want to fill me in on the name calling?” He was always the level voice of reason between Sonya and Peter. It didn’t hurt that he was getting his masters in psychology, planning to work with underprivileged children. At the age of sixteen, Wes had been caught by Gramps trying to hotwire their SUV one winter. Instead of calling the troopers, her grandfather had dragged him into the house, fed him dinner, and then put him to work shoveling the driveway. He’d been a part of